And flashed on an electric bulb we saw that the place
where we stood was round like a jug and bare as an empty jug, with
smooth stone walls and rough stone floor; and that it contained
for furniture just two things - a stone bench upon which the captive
might lie or sit and, let into the wall, a great iron ring, to
which his chains were made fast so that he moved always to their
grating accompaniment and the guard listening outside might know
by the telltale clanking whether the entombed man still lived.
There was one other decoration in this hole - a thing more incongruous
even than the modern lighting fixtures; and this stood out in bold
black lettering upon the low-sloped ceiling. A pair of vandals,
a man and wife - no doubt with infinite pains - had smuggled in brush
and marking pot and somehow or other - I suspect by bribing guides
and guards - had found the coveted opportunity of inscribing their
names here in the Doges' black dungeon. With their names they had
written their address too, which was a small town in the Northwest,
and after it the legend: "Send us a postal card."
I imagine that then this couple, having accomplished this feat,
regarded their trip to Europe as being rounded out and complete,
and went home again, satisfied and rejoicing.
