“At last they said to him: ‘Make a vow to go in penance to Our Lady of Loreto,[311] barefoot and naked, for this is the best remedy that can be found; and meanwhile we will go to Acquapendente[312] and those other places hard by to see some doctor, nor will we fail to do everything we can for you.’ Then the poor fellow quickly knelt by his bed, and with endless tears and bitter penitence for his blasphemy he made a solemn vow to go naked to Our Lady of Loreto, and to offer her a pair of silver eyes, and to eat no flesh on Wednesday or eggs on Friday, and to fast on bread and water every Saturday in honour of Our Lady, if she would grant him the mercy of restoring his sight. His two companions went into another room, struck a light, and laughing their very loudest, came back to the unhappy man, who was relieved of his great anguish, as you may imagine, but was so stunned by the terror that he had passed through, that he could neither laugh nor even speak; and his two companions did nothing but tease him, saying that he must fulfil all his vows, because he had obtained the mercy which he sought. 87.—“Of the other kind of practical joke, where a man deceives himself, I shall give no other example than the one that was played on me not very long ago. “During the last carnival, my friend Monsignor of San Pietro ad Vincula[313] (who knows how fond I am of playing tricks on the friars when I am masked, and who had carefully arranged beforehand what he meant to do) came one day with Monsignor of Aragon[314] and a few other cardinals, to certain windows in the _Banchi_,[315] ostensibly for the purpose of seeing the maskers pass, as the custom is at Rome. I came along in my mask, and seeing a friar (somewhat apart) who had a little air of hesitation, I thought I had found my chance and rushed upon him like a hungry falcon on its prey. And first having asked him who he was and received his answer, I pretended to know him, and with many words began to make him think that the chief constable was out in search of him (because of certain evil reports that had been received against him), and to urge him to go with me to the Chancery,[316] where I would put him in safety. Frightened and trembling from head to foot, the friar seemed not to know what to do and said he feared being taken if he went far from San Celso.[317] I said so much to encourage him, however, that he mounted my crupper; and then I thought I had fully succeeded in my scheme. So I at once began to make for the _Banchi_, my horse frisking and kicking the while. Now imagine what a fine sight a friar made on a masker’s crupper, with cloak flying and head tossed to and fro, and looking all the time as if he were about to fall.