Chapter VII: Part 7

“After the most solemn promises of good faith, I immediately disencumbered myself of my chains, raised up the flooring, gave them my arms and implements, and also two keys, that my friend had procured me, to the doors of the subterranean gallery. I desired them to enter this gallery and sound with their sword hilts at a place through which I could easily break in a few minutes. I further described the road I was to take through the gallery, informed them that two of the doors had not been shut for six months, and that they already had the keys to the others, adding, I had horses waiting at the glacis that would be ready the moment I wanted them.

“They went, examined, returned, and put questions, which I answered with as much precision as the engineer could have done who built the Star Fort. They left me with seeming friendship, continued away about an hour, came back, told me the prince was astonished at what he had heard, that he wished me all happiness, and then took me unfettered to the guard-house. The major came in the evening, treated us with a sumptuous supper, assured me everything would happen in accordance with my wishes, and that Prince Ferdinand had already written to Berlin.

“But all these promises were illusory. The guard was reinforced next day; two grenadiers entered the officers’ room as sentinels; the whole guard loaded with ball before my eyes; the drawbridges were raised in open day, and precautions were taken as if it were supposed I intended to make attempts as desperate as those I had made at Glatz.”

Nothing had come from the Duke of Brunswick. The commandant and the officers, dreading the king’s displeasure, had spread the rumour that a new attempt at escape had been discovered on the part of the prisoner. The cell was repaired in eight days and paved with great flagstones, and the unfortunate Trenck was again placed there, with a single chain about his feet, which weighed as much as all those he had previously worn put together. The duke, however, was some time afterwards informed of all the circumstances, and he spoke to the king, who kept Trenck in prison another year and then set him at liberty.

It is well known that Trenck, after a life of constant agitation, perished on the scaffold of the revolution with André Chénier.--(_Holcroft’s Life of Trenck._)

_CASSANOVA DE SEINGALT._

1757.

Jacques Cassanova de Seingalt says of himself that he was one of the most good-for-nothing fellows in Venice when he was arrested; but, perhaps, in the sense in which he used the words this title may be considered too flattering for him. Be that as it may, however, his account of his imprisonment and escape at Venice is not wanting in interest. Many details are, no doubt, erroneous or exaggerated; not a few writers, indeed, have declared that Cassanova had no greater obstacle to surmount than the watchfulness of his gaolers, and that he found it an easy matter to gain them over by liberal presents; but these assertions, in their turn, have to be taken entirely on trust. All that seems certain is, that Cassanova escaped from the prison near the Bridge of Sighs. We quote from his own account of the exploit, without offering any guarantee of his veracity:--

“At daybreak on the 26th of July, 1755, the terrible Messer Grande came into my room while I lay asleep, and waking me with a rude shake, asked me if my name was Jacques Cassanova. On my replying in the affirmative, he told me to get up and dress myself, to give up every piece of writing I had in my possession, and to follow him.

“‘In whose name,’ I asked, ‘do you bring these orders?’

“‘In the name of the tribunal.’

“The word tribunal frightened me so much that I had only the strength left to yield him a passive obedience. I was led to a gondola, and Messer Grande took his seat by my side with an escort of four men. When we reached his house he offered me some coffee, but I refused it. I was then locked up in one of the rooms and closely guarded. At about three the captain of the archers came in and said that he had received orders to take me to prison, and I followed him without saying a word. We again took to the gondola, and after passing along many of the smaller canals came at last to the Grand Canal and landed on the Prison Quay (Riva de Schiavoni). We mounted several staircases and crossed the Bridge of Sighs, and at length found ourselves in the presence of a person in the dress of a patrician, who just glanced at me, and then ordered the guard to take me to my cell.”

Cassanova was now placed in a small chamber, opening, with many others, on a large gallery, in which were heaped together a number of the most diverse objects--official papers, decrees of the tribunals, and articles of furniture of every kind. The prisoners took their exercise in this gallery every day while the gaolers were sweeping out the cells. Cassanova suffered a good deal from the heat during the first few days of his incarceration, and fell ill, but he soon recovered and began to form plans for making his escape. One day, while exercising in the gallery, he found a kind of round bolt of iron and a piece of marble, and, hastily concealing them, took them back with him to his cell. He pointed the iron at his leisure by grinding it on the marble, though this was an operation of great difficulty and of the most fatiguing kind.

“After pondering for several days over the best way of using my chisel--or, rather, crowbar, for it was of considerable length--I resolved to make a hole with it through the flooring underneath my bed. I knew that the room to which this would give me access was that in which I had been received by the secretary of the inquisitors on my arrival; and I thought that if I could contrive to secrete myself under the council table during the night I might escape by running hastily out of the room as soon as the door was opened in the morning. I did not forget that in all probability I should find an archer on guard in the room, but I felt confident that my crowbar would enable me to dispose of him. The great difficulty lay in the thickness of the flooring. I should, perhaps, be engaged for two months in cutting my way through, and how was I to avoid discovery, meanwhile, when the guards came to sweep out my room? To forbid them to sweep it would be to awaken their suspicions, more especially as I had previously insisted on its being kept very clean. I began, however, by telling them not to trouble themselves to put the place in order; but in a few days Laurent, the gaoler, asked me the meaning of this unusual request. I replied that the dust raised by the sweepers was peculiarly disagreeable to me. This satisfied him for awhile, but he soon grew suspicious again, and not only ordered the cell to be swept out, but himself examined it most carefully in every corner with a lighted candle.”

Cassanova then cut his finger and rolled his handkerchief round the wound, telling Laurent that the sweeping had affected his lungs, and that he was beginning to spit blood. The surgeon of the place, who was, without doubt, in the prisoner’s interest, bled him, and declared that his life was in danger. The result was that the guards were ordered to discontinue the sweeping.

“My resolution grew stronger every day; but the time for beginning the great work of my deliverance had not yet arrived, for the weather was so cold that I could not hold the crowbar in my frozen hands. The long winter nights made me wretched, for I was obliged to pass nineteen mortal hours in darkness; and even during the day, the light that entered by the window was not strong enough to enable me to read. The possession of even a wretched kitchen lamp would have rendered me happy; but how was I to make one. I required a cup, a wick, oil, a flint and steel, besides tinder and matches. But nevertheless I set to work to obtain them, and succeeded after repeated efforts, in which I availed myself of every pretext my ingenuity could devise. As soon as the lamp was in working order, I fixed on the first Monday in Lent for the commencement of my operations on the floor, for I was apprehensive of being disturbed during the carnival.”

His fears were well founded; a Jew was sent to bear him company in his cell; and for two whole months, Cassanova was not relieved of this man’s unwelcome presence.

“As soon as I was alone again I began to work with renewed activity. It was above all things necessary to avoid delay, now that I had actually cut into the planks, for a new companion might have insisted, as the Jew had done, on having the prison swept. I first removed my bed, and then throwing myself upon my chest, crowbar in hand, began to hack away at the boards, carefully collecting the débris in a napkin which I spread out by my side. I have said that I had to hack away the boards. I ought rather to have said that I was obliged to pick them to pieces with the point of my crowbar. The work was fatiguing in the extreme, and at first I brought away pieces no bigger than a grain of wheat; but after a time my labour was cheered with more encouraging results.

“The plank I had selected was of very tough wood, and was about sixteen inches in breadth. I continued to pick it to pieces for about six hours, and then I carefully gathered up the débris in the napkin, in order to throw them away behind a heap of papers in the gallery. They formed a bundle four or five times as large as the hole from which I had taken them. I put the bed back in its place, and on the morning contrived to get rid of the rubbish without being perceived. By the next day, having worked my way through the first plank, which was about two inches in thickness, I came upon a second of nearly the same solidity, as far as I could judge. But I was so afraid of having a new visitor quartered upon me, that I now wielded my crowbar with even greater energy than before. In less than three weeks I had made a hole clean through all the three planks; but judge of my despair when I found that these rested on a tesselated marble pavement, which turned the point of the tool and seemed to defy all my efforts to remove it. I was cast down, disgusted, heart-broken, in a word; but at length, I know not how, the story of Hannibal came unto my mind, and I forthwith emptied into the hole a bottle of very strong vinegar which I had by me. In the morning--whether it was owing to the action of the vinegar or to my renewed strength, I cannot say--I was able to remove the pieces of marble by pulverising the cement which held them together; and in four days the mosaic was destroyed. I found another plank beneath it, but this was no more than I expected, and I concluded that it would be the last, for I was tolerably familiar with the plan on which these ceilings and floors were made. I had great difficulty, however, in cutting through it, for as the hole in the planking was over ten inches in depth, it was well nigh impossible to use the crowbar at all at the bottom of it.

“At about three in the afternoon of the 25th June, while I was working quite naked, and covered with sweat, in the hole, I heard--with an emotion of agony I can hardly describe--the sound of a door being unbolted in the corridor which led to my cell. I blew out the candle hastily, left crowbar and napkin in the hole, wheeled my bed in its place and threw myself upon it as though dead; and in a moment after, the door of my cell flew open, and Laurent came in. Two seconds earlier and he would have surprised me. He was about to walk straight up to me when I uttered a cry of pain that made him draw back. ‘Good heaven, Signor!’ he cried, ‘I pity you, for this place would be enough to suffocate any one. Get up and give thanks to Providence for having sent you an excellent companion.’

“The new comer seemed to think he was entering the infernal regions, for he began to cry out, ‘What a heat! what a stench!’ and Laurent ordered us out into the gallery, in order, as he said, that the cell might be purged of the unpleasant odour of oil that hung about it. The pain and surprise with which I heard these last words was extreme. I had forgotten in my hurry to snuff out the smouldering wick of the lamp after having extinguished the flame. I thought that Laurent knew everything, and that the Jew had completely betrayed me; but in reality he had not discovered the secret of the lamp.”

Eight days after that he was relieved of his unwelcome companion.

The next day he says, “Laurent having rendered me an account of the money that belonged to me, I found I had an odd sum of four sequins remaining, and I won his favour by telling him he might keep it as a present for his wife. I did not tell him it was for the rent of my lamp, but he was quite free to think so if he pleased. After this I pursued

my labours for a considerable time without any interruption whatever, but I did not witness the completion of them till the 23rd August. This delay was due to a very natural accident in cutting through the last plank. I had formed at first, a very small hole indeed, in order that I might safely reconnoitre the room in which the inquisitors sat. But I found that the opening was quite close to one of the thick beams on which the ceiling was supported; this of course obliged me to change the direction of my little shaft, for it would have cost me too much labour to have cut through the beam. I worked for some time in great doubt and fear, lest the other beams should be placed so closely together as to bar the passage to my body, but to my great joy, I soon discovered that this alarm was groundless. It is needless to say that I always carefully covered up the little peep hole when I was not actually looking through it, lest a single ray of light from my lamp should discover me to the inquisitors below.

“I fixed on the eve of St Augustine’s Day for my flight, for I knew that at that time there would be no one in the room contiguous to the council chamber, through which I should have to pass. This was on the 27th, but on the 25th, I was doomed to suffer a misfortune, the bare recollection of which makes me tremble as I write.

“At the stroke of midnight I heard some one drawing the bolts of my cell door, and my heart began to beat as violently as though I were a criminal who knew that his last hour was come. I had barely time to throw myself upon my bed, when Laurent came in, and said: ‘I congratulate you on the good news I bring.’ This made me tremble all the more, for believing nothing less than that he came to announce my restoration to liberty, I dreaded lest a discovery of my attempt to escape should lead the judges to revoke their pardon. Laurent told me to follow him. I asked him to wait a few moments while I put my dress in order. ‘No need to wait for that,’ said he, ‘for I am going to change your lodging from this miserable den, to a well lit and lofty room, from which you can see the half of Venice.’

“I could not utter a word, and I felt my strength rapidly giving way. I begged him to give me a little vinegar, and to tell the tribunal in my name, that while I thanked them for their generous consideration, I should greatly prefer to be left where I was.

“‘You make me laugh,’ he replied. ‘Are you mad? You are offered the chance of removal from the infernal regions to paradise; and you refuse to profit by your good fortune. Come, you _must_ obey. Get up at once: I will give you my arm, and your clothes and books shall be carried to your new room.’

“Seeing that resistance was impossible, I got up, and I was somewhat comforted to hear him order an archer to move my bed, for that contained my invaluable crowbar. How I wished that at the same time it could have been made to hold the floor itself, through which I had cut with such incredible labour and pains. I can truthfully declare that though my body left this horrible dungeon, my spirit remained behind.

“Leaning on the shoulder of Laurent, who tried to put me on a better footing with myself, with his abominable pleasantries, I passed through several long corridors, until I reached a room about twelve feet in length, and very narrow, the barred aperture of which looking out on the two windows of a corridor beyond it, commanded the view of Venice, of which he had spoken. I was not disposed at that particular moment to find much pleasure in the prospect, but I was afterwards glad to discover that the window admitted not only light, but fresh air, which tempered the intolerable heat and closeness of the atmosphere of the place. As soon as I entered the room, Laurent had my chair brought in, and told me that he would at once order the removal of the rest of my effects. I sat for some time immoveable as a statue, expecting every moment that the storm would burst over my head, but too apathetic from despair to dread it. I was in this state when two sbirri came in with the bed. They left again, to fetch the rest of my things, and I sat there for two hours without seeing any one, the door remaining open all the time. I was a prey to a host of conflicting emotions, but I found it impossible to fix any one impression clearly on my mind. I at length heard hasty steps, and then Laurent came in, foaming at the mouth, and blaspheming in a manner frightful to hear. He began by ordering me to hand over to him the hatchet and the other tools with which I had cut through the flooring; and to give the name of the soldier who had furnished me with them. I replied calmly, and without stirring, that I really did not understand him. He then told some of his people to search me, but before they could approach, I stripped myself of my scanty clothing, and assuming a threatening attitude, cried out ‘Do your office, but beware every one of you of laying hands on me.’ They turned over my mattrass, my paillasse, and the cushions of my chair, but they found nothing.

“‘You will not tell me then,’ said Laurent, ‘how you found your tools, but never fear, I shall find out how to make you speak.’

“‘If it be true,’ I replied, ‘that I have made a hole or two, I shall be prepared to prove that it is you who have furnished me with the tools, and that I have already returned them to you.’

“At this threat, which made one or two of his people smile, whom he had probably irritated by some act of rigour, he stamped on the ground, tore his hair, and rushed out of the place like one possessed. His people came back, and brought me all my effects, with the exception of the stove and lamp. Before quitting the corridor, and after he had closed my door, he shut up the windows by which I had received the supply of air, but, with all his knowledge of his trade, he heedlessly forgot to search my armchair; and so, thanks to Providence, I yet kept possession of my little crowbar.”

The next day Laurent brought the prisoner some provisions of the worst quality; and an archer, furnished with an iron bar, sounded the place everywhere--particularly under the bed.

“I observed,” says Cassanova, “that he did not notice the ceiling, so I at once fixed on that route for leaving this horrible place. I could attempt nothing however, without being instantly discovered. The cell was quite new, and the faintest mark of chisel or crowbar, would have been at once visible to my guardians.”

On the following days Laurent continued to bring him food it was almost impossible to swallow, and to refuse to allow him either to have his cell cleaned, or to open the windows. On the eighth day, Cassanova vented his impatience in some angry words, and asked for a reckoning of the money belonging to him in his jailer’s hands. Laurent promised to furnish it next day, and in the meantime he brought the prisoner a basket of lemons, and a nice roast fowl, on the part of M. de Bragadin.

“When he had brought my account I cast my eyes over it, and told him to give the odd money to his wife, with the exception of one sequin, which was to be presented to the archers who waited on me. Laurent then being left alone with me, addressed me thus: ‘You have already said Monsieur, that it was from me you received the tools with which you made that enormous hole. I am inquisitive enough about that, but more so about another thing. In the name of Fortune, how _did_ you contrive to make your lamp?’ ‘You assisted me in that, as in the other matters,’ I replied. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, adding after a few moments, when he had recovered from his astonishment, ‘I did not think wit consisted in lying and effrontery.’ ‘I am not lying: it is you who with your own hands gave me all that was necessary--oil, flint, matches,--I already had the rest.’ ‘You are right: but you cannot convince me so easily that I supplied you with the tools for digging that enormous hole.’ ‘Assuredly, for I received nothing from anybody but you.’ ‘Mercy, what do I hear! tell me how, when, and where I gave you a hatchet!’ ‘I will tell you everything; and I will speak the truth, but it can only be in presence of the secretary.’ ‘I don’t want to know anything more, and I believe all you have said,’ returned Laurent hastily; ‘I beg of you to be silent, for remember I am but a poor man, and have children.’ He then went, pressing his hands to his head.

“I congratulated myself heartily on having found the means to make myself feared by this fellow. I saw that his own interest compelled him to conceal from his masters all that had passed.... I had ordered Laurent to buy me the works of Maffei. ‘I will borrow the books for you from some one here,’ he said, ‘and you can lend him some of yours in return. By that plan you will save your money.’”

Cassanova consented, and gave a book in exchange for another that Laurent brought him.

“Delighted at the opportunity of entering into a correspondence with some one who might perhaps help me to escape from the place, I opened the book as soon as Laurent was gone, and read with intense joy a paraphrase of these words of Seneca. ‘Calamitosus est animus futuri anxius,’ done in six good lines, and written on the fly leaf. I made as many more lines at once, and had recourse to the following expedients for copying them out. I had let the nail of my little finger grow until it was very long, and I had only to cut it to a point to make a pen. I was just on the point of pricking my finger, to make ink out of my own blood, when it struck me I could write equally well with mulberry juice, of which I had a quantity by me. Besides the six lines, I wrote out a catalogue of all my books, and slid it down the back of the book which I had borrowed. It must be remembered that in Italy, the books are for the most part bound in parchment, and on opening them the back forms a kind of pocket. On the title page I inscribed the word ‘Latet.’ I was impatient to have an answer, so when Laurent came in the morning, I told him I had read my book through, and wanted another. In a few moments he returned with the second volume. I was no sooner alone than I opened it, and found a slip of paper, containing these words, written in Latin: ‘We are both in the same prison, and we both discover with the greatest pleasure that the ignorance of a miserly gaoler has procured us a privilege almost unexampled in places of this sort. I, who write to you, am Marin Balbi, a noble Venetian, and my companion is the Count André Asquin, of Udine. He charges me to tell you that all the books he possesses are catalogued on a slip in the back of this volume, and that they are wholly at your service, but we both warn you that you must use the greatest circumspection to prevent Laurent from learning what is going on.’ I am bound to say that I thought this exhortation to prudence, written openly on a leaf not belonging to the book, rather odd. It was too much to expect that Laurent would not at one time or other open the book he carried, and if he should find a sheet of manuscript, he could easily find some one to read it for him, and then all would be discovered. The note led me to conclude that my correspondent was but a kind of plain-speaking blunderer. I looked over the catalogue, and then in reply wrote my name, the manner of my arrest, and my ignorance of the cause, with the hopes that I cherished of soon regaining my liberty. Balbi, who was a monk, sent in return a letter of sixteen pages, in which he gave me the history of all his misfortunes, and told me that he had been four years in prison. His companion did not write.”

The monk’s history proved that he had nothing of the ecclesiastic in him but the title. It showed him to be a sensualist, a poor reasoner, a mischievous rogue, and a careless and ungrateful fool. At least, such were the conclusions that Cassanova drew from it, and the event satisfied him that they were not incorrect.

“I found pencil, pens, and paper in the back of the book, and these enabled me to write at my ease. Balbi next furnished me with the history of all the persons confined in the place during his imprisonment. He told me that the archer Nicholas had given him his information, and had, besides, brought him everything he required; and in proof of the former statement, he gave me a pretty exact account of my own abortive effort to escape. It had taken two hours to repair the damage I had done, and Laurent had forbidden the workmen engaged, as well as the archers, to mention the matter, under pain of death. ‘Another day,’ said the archer, ‘and Cassanova would have escaped, and Laurent’s life would hardly have been worth an hour’s purchase; for with all his surprise at the sight of the hole, there can be no doubt that he himself unwittingly supplied the instruments with which it was made.’ The monk concluded by begging me to give him an account of the whole affair, and in particular to inform him how I had obtained my tools, adding, that I might count safely on his discretion.

“I had no doubt whatever as to his curiosity, but I was absolutely without confidence in his discretion, especially after the proof of it he had just given me in his foolish request. I thought, however, I might make him useful, for he seemed just the kind of man to follow my directions in everything. I began a reply to it; but while writing it a suspicion crossed my mind, which induced me to hold it back for a time. What if this correspondence might, after all, be a mere device of Laurent’s for finding out how I obtained my tools! But, in order to satisfy Balbi without compromising myself, I told him that I had made the opening by means of a strong knife, which I had hidden in the sill of the corridor window. In less than three days I was satisfied that the suspicion was groundless, for Laurent took no notice of the window-sill. Balbi, too, wrote to say that he could easily understand how I had concealed the knife, for Laurent himself had told him that I had not been searched on entering the prison. He concluded by begging me to send him my knife, through Nicholas, in whom, he assured me, I might safely confide. The carelessness of this monk was almost inconceivable. I wrote to tell him that I was not by any means inclined to share my secrets with Nicholas, and that I was still less disposed to trust them to paper.

“My suspicions were, however, quite set at rest, and I again began to think about my escape. I reflected in this way:--I wish at any price to procure my liberty. The crowbar I have is an excellent one, but it is impossible to use it, for every part of my cell, except the ceiling, is sounded and examined every day. To escape from here I must make a hole through the ceiling; but that will be no easy matter, working, as I do, from below; and in no case will it be the affair of a day. I want an ally, who would be willing to escape with me. There was not much choice, and the only person whose name suggested itself to my mind was the monk. He was twenty-eight years of age, and, though he was not rich in good sense, I thought that the love of liberty--that most enduring of man’s passions--would, at least, give him resolution enough to obey my instructions. I was obliged to commence with a resolution to confide everything to him, and then to find out how to make him my instrument--both very difficult points.

“I began by asking him if he desired his liberty, and if he were willing to risk everything for the sake of procuring it with me. He replied that both his companion and himself were capable of any enterprise that might lead to freedom, but that it would be folly to peril one’s life in schemes that had no reasonable prospect of success. He filled four long pages with a list of the impossibilities which overawed his poor spirit. I replied that in forming my plans I paid no attention to mere difficulties of detail, for that I felt sure of being able to overcome them the moment they presented themselves, and I went on to give him my word of honour that I would set him free if he would follow my directions in everything. He gave the required promise, and I then informed him that I had a crowbar some twenty inches in length, and that by means of this instrument he was to break through the ceiling of his cell, and then make a hole in the wall that separated us, and join me, and that afterwards he was to help me to break through my ceiling and to make my way through the opening.

“‘When we have arrived at that point,’ I added, ‘your task will be done, and mine will begin, and I will undertake to set you and the Count Asquin at liberty.’

“He replied that when he had helped me out of my cell we should still be nevertheless in prison,--that we should simply have effected a change of place without any corresponding change of circumstances, for we should be wandering in the gallery, cut off from the outer world by the three strong doors.

“‘I know that very well, reverend father,’ I replied; ‘but we are not going to leave the place by the doors at all. My plan is complete, and I feel certain of success. All that I ask of you is exactness and fidelity in the execution of your part of it, and some self-control in the matter of raising objections. Try to think only of a way of getting the crowbar conveyed to you without exciting the suspicion of the man who carries it. In the meantime ask the jailer to buy you some hangings ornamented with the images of saints, and cover your cell with them. The saintly images will remove all suspicion from Laurent’s mind, and they will serve excellently well to hide the hole in the ceiling. It will take you several days to make the hole, and you can by this means always contrive to hide the signs of your activity. I would undertake that part of the plan myself, but I am already suspected, as you know.’

“Although I urged him to find out a means for the removal of the crowbar, I tried constantly to discover one myself, and at length I had an idea, which I hastened to carry out. I told Laurent to buy me a copy of a Bible in folio, which had just appeared. I hoped to be able to place my crowbar in the back of this Bible, and thus to get it conveyed to the monk. But as soon as I obtained the book I saw that it was shorter than the instrument by just two inches. My correspondent had already written to inform me that his cell was covered with images, and I had told him of my plan for sending him the crowbar, and of the difficulty I had met with. I was however firmly resolved to send him the implement by some means, and at length I hit on the following stratagem. I told Laurent that I wished to celebrate St. Michael’s day by feasting on a dish of maccaroni with cheese, and that in return for the politeness of the person who had lent me the books, I thought of sending him a dish especially prepared by myself. Laurent observed that the gentleman was very anxious to read the large book, which had cost three sequins. ‘Very well,’ I replied, ‘I will send it to him with the maccaroni, only bring me the very largest dish you have in the place, for I wish to make him a present worth his acceptance.’ I then wrapped the crowbar up in paper and placed it in the back of the book, taking care that it projected equally at either end. I was sure that if I placed a good dishfull of maccaroni on the Bible, Laurent’s attention would be too much occupied by that delicacy to allow him any opportunity to discover the hiding-place of the crowbar. I prepared Balbi for all that was about to happen, and enjoined him above all to be careful to take both the dish and the book from the jailer’s hands.

“On the appointed day Laurent came earlier than was his wont, with a pot full of boiling maccaroni, and all the ingredients for seasoning it. I then melted a quantity of butter, and placing the maccaroni in the dish, I poured the butter over it until it touched the very edges. The dish was an enormous one, and it very greatly exceeded the book in size. All this was done at the door of my cell while Laurent was standing outside. When everything was ready, I carefully lifted Bible and dish, and placing the back of the book towards the gaoler, I told him to hold out his arms, to be very careful not to spill the sauce, and to make the best of his way to the other cell. While giving him this important commission I kept my eyes fixed on his, and I was delighted to see that he did not remove his gaze from the dish, for fear of spilling the butter. He suggested that it might be better to take the dish first, and then to return for the Bible, but I replied that the present would lose something of its value if both were not sent together. He then complained that I had put too much butter, and warned me laughingly that if he should spill any of it he would not hold himself responsible for the damage.

“As soon as I saw the Bible in the simpleton’s arms, I felt certain of success, for the ends of the crowbar were quite imperceptible. I followed him with my eyes until I saw him enter the antechamber, and in a few moments, the monk, blowing his nose three times, gave the signal that everything had turned out well. Laurent’s speedy reappearance, too, gave me another intimation of the same joyful event.

“Father Balbi lost no time in carrying out my intimations and in eight days he had made an opening which he concealed with a piece of bread crumb. On the 8th October,

he wrote to tell me that he had been working all night. On the 16th, at ten o’clock in the morning, just as I was occupied in translating an ode of Horace, I heard a stamping of feet overhead, followed by three gentle raps--the signal agreed on--to show us that the first part of our plan had been carried to a successful termination. He worked on until the evening, and the next day he wrote to say that if my ceiling was only two boards thick, his labours would be finished on that day. He told me, moreover, that he would take great care to make the hole circular, as I had suggested, and that he would not cut through the floor. This precaution was absolutely essential, for the smallest crack in the floor would have led to instant detection. The excavation, he added, was in such a state that another quarter of an hour’s work would suffice to finish it.

“I had determined to leave my cell during the night, for with a companion I felt sure of being able to make a hole in the great roof of the ducal palace, in three or four hours; and once on the roof, I would take what opportunity offered to reach the ground. But I had not yet reached the roof, alas, for my bad fortune placed yet another difficulty in my way, that demanded all my skill and address. On this very day--it was Monday--while Balbi was striking his last strokes, I heard the opening of a door close to my cell. I felt all the blood in my body freeze, but I had enough presence of mind to give the two raps that warned Balbi to hurry back to his cell, and put everything in order. In less than a minute Laurent came in, and asked my pardon for thrusting a very disagreeable companion upon me. The new comer, whom he immediately introduced, was a little thin man, between forty and fifty years of age, very ugly, and very badly dressed. There could be no doubt about his being a scoundrel, the more especially as Laurent announced the fact to his face, without making any visible impression on him. ‘The tribunal,’ I said sulkily, in reply to my jailer’s communication, ‘will of course do what it pleases.’

“Overwhelmed with vexation at this miserable misadventure, I stared fixedly at my fellow prisoner, whose hang-dog physiognomy as I have said, betrayed him. I was thinking of saying something to him, when he began a conversation by thanking me for giving him a palliasse. With a view to gaining him over, I asked him if he would share my meals with me. He kissed my hand, and asked whether his acceptance of my generous invitation would deprive him of his right to the ten sous, which the tribunal had assigned him for his support. On my telling him that it would, he fell on his feet, and drawing an enormous chaplet from his pocket, he rolled his eyes about, until his glance fell in every corner of the room. I asked him what he was looking for. ‘Pardon, Signor,’ he replied: ‘I was in hopes of finding some image of the Virgin, for I am a Christian.’ It was with difficulty that I kept from laughing--not on account of his piety, for conscience and faith are sentiments which it is not given to any of us to control--but because of the oddity of his appearance and manner. I concluded that he mistook me for a Jew, so to undeceive him, I gave him an image of the Virgin, which he kissed with great fervour, and proceeded to inform me that his father, an alquazil, had neglected to have him taught to read. ‘I am,’ he added, ‘devoted to the holy rosary;’ and he went on to relate a number of miracles he had witnessed, while I listened with the patience of an angel. When he had done, I asked him if he had dined, and he told me that he was dying of hunger. I gave him everything I had, and he ate and drank more like a beast than a human being. At length he got quite drunk, and began to weep, and to babble all kinds of foolish things. I asked him what afflicted him, and received the following answer. ‘My sole passion has always been the glory of God, and of this holy republic; and an exact obedience to the laws. Ever watchful of the tricks of rogues, I have tried to discover their secrets, and to disclose them to the authorities. I have been well paid, it is true, but that was no more than I deserved, and I have always been unable to understand the prejudices of those people who pretend to see something shameful in the trade of a spy. A spy is a person who seeks the good of the state, and is a faithful subject of his government and prince. And I can truly say, that unlike others of my calling, I have never suffered private friendship to stand in the way of my performance of a public duty.’

“The wretch went on in this manner till I knew him for the foulest spy the imagination can conceive. His last achievement had been the discovery of a political plot, but he had had the weakness--incredible, in a man of his stamp--to give one of his friends engaged in the conspiracy a recommendation to prudence. The friend, and his companions, had thereupon fled, and our spy had been sent to prison in their stead. He ended by telling me that he had hopes of being soon released, his wife being a Legrenzi, and daughter of one of the secretaries of the Council of Ten.

“I shuddered to think with what a monster I was associated, but feeling that my situation was a delicate one, I at once chose my part. I pretended to sympathise with him, and was loud in praises of his patriotism, nor did I hesitate to assure him that so excellent a man must be set at liberty in a few days. He shortly after fell asleep, and I took the opportunity of writing to Father Balbi, to tell him everything, and to warn him to suspend his labours until he should hear from me again. On the next day, I asked Laurent to buy me a wooden crucifix, an image of the Holy Virgin, and a portrait of St. Francis, and at the same time to procure two bottles of holy water. Soradaci (my companion) took the opportunity to ask for the ten sous allowed for his maintenance, and Laurent tossed twenty sous to him with an air of great disdain. When the jailer had gone away, I opened the book, and found a letter from Balbi, depicting his fright in very moving terms. He thought that all was lost, so far as our plan of escape was concerned, but he none the less congratulated me and himself on our good fortune in having Soradaci brought to my cell, rather than to theirs, ‘for if Laurent had come to our cell,’ he continued, ‘I should have been missed, and everything would have been discovered.’

“Soradaci’s tale convinced me that he was no better than a spy upon me, so I made up my mind to meet him with his own weapons of stratagem and cunning. I wrote and confided to his care two letters, so worded, that if sent to their address, they would do me neither harm nor good, while they would be likely to do me good, if handed over to the secretary, and that I did not doubt would be the case.”

Soradaci, on receiving the letters, took the most solemn and the most terrible oaths that he would faithfully deliver them at their destinations when he recovered his liberty. In some few days he was called before the secretary of the tribunal, and afterwards taken back to prison. Cassanova wishing to assure himself of the correctness of his suspicions, asked him to return one of the letters, on the plea that it contained something he wished to alter.

“The monster then threw himself at my feet, and declared that on his appearance before the terrible secretary, he had been so seized with fright, that it was seen he had some secret on his mind, and he had been obliged to betray me. I pretended to be greatly troubled, and throwing myself before an image of the Virgin, I solemnly demanded vengeance on the head of the villain who had consigned me to destruction. I next flung myself on the bed with my face to the wall, and had the constancy to remain in this position all day, without moving, or uttering a word, and pretending not to hear the sobs, the repentant cries, and the protestations of this miserable wretch. In short, I admirably played my part in a comedy of which I had the entire plan in my head. During the night, I wrote to Balbi to come and finish his work at half-past eleven in the morning--not a moment sooner or later--and to work exactly four hours, and not a moment more. ‘Our liberty,’ I said, ‘depends on the most rigorous exactitude in this matter, and you have nothing to fear.’

“It was the 25th of October, and the time for me to carry out my plan or to abandon it for ever was at hand. The state inquisitors and the secretary went every year to pass the three first days of November in the country; and Laurent, taking advantage of their absence, used invariably to get drunk in the evening and to make a very late appearance among the prisoners in the morning. I chose this time, therefore, for my flight, persuaded that I should not be missed till the day was pretty well advanced. Another reason, too, had something to do with my determination. I had consulted an oracle of fate by looking into Ariosto, according to certain cabalistic formulas, and had lighted oil the following verse:--‘_Frà il fin d’ ottobre e il capo di novembre_’ (between the end of October and the beginning of November). The precision of the passage and its applicability to the design I had already formed both seemed so extraordinary that the reader will pardon me if I used every effort to bring about the fulfilment of the prophecy it seemed to contain.

“I passed the morning in the following manner, in order to deceive this base and stupid creature, to confuse his weak understanding, to hinder him, in a word, from ruining my scheme. As soon as Laurent had left us I bade Sorodaci come and take his soup. The wretch had gone to bed; he had told Laurent that he was ill, and he would not have dared to come to me if I had not called him. He advanced towards me with every sign of fear, and throwing himself flat on his stomach he crawled to my feet, kissed them, and assured me, amid floods of tears, that if I did not forgive him it would certainly be the death of him before the day was out, for he already felt the effect of the Holy Virgin’s curse. He was seized with racking pains in the inside, and his mouth was full of ulcers. I did not take the trouble to examine him to ascertain if he spoke the truth; my object was to appear to believe him and to make him entertain hopes of pardon; and to do that it was at first necessary to make him eat and drink. The traitor probably intended to deceive me; but as I had the same intention with regard to him it was simply a question as to which of us should forestal the other. I had prepared an attack on his credulity which I knew it would be difficult for him to withstand. I assumed an inspired air, and bade him, in a voice of authority, sit down and eat his soup, assuring him that when he had done that I would give him ‘a piece of good news.’ ‘Know,’ I continued, ‘that the Holy Virgin has appeared to me and has commanded me to pardon you; you will not die, but you will leave this place with me.’ He was thunderstruck, and he at once began to eat his soup, submissively resting on his knees, there being no chair in the cell. He afterwards sat down on his palliasse and listened attentively for further revelations. I then continued: ‘Your horrible treason has cost me a sleepless night, for my letter was of a nature to ensure my condemnation to perpetual imprisonment. My sole consolation, I confess, was the certainty that in less than three days you would die in torments before my eyes. With my heart full of this wicked thought--unworthy of a Christian, for God commands us to pardon our enemies--I went to sleep, and in my dream the Holy Virgin came to me in a vision and said, “Sorodaci is a devotee of the Holy Rosary and I protect him. I command you to pardon him, and I will remove the curse which you have called down upon his head. As a reward for your generous act I will command one of my angels to assume the human form, to descend from heaven to break your prison bonds, and to release you from this place in five or six days. The angel will commence his work to-day at half-past eleven precisely, and will finish it at half-past three, for he must re-ascend to heaven in open day. On leaving the prison, in company with the angel, you must take Sorodaci with you and provide for his safety, on condition of his giving up his trade of spy. Repeat to him all I have said to you.” At these words the Holy Virgin disappeared, and I awoke.’

“Still maintaining my seriousness and my inspired air, I watched the traitor’s face, and observed that he was petrified with astonishment and fear. I then took my breviary in one hand, and with the other sprinkled the cell with holy water in every part. In a little time the fellow asked me at what hour the angel would descend, and whether he would make any noise in breaking into the prison.

“‘I am certain,’ I replied, ‘that he will come at half-past three, that we shall hear him at work, and that he will leave precisely at the time the Virgin has named.’

“‘You may have been merely dreaming,’ he ventured, timidly.

“‘No; I am sure I did not dream. And now, do you feel yourself capable of taking an oath never again to become a spy?’

“Instead of replying, he lay down on the bed and went to sleep. He awoke in two hours with the question. Whether it was not possible to defer the taking of the oath?

“‘You may defer it,’ I replied, ‘until the coming of the angel, if you like; but if you are not ready to swear then, I will leave you to your miserable trade and the miserable fate that will surely overtake you if you continue thus to offend God and man.’