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.’

“I read in his detestable face the satisfaction he derived from this announcement, for it was easy to see he felt sure the angel would not come. I waited anxiously to hear the clock strike, for I felt certain that the ‘arrival of the angel’ would end in the overthrow of his miserable reason. As soon, therefore, as I heard the first stroke of the appointed hour, I threw myself on my knees and ordered him, in a voice of authority, to do the same. He obeyed me with a terrified air. As soon as I heard the monk approaching I cried out hastily, ‘The angel is coming!’ and throwing myself flat on my stomach I gave the terrified spy a vigorous blow with my fist, that forced him to assume the same posture. The monk’s operations made a great noise, and they lasted a sufficiently long time, for I had to remain for at least a quarter of an hour in my disagreeable position. In any other case I should have been ready to die with laughter at the sight of the miserable wretch lying motionless at my side. But I carefully refrained even from smiling, for I felt that too much was at stake to permit of such an indulgence. I presently got up and assumed a kneeling attitude, giving him to understand that he was to do the same; and he passed three hours and a half in this manner, telling his beads all the while. From time to time he fell asleep, from sheer weariness, and now and then he cast a furtive glance at the ceiling, his face all the while wearing an expression of the most complete stupor. At length I called out, in a tone half solemn, half devotional, ‘Prostrate yourself, for the angel is leaving!’ and just then Balbi went away to his own cell, and every sound was hushed. On rising, I perceived, by the wretch’s countenance, that his mind was full of anxiety and fright. I was delighted, for I saw in this an opportunity of imposing on him some penance adequate to his manifold misdeeds. ‘When Laurent comes in the morning,’ I said, ‘you will throw yourself on the bed, with your face to the wall, without making the slightest movement or uttering a word. If he should speak you must reply, without looking at him, that you have not been able to sleep, and that you are in want of rest. Do you promise this without reserve?’

“‘I promise,’ he stammered out, ‘to do everything you have said.’

“‘Swear it,’ I said, ‘before this holy image! And now, most Holy Virgin,’ I continued, addressing the image, ‘I swear that if I hear Sorodaci utter a word, or make a single movement, I will strangle him like a dog.’ I reckoned that this threat would have at least as much effect upon him as the oath. I then gave him something to eat, and ordered him to go to bed; and as soon as he had fallen asleep I sat down and wrote for a couple of hours, informing Balbi that all was ready, and that he had nothing to do to reach me but to revisit the roof of my cell and break the planks of the ceiling. I added that we should leave on the 31st of October, and that there would be four of us, counting his companion and mine.

“It was the 28th. The next day the monk wrote to say that the passage between the two cells was quite ready, and that the breaking through the last plank would be an affair of but four or five minutes. Sorodaci, faithful to his sworn promise, pretended to be asleep, and Laurent did not speak to him. But I did not keep my eyes off him for a moment, and I really believe that if he had uttered a word I should have killed him on the spot. I devoted the rest of the day to the delivery of a series of sublime discourses on the recent remarkable visitation, and I was pleased to see that every word I spoke increased the fanatical terror with which he regarded me. I took care to ply him well with wine, as well as with mystifying influences of a religious nature, and I did not leave him to himself until I saw him fairly overpowered with drunkenness and sleep. For one moment, indeed, he had a feeble glimmering of common sense, for he observed that it ought not to take an angel three hours to break into a cell. ‘The ways of heaven,’ I replied, ‘are incomprehensible to mortals, and this heavenly messenger clearly is not working in his celestial capacity, or otherwise he could force a way through the ceiling with a single breath. He works in his human capacity, doubtless out of pity for us, who could not otherwise endure the sight of his glory.’

“On the next day Laurent asked after his health, and he replied without raising his head. It was the same on succeeding days, till at length we had our last interview with our gaoler on the 31st. I gave him the book as usual, containing a message for Balbi to come at half-past nine in the morning, and break through the ceiling. I had no apprehension that any accident would mar the execution of our plot, for I had heard from Laurent that the inquisitors and the secretary had already gone into the country. There was no danger of my again having a companion thrust upon me at the eleventh hour, and I had found out how to manage the wretch whose coming had once threatened to prove the downfall of all my hopes.

“When Laurent left I told Sorodaci that we might now expect the angel very shortly. ‘He will bring a pair of scissors with him,’ I added, ‘and it will be your office to clip his beard and mine.’

“‘Has the angel a beard then?’ inquired the simpleton.

“‘Yes, as you will see. When you have done this, we shall all leave the cell and break through the roof of the palace, whence we shall drop down into the great square of St. Mark.’

“He did not reply, but went on eating his breakfast. As for me, I could touch nothing at all, for my anxiety as to the success of my enterprise deprived me of all appetite, as it had made me quite insensible to fatigue.

“The appointed hour struck, and the angel was heard. Sorodaci was about to prostrate himself, but I told him that was no longer necessary. In less than three minutes the ceiling was broken through, and Balbi rolled down into my arms. ‘And now,’ said I, ‘your work is done, and mine begins.’ We embraced, and he gave me back

my crowbar and placed the scissors in my hands. I told Sorodaci to cut our beards; but I could not help laughing at the sight of the wretch, with his mouth wide open, staring at the angel, who bore so much resemblance to a supernatural being of another kind. But astonished and terrified as he was, he did his office with the greatest ease.

“Anxious to reconnoitre our position, I told Balbi to stay with the spy (for I dared not leave Sorodaci alone) while I visited the cell where the count was confined. I found it without difficulty, and embraced a noble looking old man who, however, seemed scarcely strong enough to support the fatigues of our meditated flight. He asked me what my plan was, and observed that he feared I was going to work rather recklessly. ‘I must go on,’ I replied, ‘until I find either liberty or death.’ ‘If you think,’ said he, ‘to break through the roof and then to drop into the courtyard, I don’t see how you can possibly succeed, as you are without wings; and I, at least, dare not venture to accompany you; but I will stay here and pray to Heaven on your behalf.’

“I left him to look at the palace roof, drawing as near as I could to the walls of the granary. In tapping the woodwork of the roof with my crowbar, I discovered to my great satisfaction that it was quite rotten. The planks crumbled to dust the moment they were touched. Judging that I could easily make an opening large enough for my requirements in about an hour, I returned to my cell, and spent four hours in cutting up my bedclothes and every piece of drapery I could find there, and making a rope of the shreds. I took care to make the knots very strong, and to test each one as I went on. When the rope was finished I made a bundle of my coat, my cloak, and a few other things, and went with the monk and Sorodaci to the count’s cell. Sorodaci’s air of utter bewilderment would have made the dullest fellow smile. I had long since thrown off the inconvenient mask of the visionary which I had at first assumed, and I could see that he felt he had been tricked, though it must still have been a matter of wonder to him how I could have contrived to ensure the visits of my ‘angel’ at the appointed hours. He listened with great attention to the count’s arguments against our plan of escape, and he seemed to be meditating an excuse for staying behind. Meanwhile, I told the monk to get his bundle ready while I went to make the hole in the roof.

“At about seven o’clock I had finished this part of the work. I pierced a hole through the wood without the least difficulty, but the leaden coating of the planks did not yield so easily, and I was obliged to obtain the assistance of the monk before I could wrench it off. I then put my head through the opening, and felt for a few moments, with a delight that I can hardly express, that I was breathing the air of liberty. But unfortunately the moon was at the full, and I saw myself doomed to wait for many weary hours before I could venture to move. The night was a superb one; all the best society in Venice was taking the air in the square of St. Mark, but I dared not stand on the roof, for my shadow would have betrayed me to the people below, I therefore told my companions firmly that we could not leave before ten o’clock at the earliest, and as the sun did not rise before half-past six, this would give us some eight hours and a half of perfect darkness,—more by far than we were likely to require.

“I accordingly suggested to Balbi that we might while away part of the time in conversation with the count, and I sent him at once—before leaving the roof myself—to borrow thirty sequins of the old man, for I knew that money would now be as indispensable to the success of our plan as the crowbar had formerly been. Balbi went away, but soon returned with the message that the count would like to see me alone. The poor old nobleman began to tell me, with his usual mildness, that money would not help me to escape, that in fact he had no money, that his family was a large one, and that if I perished, anything he might give me would be lost. He ended by giving me two sequins on condition that I should return them if I finally decided on abandoning my perilous design. His last words showed how little he knew me, for I was fully prepared to die rather than remain where I was.

“I called my companions together, and when we had placed our bundles near the hole, we passed some hours in talking of the difficulties we had already surmounted, and of those that still lay before us. The first proof that Balbi gave me of the nobleness of his character was to repeat at least half a dozen times that I had deceived him in saying my plan was complete, and that if he had foreseen the real state of my preparations, he would never have helped me to leave my cell.

“The count too employed all his eloquence to dissuade me from the attempt. ‘The roof, covered as it is with lead,’ said he, ‘is so steep that you cannot hope to keep your footing on it.’ (This was totally false, for the slope is unusually gentle.) ‘And on which side do you propose to drop? Surely not on that looking towards the piazzetta, for you would be seen at once. You cannot take the side nearest the church, for that looks into a high walled court; and to drop on the side nearest the arsenal, would be to fall right into the hands of the guards, who are constantly making their rounds.’

“This kind of talking made my blood boil, though I forced myself to listen to it with patience. The monk’s reproaches in particular, incensed me greatly, but I felt that my position was a delicate one. I was dealing with a coward who might at any time discover that he was not desperate enough to set death at defiance, and without him I knew it would be impossible to proceed. I, therefore, did violence to my feelings, and mildly assured both my fellow-prisoners, that I felt sure of success though I could not give them all the details of my plan. While thus engaged I from time to time put forth my hand to ascertain if Sorodaci was still near me, and I laughed inwardly at what I guessed would be his secret meditations now that he knew I had deceived him. At ten o’clock I told him to go and find out in what quarter the moon lay. He obeyed, and in a short time came back to say that in a quarter of an hour it would be quite dark, and that a thick fog was falling, which threatened to add a new danger to our attempted flight. ‘Never mind that,’ I replied, ‘but take your bundle and be ready to follow me.’ At these words, what was my surprise to find Sorodaci at my feet, seizing my hands, and imploring me, in a voice broken by sobs, not to lead him to certain death. ‘I shall be sure to fall into the canal,’ he whimpered, ‘and I cannot be of the least use in the world to you. Alas, leave me here, and I will pass the night in praying to St. Francis for your success. You may kill me if you like, but I will never follow you.’ The fool did not know how exactly he anticipated my wishes. ‘You are right,’ I replied, ‘and you may remain, but only on condition that you pray incessantly to St. Francis, and that you carry all the books I have left behind to the count’s room.’ He ran away without replying, and doubtless with a heart overflowing with joy. My books were worth about a hundred crowns, and the count told me that he would give me the money for them on my return. ‘You will never see me here again,’ I replied, ‘on that you may safely rely; but the value of the books may be taken as a set off against your loan of the sequins. As for this scoundrel I am delighted to think he has not the courage to follow me, for I should not know what to do with him; and besides he is altogether unworthy to share the honour of such an escape as this with Balbi and myself.’ ‘Very good,’ replied the count; ‘only take care that to-morrow he has not occasion to congratulate himself on his cowardice.’

“It was now time to go, for the moon had disappeared, and it was quite dark. I tied half our bundle of cords round Balbi’s shoulders, together with his own bundle of clothes; and having equipped myself in the same way, we made for the opening in the roof.

“I went out first, and Balbi followed. I had the crowbar in my right hand, and, using this as a kind of prop, I contrived, by crawling on all fours, to reach the summit of the roof. The monk clung to my waistband, and I dragged him up, so that I was like a beast of burden groaning under a double load; and all this on a sloping roof, rendered quite slippery by a dewy fog.

“When we were about half way up, the monk implored me to stop, as he had lost one of his packets, and hoped to be able to find it in the gutter. My first impulse was to give him a sound kick and to send him after his packet. But, happily, I was enabled to restrain myself, for to have lost his co-operation would have been to forfeit my only

chance of escape. I asked him if it was the packet of cords, and he informed me, to my great joy, that it was the other one, containing a valuable manuscript, which he had discovered in the prison, and which he hoped would be the means of making his fortune. I told him that we could not possibly return for it, for that a single retrograde step would be the ruin of us. The poor fellow breathed a deep sigh, and we went on climbing as before.

“At length, as I have said, we reached the summit of the roof. I comfortably got astride, and Father Balbi followed my example. Behind us was the little island of St. George the Greater, and a couple of hundred paces in front were the numerous cupolas of the church of St. Mark. My first act was to rid myself of my burden, and I invited my companion to do the same. He placed his bundle of cords under his thighs, as well as he could; but, wishing to take off his hat, which hurt him, and being awkward, it rolled from tile to tile, and at last joined the packet of clothes in the canal. My poor companion was in despair. ‘Bad omen!’ he exclaimed. ‘Here I am, at the beginning of our enterprise, without shirt or hat, without even my precious manuscript.’

“‘My dear fellow,’ I said, ‘these two accidents, which are far from discouraging me, prove to you that God protects us; for if your hat, instead of falling to the right, had fallen to the left, we should have been lost: it would have fallen into the court-yard of the palace, where the guards would have found it, and we should, before long, have been retaken.’

“After passing some minutes looking right and left, I told the monk not to stir from there till I returned; and I advanced, carrying only my crowbar in my hand, along the summit of the roof without any difficulty. I spent nearly an hour on the roof, going from side to side, observing; but in vain, for I could nowhere find a point to which to fasten the end of the rope. I was in the greatest perplexity. The canal and the palace court-yard were both out of the question, and on the top of the church I could see only precipices which led to no opening. To go beyond the church I should have had to climb ascents so steep that I saw it was impossible.

“Yet it was necessary to do something—either to get out or to return to the dungeon, never, perhaps, to come out again, or to throw myself into the canal. My eye was caught by a garret window on the side next the canal, and about two-thirds of the way down the slope of the roof. It was far enough from the place whence I had come out to enable me to judge that the garret it gave light to did not belong to the inclosure of the prison I had broken out from. It must be a loft over some apartment of the palace, the doors of which I should naturally find open at daybreak. Under this impression I thought it right to have a look at the garret window; and, sliding down gently, I was soon astride of the little roof. Leaning on my hands, and stretching forward, I was able to see and touch a little grating, behind which was a window with small panes of glass set in lead. The window was nothing, but the grating seemed an invincible obstacle, for without a file I did not see how I could remove it. I was confounded, when a very simple and natural thing revived my spirits. The clock of St. Martin’s striking midnight was the phenomenon which produced this effect. The clock reminded me that All Saints’ Day was setting in, and being the feast of my patron saint, the prediction of my Jesuit confessor recurred to me: ‘Know that you will not get out of this till the feast of the patron saint whose name you bear.’ But I own that what especially roused my courage and added to my strength was the profound oracle I had received from my beloved Ariosto: ‘Fra il fin d’ottobre, e il capo di novembre.’

“The stroke of the clock was like a speaking talisman calling on me to act, and promising victory. Extended at full length, with my head over the grating, I pushed the lock into the framework for it, and determined to tear it off bodily. In a quarter of an hour I had succeeded. I placed the grating aside, and I had no difficulty in breaking the glass out, despite my bleeding hands. Retracing my steps, I got back to where I had left my companion. He was furious. He heaped the grossest abuse on me for leaving him there so long. He assured me he was only waiting for it to strike one, to return to his prison.

“‘What did you think about me then?’

“‘I thought you had fallen down some precipice.’

“‘And you express your joy at seeing me by loading me with abuse?’

“‘What were you doing so long then?’

“‘Follow me, and you shall see.’

“Having picked up my packets, I made my way back to the garret window. When we reached it, I gave Balbi an exact account of what I had done, and consulted him as to how we should get into the garret. The thing was easy, I told him, for one of us, for by means of the rope he could be let down by the other; but I did not see how the second was to get down, having no means of fastening the rope. If I were to get in and let myself slip down, I might break my arms or legs, for I did not know the distance of the floor. To this reasoning in the most friendly tone, the brute replied, ‘Let me down, and when I am below you will have time enough to think of how to follow me.’

“I own that in my indignation I was tempted to bury my crowbar in his breast. My good genius restrained me, however. I did not utter a word of reproach for his base selfishness, but undoing my bundle of ropes, I tied them firmly under his arms, and getting him to be down flat, feet foremost, I lowered him on to the roof of the garret window. When he was there I bid him creep into the window as far as the hips, and to balance himself in that position. When that was done, I slid along the roof as before, and holding the rope firmly, told him to let go, and not be afraid. Having reached the floor, he untied the rope, and I found that the height was more than fifty feet.[B] The leap would be too dangerous. The monk cried out to me to throw him the ropes and he would take care. I was very careful not to follow his advice.

“Not knowing what to do, and waiting for an inspiration, I crept upon the summit of the roof, and my eye rested upon a spot near a cupola which I had not visited. I made my way to it. I found a scaffolding covered with plates of lead, near a large garret window, closed with two shutters. On it was a barrel of mortar, a trowel, and at one side a ladder which appeared long enough to assist me to descend to the loft where I had left my companion. Passing my rope through the first round, I dragged the ladder through the window. The point then was to get in this heavy mass which was twelve of my cubits long,[C] and the difficulty of the task made me repent having deprived myself of the monk’s assistance. I had pushed the ladder until one of the ends touched the window while the other reached a full third beyond the gutter. I got on to the top of the window, and dragging the ladder after me, I tied the rope to the eighth round, then I let it run until it was parallel with the window. I tried to pass it through the window, but found it impossible to get it past the fifth rung, for the end was stopped inside by the top of the window. I might have put the ladder across, tied the rope to it, and then slid down without danger, but the ladder would then have remained to point to where we were hiding.

“I did not wish to risk losing by imprudence the fruit of so much fatigue and danger, and to leave no trace the entire ladder must be got in. Being without help, I resolved to mount to the gutter, raise it, and shove it in. I did so, but with so much danger that it was a marvel I was not killed. I could let the ladder run with the rope without any fear of its falling into the canal, because it was in a manner hooked on to the spout by the third round. I lay on my stomach with my feet against the marble spout. I then raised the ladder half a foot, pushed it forward, and to my delight saw it enter about a foot. This diminished its weight. I had still to get it two feet farther by raising it as much, then by getting atop of the window by means of the rope I could get it in. I got on my knees to raise it, but the force I had to use made me shoot as far as the chest over the roof.

“It was a horrible moment: even now I tremble at it. The natural instinct of self-preservation made me almost unconsciously use all my strength to turn on my side and stop myself, and miraculously I succeeded. Happily I had nothing to fear for the ladder, for in the unlucky effort which was near costing me so dear, I had sent it more than three feet in, which fixed it immovable. In trying to clamber back to my former position I was seized with a cramp which deprived me of the use of my limbs. Retaining my self-possession, I lay still till the cramp passed. The moment was terrible, but in two minutes more I had the happiness to succeed in getting my knees back in the gutter. Lifting the ladder as soon as I had recovered breath, till it was parallel with the window, I then mounted on the top of the window, and easily got the whole of the ladder in, my companion catching one end of it, and then throwing in ropes, clothes, and the dÉbris of the window, I descended myself into the garret.

“Arm in arm we inspected the dark place we found ourselves in. It was about thirty paces long by twenty wide. At one end was a folding door barred with iron. It looked badly, but it opened at a touch. In the next enclosure we knocked up against a large table surrounded by seats and armchairs. Opening one of the windows we saw by the starlight only precipices between the cupolas. Shutting the window we returned to where we had left our packages, and as I was utterly exhausted, body and mind, I put one of them under my head and fell fast asleep. Had death stared me in the face I could not have kept awake, and well I remember the delightful pleasure of that sleep.

“I slept for three hours and a half, and was at last wakened by the shaking and cries of the monk. He told me five o’clock had struck, and that my sleeping was inconceivable. It was, however, not surprising. For two whole days excitement had prevented me from eating or sleeping; and, besides, the exertions I had just made would have exhausted any man. This sleep completely refreshed me, and there was now sufficient light to know what one was doing.

“When I cast my eyes about I cried out, ‘This is not a prison; there must be an exit easy to find.’ In a corner opposite the iron door I spied out another door; running my hand over it I found the key-hole. Putting in my crowbar I opened it, and we found ourselves in a little chamber, where a key lay on the table. With this key I opened another door opposite, sent the monk back for our clothes, replaced the key, and we entered a gallery, the niches of which were full of papers. It was the archives. We descended a stone staircase, and then another, and at the bottom found a glass door, which we opened, and were in a hall I knew—the ducal chancellery. I opened a window. I could easily have got out, but I should have found myself in the labyrinth of little streets surrounding the church of St. Mark. God protect me from such folly!

“I tried the lock of the door; but finding it impossible to force it, I decided on making a hole in one of the panels. The monk aided me, trembling at the noise my crowbar made each time I tried to drive it through the plank; such a noise was sure to be heard at a distance. I felt the danger, but it was necessary to brave it.

“In half an hour the hole was large enough. Had it not been, I could not have enlarged it without a saw. The sides of this hole bristled with points, liable to tear the clothes and lacerate the flesh. It was five feet from the ground. Placing two chairs together under it we mounted on them, and I pushed the monk through. Then I handed him our bundles, and placing another chair on these two, I scrambled through the hole, the monk dragging me, tearing my side and legs till the blood flowed in streams. Going down two staircases, I opened a door at the bottom and entered the passage, where the great gate of the royal staircase is situate, and beside the door of the cabinet of the Savio alla Scrittura. The great gate was fastened, and I saw at a glance I could not force it.

“Calm, resigned, and perfectly tranquil, I seated myself, telling the monk to do the same. ‘My work is finished.’ said I; ‘the rest is now in the hands of God and fortune.’

“‘I don’t know whether the palace sweepers will come here either to-day, All Saints’ Day, or to-morrow, All Souls Day. Should any one come I shall save myself as soon as the door is opened, and do you follow me. But if no one comes, here I remain, were I to die of hunger.’

“At this the poor man became furious: he called me mad, desperado, a seducer, traitor, liar. Six o’clock struck. It was only an hour since I awoke in the garret.

“What chiefly occupied my thoughts was, how to get a change of clothes. Father Balbi was dressed as a peasant, and his clothes were intact; while I could inspire only horror and pity, for I was covered with blood, and my dress was in rags. Tearing up my handkerchief, I staunched my wounds. I gathered my hair into my purse, drew on white stockings, a lace shirt, and put on my fine coat. I then resembled a man who had been at a ball and passed the night at a tavern and got disordered there.

“Thus decked out, my fine hat, with Spanish lace and black plume on my head, I opened a window. Some idlers in the court, not understanding how one so dressed could be in such a place so early, ran to inform those who were in charge. The doorkeeper immediately came and opened the door, supposing he had locked somebody in the previous evening. Hearing him coming, I told the monk to be silent, and placed close by the door.

“When the man opened it he was stupefied at my appearance. Profiting by his confusion I passed out without saying a word. Without appearing to fly, I took the magnificent staircase called the ‘Giants’, and passed on without heeding the monk, who kept calling to enter the church. He knew as well as I did that churches were no longer sanctuaries in Venice, but in his terror he forgot the fact.

“I made my way at once for the frontier. I hastened straight to the royal gate of the ducal palace, traversed the piazetta, and stepped with the monk, who had followed me, into the first gondola I met, telling the gondolier I wished to go to Fusine, and to call another rower.

“When we had passed the custom-house, I asked the gondolier if we could reach Mestre before eight.

“‘But, sir,’ said he, ‘you told me to go to Fusine.’

“I told him he was mistaken. The other gondolier insisted he was not, and the stupid monk joined them. I could have knocked his head off. But I laughed, said probably I was wrong, but that I wished to go to Mestre, and for Mestre we started.

“Arrived at Mestre I hired a carriage. I mounted; and as we were starting I turned to make a remark to Father Balbi: he was not at my side. I sent a stable-boy for him, but he was not to be found. I looked into a tavern, and found him taking a cup of chocolate. Repressing my indignation, I got him out, and we were getting into the carriage again, when a man came up who knew me, and who had the reputation of being a familiar of the inquisition of the republic. He saluted me, said he was happy to see me, and asked how I had escaped.

“‘I have not escaped, sir; I have been discharged.’

“‘Impossible, sir; for only yesterday I was at Signor Grimani’s, and I should have heard it there.’

“Descending from the carriage, I asked him to step aside with me behind the house. There I seized him, and raised my crowbar to strike; but he broke from me and ran away. When he had got at a safe distance he kissed hands, in token that he wished me a happy voyage, and I thanked God I had not taken his life.

“Arrived at Trevisa, I ordered a post carriage for ten o’clock; but I had no intention of using it, for I had not the means to pay for it; and I feared, hungry as I was, I did not even dare to break my fast.

“Passing out of the gate of the city I took to the fields, determined not to get on the road again while in the territories of the republic. For safety sake, to avoid any ambuscades that might lie in wait for me on the shortest route, I everywhere took the longest way. After three hours’ walking I threw myself on the ground exhausted, and sent the monk to a neighbouring farmer’s house for food, and a good dinner was soon sent me by a girl. After walking for four hours more we sat down, and I told the monk we must separate to pass the frontiers, but that we should meet again at Borgo di Val Sugana, and I directed him how to go, making him a present of my cloak. Giving him all the money that remained to me, I appointed finally a place for meeting in two days. He refused to leave me, reminding me of the promise I had made when inducing him to help my escape—that I would never separate from him. I rose with much effort, took his measure, and began to dig a hole, without answering his questions. After a quarter of an hour’s work I told him to prepare his soul, for I was going to bury him, if he drove me to it by his obstinacy. He still refused to go; but at length, either from fear or reflection, he consented, and we embraced one another. When he had gone, I approached a shepherd, asked the name of the village and the owners of several houses, and decided to apply for a night’s lodging at the house of the chief of the sbirri, inquiring from a child playing in the yard where her father was.”

The child called its mother, who mistook Cassanova for Signor Vitturi, who had promised to become godfather to her child. She told him her husband had been summoned to search for two prisoners who had escaped from the leads, and that she did not expect him back for two or three days. He explained that he had received his hurts in a fall from his horse, and the mother of his hostess eagerly dressed them. He was served an excellent supper, and after twelve hours’ refreshing sleep, set out again at five in the morning. After five hours’ travelling he heard a bell, and remembering it was All Souls’ Day, he entered the church, and met there one he had thought his friend. This friend was very eager to hear the story of his escape, but refused him any assistance. At an isolated farmhouse, however, he was well entertained, and again at a Capuchin convent. At the house of another friend he was refused even a drink of water; but,

crowbar in hand, he extorted six sequins. He passed the night at a farmhouse. In the morning he bought some old clothes and an ass, and on its back he passed the frontier, without being even asked his name. He arrived early at Borgo, where he found the monk, who told him, by way of welcome, that he had not expected him.