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
[Illustration: I heard the sound of a door being unbolted.]
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.