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,