by Ami Bhat
Time to get to work, he thought as he blew a kiss to a group of girls giggling. Approaching the one in blue, he playfully asked, “Pretty lady, would you be kind enough to give me the pleasure of one dance?” He could feel her blush through her mask as she took his proffered hand. He expertly swung her around, leading her to the center of the floor. A quick twirl, and he seamlessly switched his partner for a slightly older looking lady in a peach gown.
“Oh my! Looks like I accidentally got exchanged,” remarked his new partner as she gave him a once-over.
“Not with regret, I hope?” he asked playfully.
“That,” she replied, “remains to be seen. Whoa!” She exclaimed as he lifted her by her waist and twirled her into his arms. He dipped her low, carelessly brushing his fingers against her bosom. Bringing her up, he leaned close to her to whisper, “And I hope that is satisfactory.”
The music changed, allowing him to draw her closer. He could feel her pulse quicken as he matched every move with hers. The battle between resistance and temptation ensued as she bumped against his chest and then moved away only to come closer and lean against his arms longer than needed.
The flirting with music continued unseen by all except a pair of old eyes.
Over the next few weeks, the old eyes continued to follow him. The eyes caught him kissing her when riding the old gondolas and sneaked upon him making love to her in the corners of the abandoned bridges.
With every passing day, the eyes noticed that he had become bolder. But today, it was different. The inquisitive eyes noted how he had stealthily entered her house at midnight. “It is time to report,” decided the onlooker, as he pulled out a scroll and penned his observation. The next day, the letter found its way into the jaws of the Bocca di Leone14 at the Doge’s Palace.
A gust of cold air made her snuggle against him. He pulled her closer and traced a finger along her body lasciviously. She giggled and rested her head on his chest. He waited till her breathing had regularized. Then carefully, he transferred her to her pillow and stood up. Scrambling into his clothes, he looked at her. “Ciao, Madame. It was fun while it lasted.” His work there was done!
Normally, they lasted only a week. He loved the variety—the long and lithe blondes, the curvy black heads, the feisty red-hairs; they all were made to pleasure him. It only took one conversation for them to succumb to his charm. Ensnared by his touch and attention, they all became his slaves. However, one was never enough for him. He moved from the petite, blue eyes in the morning to the lusty brown ones at noon, and at night, it would be the green-eyed blond.
This time though, he needed the affair to last longer, and so, he took it slow after the masquerade ball. He started with casual gondola rides, slowly tempting her with kisses. Stolen moments by the abandoned bridges ignited her senses, and soon, she opened the door of her mansion for more. It took him a few weeks to find where the treasure lay, and tonight, when she had slept, he gathered it all up into a bundle—the papers, the coins, and the jewelry.
He blew a kiss towards her as he climbed out of her window and leaped down into the street only to find the pair of old eyes grinning back at him. Someone grabbed his hands from the back while a voice announced, “By the power vested in me by the Doge of Venice, I place you, Giacomo Casanova, under arrest for your irreligious conduct, debauchery, treachery, and sins against the church. You are hereby sentenced to five years in Piombi15.”
Piombi in Doge’s Palace – Year 1756
A small ray of light sliced through the hole in the crater. “Hallelujah,” cheered Casanova as he attempted to squint through the tiny pore. Three days! Three more days to freedom! he thought.
That deserves a little rejoice. He smiled as he turned around and lay down on his back. It had been hours and days of deliberate digging of the wooden floor. His fingers ached due to the constant brushing. It was the constant labor and the thought of freedom that kept him sane over the last thirteen months. Thirteen damn months since I had a body to warm me. Staring at the dank lead ceiling, he recollected the first time he was thrown got the prison.
He was marched up the Giant’s Staircase, through the Foscari Arch of the Doge’s Palace to the attic and right over the Hall of the Great Council. “Crawl in. This is your home for the next five years,” laughed the Grand Inquisitor.
“Oh! I will get off at the trial,” said Casanova.
“Trial? You wish!” scoffed the Grand Inquisitor. “There will be none, for I have with my own eyes witnessed them all. I saw you commit adultery when you bedded my wife. And then, the acts of sins when you deflowered the other girls. Not to mention gambling and theft in my own house. The possession of state secrets that you stole from my mansion. And you want a trial?”
The Grand Inquisitor smirked and continued. “My complaint sent through the Bocca di Leone was signed off by the Doge and the council of ten.”
As the cell door closed on him, he heard the Inquisitor’s last words. “Now think about your sins in the dark.”
Dark and frigid it was. The low lead ceiling allowed the cold to seep through into the cell, freezing him. Neither could he stand up, nor could he walk. All he could do was huddle up or crawl. The fleas bit into his skin, and all he could do was just lie there and brush them off.
Only once in the day, a guard would open the door and let him walk around the attic corridor. It was on one of those walks that he saw a piece of shining metal on the floor. Grabbing it, he hid it under his clothes. Once in the safety of his cell, he pulled it out and felt it. Finding a sharp pointed edge, he scraped it against the wooden floor.
Screech!
He stopped and waited to see if anyone had heard it. Getting no reaction, he tried again and again till he established a slow rhythm of sound that blended with other notes of the night. Thus started the ordeal of creating a crater.
The little hole was the first victory he had. He knew that he would fall straight into the Council hall, and there was a high likelihood of him getting caught, but he was confident that he would still escape.
And soon, I will be in the arms of the brunette. He smiled as he turned and began the ordeal again.
A few weeks later, in a new cell of the Piombi in Doge’s Palace – Year 1756
“Tonight!” The single word on the tiny parchment hidden in the folds of the bible made him smile. It was finally happening. He tried not to get excited, especially given the stroke of bad luck he had four weeks ago. His thoughts meandered to that fateful day when his best-laid plans fell apart.
It was morning when he was lying on his back, dreaming of the milkmaid’s luscious body. He found himself aroused as he imagined the steamy affair on a heap of hay in her cowshed. Just two more days to turn my fantasy into reality. He was smiling lazily when suddenly he heard footsteps. The cell door opened, and someone barked, “Get out here, Casanova.”
Squinting in the sudden bout of light, he crawled out of the prison. A guard pulled him to his feet and tied his hands behind him. He shoved him forward, just as his superior shouted, “Walk behind me.”
Following him, unsteadily on his feet, Casanova asked, “Where are you taking me?”
“To your new chambers in the Piombi,” came the reply. Casanova stopped walking and looked at the guard, aghast. His dreams had just come crashing down. “No! No new chambers! I will not go.”
Flabbergasted, the guards looked at each other. “Not go? I thought you would be begging us to move you to a better cell. And here, you say you will not go?”
“I did not ask, and I don’t want to move. You can’t make me,” Casanova declared.
“No one is asking you. Here a benefactor takes pity on you, and you dare refuse. You don’t deserve the comfort, and if it were up to the Special Inquisitor, you would still be in that rabbit hole. Soft-hearted was the Doge who overruled in your favor.” Turning to his companion, he said, “Just follow the orders we have and drag this dog if you have to.”
And so, amid his loud protests, he w
as pulled and pushed into a larger cell of the Piombi. In some ways, it was an improvement over the previous one, with a bit of light, space to stand up and walk, and perks like books. However, the loss of last labor made him resent the space. With a cellmate to keep him company, he was no longer lonely, but at the same time, he could not plot an escape openly.
He sulked for a few days, refusing to eat and even obey the guards. He lamented the turn of fate that had him abandon his escape plan…until he met Father Balbi.
The disgraced monk was imprisoned alone in the low-roofed cell right next to him. A chance meeting in the courtyard led to an exchange of books between the two prisoners. Taking advantage of that facility, Casanova sowed the seeds of escape through a secret letter hidden in the folds of the book. Along with that, he sent Father Balbi his precious iron tool, and thus began the slow scraping of his neighbor’s ceiling.
“Tonight!” Casanova re-read the little parchment. It was just the right time. The guards would be distracted by the annual masquerade ball in the courtyard. Hopefully, all would be well. He crossed his fingers and lay down, this time not daring to dream.
Creak! Crunch! Crash!
Casanova’s heart started racing as he heard the ceiling in his neighbor’s cell give way.
“What’s that?” asked his sleepy cellmate.
Casanova got up from his bed and walked towards his cellmate. “Nothing that you need to worry about, especially…if you know what is good for you.” In a flash, he covered his cellmate’s mouth and gave him a sharp whack on his head. Just as the man fell unconscious, the scraping and pounding noise grew louder. Father Balbi had begun work on Casanova’s ceiling.
Screech! Crack! Scrap! Bam!
The roof of his cell came apart. Through the cloud of splinters, Casanova looked up at the hole and found the face of a grinning Father Balbi. He looked around, alert in case a guard came by. Seeing no one, he jumped up to grab Father Balbi’s hand. The first few tries were a little frustrating. He grabbed all possible objects in his cell, stood over it, and leaped up. But he could not even touch the outstretched hand.
Finally, Father Balbi removed his monk habit and tied it to the filthy bedsheet from his cell. He lowered the makeshift rope. Grabbing onto it, Casanova began a slow ascent. At the same time, Father Balbi pulled the rope slowly, trying his best not to disintegrate it. With that little ascend, Casanova managed to grab the monk’s hand and, finally, clamor onto the roof. The two men lay panting on the floor. They exchanged a grin, got onto their feet, and took deep breaths of liberation. The two men stood on the palace roof, taking in the party scene below.
Looking around, Casanova realized that they had no way to get down. They could either jump into the narrow canals, which would be a sure-shot way to die, or fall into the courtyard, where they might be captured.
“I made it so far; I am not giving up. There has to be a way,” he remarked to Father Balbi. The two men walked around, trying to figure out the best options.
“There is that window.” Father Balbi pointed to the adjoining tower. “It is far, but if we can get to it…maybe tie this rope around the waist and leap there…”
“I’d rather die trying than get captured,” announced Casanova. “Here! Tie it around my waist and hold the other end.”
Father Balbi did as told. Securing the other end, he gave Casanova a thumbs-up. Casanova took a deep breath and, with all his might, leaped for the open portal. He bit his tongue as he flew through the air. One of his hands just caught onto the ledge and broke his fall. Panting with relief, he slowly pulled himself up. He untied himself and secured the rope in his hands, signaling to Father Balbi.
His partner-in-crime was not as lucky as him. He missed the window and would have fallen to his death had it not been for the rope around his waist. Slowly, he pulled himself up through the window and fell over Casanova.
“We made it!” said Father Balbi, lying there on the floor, sobbing with tears of relief.
“Not yet, my friend. It is time for one last masquerade,” beamed Casanova.
The masquerade ball had just gotten over. The guard was just closing the main gate after the last of the guests had exited. Suddenly, he heard footsteps along the Scala D’Oro16. Two masked men ran down, and the younger one commanded, “Wait. Let us out.”
“Who might you be, Sire?” asked the guard. “I was told to close it immediately by His Serenity himself.”
“And by the orders of the same Lord, I command you to open. Secret Service business,” he said, slowly unfurling a parchment with the official seal of the Doge.
“Apologies. I did not know there was a meeting in progress,” said the guard, opening the gate.
“All matters of the state. Farewell,” remarked the man as he walked out with his companion.
The two men walked a distance and turned back to see the closed gates of Doge’s Palace. They shook hands and walked away in opposite directions.
The next morning, hell broke loose in the Doge’s Palace. Never had anyone escaped the Piombi. Casanova had just made history.
DOGE’s PALACE, VENICE, ITALY
The Giants Staircase of the Doge’s Palace in Venice
With its maze of canals, gondola rides, and picturesque bridges, Venice has since long drawn honeymoon couples from far and near. Marking an important chapter in this historic city is the Doge’s Palace. Located in the middle of St Mark’s Square, the palace was home to the elected justice of Venice commonly called the Doge. The stunning palace not only housed the living quarters of the highest authority of Venice but also included various chambers for the governing council of the Ten, the public meeting halls, and the dreaded prisons.
Casanova, the renowned lover, womanizer, and scam artist, was the only one who managed to escape the old prisons of the Palace. Following his escape, a new set of prisons were made on the opposite side of the palace. The new prisons could only be accessed through the palace via the Bridge of Sighs, called so as that would be the reaction of any prisoner to the last view of Venice and its canals before he was kept in the cell.
Even today, one can see the glory of the Doge’s Palace with its Giant’s Staircase and the Foscari Arch through which Casanova was brought, the Great council hall and the secret letterbox of Bocca di Leone, and the Golden staircase through which Casanova escaped. A special tour called the Secret Itineraries tour allows the visitors to relive the story of Casanova with access to his old prison cells.
Additional Reading
A walk through the Doge’s Palace in Venice - https://thrillingtravel.in/doges-palace-in-venice.html
The Eternal Cycle of Life
Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India
800 BC- Kashi Ghats
“Om Shanti…Shanti…Shanti…”
His deep voice dipped to a whisper in sync with the last bead of his Japamala17. Slowly, he opened his eyes and folded his hands in reverence to the flowing energy of Ganga Ma in front of him. He stood up and adjusted his white angavastra18 over his shoulder, covering a wheel-shaped red birth-scar. Hitching up his dhoti, he walked down the ghat19 for his ritualistic bath in the river Ganga. Just as he reached the last few steps, the serenity around him vanished.
The gentle waves rose like angry claws fighting with the hurricane that had suddenly arrived. The pink sky had turned purple, and the clouds clashed around, causing fierce lightning. The thunder reflected a rage, which got further magnified by the fierce shower of red-colored rain. As the Brahmin looked up to the sky, a shining piece of jewelry dropped by his feet.
The sparkling jewels on the delicate piece mesmerized him. He sensed a strange power emanating from it. He looked around but saw no one around. Neither could he find its matching pair. Bewitched by the powerful ornament, he felt as if he could never part from it. He folded it in his palm and hurriedly climbed up, rushing all the while to hide it and keep it safe!
His wet red eyes belied rage and sorrow at the same time. Having cut his beloved Sati into fifty-one pieces,
he had just let them drop onto the earth. He sought these fifty-one places where his love had fallen. Channelizing his fury, he attempted to immortalize each of these places as a Shaktipeeth20, a place where his love would be worshipped forever.
At last, he reached Kashi ghats in search of that lovely earring. The blood marks along the bank of Ganga indicated that some part of her had fallen there, but there was no sign of the ornament. He walked up and down the stairs in that area but found nothing of that last piece. His eyes scanned the empty banks until it fell on the lone Japamala and kamandal21. He realized what had happened and where the precious piece was. All he had to do was wait for the sunrise.
The next morning, the Brahmin searched through his humble possessions for his kamandal and beads. After a few moments, he realized that he had forgotten to pick them up from the ghat. No one would have taken them. They would still be there, he thought as he headed off to greet the sun at the Kashi ghat.
Usually, he was the first to offer the morning prayers, but today, there was someone else already meditating. The Brahmin looked around and saw his kamandal and beads next to the stranger. He quietly approached him. As he extended his hand to retrieve his belongings, the stranger caught it. The stranger opened his eyes; the rage within startled the Brahmin.
“Err…sir, these belong to me. I left them behind last evening after my prayers,” stammered the Brahmin.
“And you have something that belongs to me!” replied the stranger.
“Me? No, sir, you are mistaken. I am just a poor Brahmin.”
“Are you sure? You have nothing that does not belong to you? That you might have found and decided to keep?” hissed the stranger.
The Brahmin broke into a sweat on a cold winter morning. He gulped and shook his head in denial.
