The Rupa Book Of Great Escape Stories

by Ruskin Bond

  Having thus secured a clear field for his operations, he moved his bed out of the alcove, lighted the lamp, and set vigorously to work on the floor with his stiletto. The deals were sixteen inches broad, and he began to make the hole at the point where two of them joined. At the outset the chips were no bigger than grains of corn, but they soon increased to respectable splinters. After having worked for six hours he desisted, and gathered the chips into a napkin, intending to throw them behind the lumber in the garret. When by dint of much toil he had penetrated through this plank, he found beneath it another of equal thickness, which was succeeded by a third. Three weeks were consumed in getting through these multiplied impediments. When he had conquered them, he came to a still more formidable obstacle—a sort of pavement, composed of small pieces of marble. On this his stiletto could make no impression. His resourceful brain, however, discovered a method of surmounting this difficulty. Taking the hint from a well-known proceeding ascribed to Hannibal, he moistened the mortar with vinegar, and softened it so much, that at the end of four days he was enabled to remove the pieces of marble. There was yet another plank to cut through, and as the hole was already ten inches deep, this part of his task was exceedingly troublesome and laborious.

  Prone on the ground, quite naked, and streaming with perspiration, his lamp standing lighted in the hole, Casanova had been working at the last plank for three hours of a sultry day in June, when he was startled by the rattling of bolts in the anterooms. He had barely time to blow out the lamp, push the bed back into its place, and throw upon it the mattress and bedding, before Lorenzo entered. The jailer brought with him a prisoner, and congratulated the tenant of the cell on having such a companion. The new-comer exclaimed, 'Where am I? and where am I to be confined? What a heat, and what a smell! With whom am I to be imprisoned?' As soon as the captives could see each other, a mutual recognition took place. The person whom Lorenzo had installed in the cell was Count Fanarola, an agreeable and honourable man of middle age, who was committed for some trifling remarks that he had been so imprudent as to make in a public place. Casanova, who was well acquainted with the count, confided to him the secret of his project, and was encouraged to persevere. Fanarola was liberated in the course of a few days.

  Left once more alone, Casanova resumed his toilsome occupation. It was protracted by a circumstance which he had feared might happen, but was unable to prevent. When he had made a small perforation in the last plank, he found that the room beneath was, as he had supposed, the secretary's; but he found also that he had made his aperture just over a large cross-beam, which would hinder his descent. He was therefore obliged to widen the hole on the other side, so as to keep clear of this impediment. In the meantime he carefully stopped up the small perforation with bread, that the light of his lamp might not be perceived. It was not till the 23rd of August 1756 that he brought his labour to a close. All was ready for breaking through; but he determined to postpone his escape till the 27th, the day after that being St Augustine's day, when he knew that the great council met, and that in consequence there would be no person in the Bussola, which adjoined the chamber through which he must pass.

  Though the delay was dictated by prudence, Casanova had reason to repent of it. 'On the 25th of August an event happened,' says he, 'which even now makes me shudder at the recollection of it. I heard the bolts drawn, and a death-like fear seized me; the beating of my heart shook my body, and I threw myself almost fainting into my arm-chair. Lorenzo, still in the garret, said to me through the grating in a tone of pleasure, 'I wish you joy of the news I bring.'

  'I imagined he had brought me my freedom, and I saw myself lost; the hole I had made would effectually debar me from liberty. Lorenzo entered, and desired me to follow him. I offered to dress myself, but he said it was unnecessary, as he was only going to remove me from this detestable cell to another quite new and well-lighted, with two windows, from which I could overlook half Venice, and could stand upright in. I was nearly beside myself I asked for some vinegar, and begged him to thank the secretary, but to entreat him to leave me where I was. Lorenzo asked me if I were mad to refuse to exchange a hell for a paradise; and offering his arm to aid me, desired my bed, books, etc to be brought after. Seeing it was in vain to oppose any longer, I rose and left my cage, and with some small satisfaction heard him order my chair to be brought with me; for in the straw of that was my stiletto hidden. Would it had been possible for my toilsome work in the floor to have accompanied me also!

  'Leaning on the shoulder of Lorenzo, who tried by laughing to enliven me, I passed through two long galleries, then over three steps into a large, light hall, and passed through a door at the left end of it into a corridor twelve feet long and two broad. The two grated windows in it presented to the eye a wide extensive view of a great part of the town; but I was not in a situation to rejoice at the prospect. The door of my destined prison was in the corner of this corridor, and the grating of it was opposite to one of the windows that lighted the passage, so that the prisoner could not only enjoy a great part of the prospect, but also feel the refreshment which the cool air of the open window afforded him—a balsam for any creature in that season of the year; but I could not think of all this at that moment, as the reader may easily conceive. Lorenzo left me and my chair, into which I threw myself, and he told me he would go for my bed.'

  Casanova remained motionless in his chair, as though he were petrified. His mind was agitated by a variety of feelings, in which disappointment and alarm were predominant. He had not only to lament that his hopes were blighted on the very eve of their being realised, but he had reason to fear that his punishment would be much increased. Clemency to state criminals was not an attribute of the Venetian government. He already seemed to himself to be condemned to dwell for life in the dark and silent dungeons called the wells, where, far beneath the level of the waves, the victim pined away existence amidst swarms of vermin, oozing waters, and noisome exhalations. At last, however, by a powerful mental effort, he in some measure recovered his composure.

  Shortly after his removal, two under-jailers brought his bed, and went back for the remainder of his things. They did not return; and for more than two hours he was kept in suspense. At length hurried footsteps and words of wrath were heard in the passage, and Lorenzo rushed into the apartment, hot with rage, and pouring forth a torrent of imprecations and blasphemies. He demanded the axe with which the hole had been made, the name of the faithless servant who had furnished it, and ordered his prisoner to be searched. Casanova, who knew his man, met him with scorn and defiance. The captive, the bed, and the mattress were examined, but nothing was found; luckily the under side of the arm-chair, into which the stiletto was thrust, was not looked into. 'So you won't tell me where the tools are that you used to cut through the floor?' said Lorenzo. 'I'll see if you'll confess to others.' Casanova answered with provoking coolness, 'If it be true that I have cut through the floor, I shall say that I had the tools from yourself, and that I have given them back to you.' This was too much for the jailer to bear; he began literally to howl, ran his head against the wall, stamped and danced like a madman, and finally darted from the room. The threat which Casanova had thrown out produced the effect which he probably expected from it. Lorenzo had the hole secretly filled up, and took special care to say nothing about it to his suspicious and vindictive masters.

  On quitting the cell, Lorenzo closed all the windows, so as to prevent the prisoner from inhaling a single breath of fresh air. The place was like an oven, and to sleep was rendered impossible. As he durst not report to his superiors the offence which had been committed, the jailer seems to have determined to revenge himself by making the culprit as uncomfortable as he could. In the morning sour wine, stinking water, tainted meat, and hard bread were brought to Casanova; and when he requested that the window might be opened, no answer was vouchsafed. The walls and the floor were examined with an iron bar by an under-keeper; and as the inmate had formerly objected to sweeping, his
cell was left undisturbed by a broom. The heat increased to such a degree, that Casanova began to think he should be suffocated; the perspiration dropped from him so profusely that he could not read or walk about; and he could neither eat nor drink of the disgusting food with which he was supplied. The same fare was furnished on the second day, and the same silence maintained by the malicious jailer. The prisoner grew furious, and determined that he would stab his tormentor on the following day; but prudence, or a better feeling, induced him to relinquish his purpose, and he contented himself with assuring Lorenzo, that as soon as he regained his liberty he would certainly throttle him.

  For a whole week Lorenzo kept up this system of annoyance. On the eighth day Casanova, in the presence of the under-turnkeys, imperiously demanded the monthly account, and called him a cheat. This demand seems to have awakened the jailer to a sense of his own interest. If he persisted in playing the tyrant, it was to be feared that no more sequins would be forthcoming for masses. His avarice got the better of his spleen, and he became tractable. A favourable opportunity for making his peace occurred at the moment. Bragadino sent to the prisoner a basket of lemons, which gift, with a chicken and a bottle of excellent water, Lorenzo presented to Casanova along with the account, ordering at the same time the windows to be opened. Conciliated by this unexpected change, Casanova desired that the balance of the account might be given to Lorenzo's wife, with the exception of a sequin, which was to be divided among his underlings. When they were alone he said calmly, 'You have told me that you are indebted to me for the tools you made the great opening in the floor of your cell with; I am not, therefore, curious to know anything more of that; but who gave you the lamp?' 'You yourself,' was the reply; 'you gave me oil, flint, and sulphur; the rest I had already.' 'That is true; can you as easily prove that I helped you to the tools to break through the floor?' 'Just as easily; I got everything from you.' 'Grant me patience! what do I hear? Did I give you an axe?' 'I will confess all; but the secretary must be present.' 'I will ask no further, but believe you. Be silent, and remember I am a poor man, and have a family.' He left the cell, holding his hands to his face.

  Though Lorenzo was obliged to be silent with respect to Casanova's attempt, he adopted precautions to prevent another from being made. Every day one of the attendants searched the floor and walls of the apartment with an iron bar. But the prisoner laughed at this useless care. It was neither through the walls nor the floor that he was planning to escape. He well knew that in those quarters nothing could be done. His new scheme was to find the means of opening a correspondence with the prisoner over his head, whom he would furnish with the stiletto, for the purpose of making an aperture, through which he himself might ascend into the upper cell. On reaching that cell, Casanova purposed to break another hole in the ceiling, get out upon the roof with his fellow-labourer, and either find some outlet, or let themselves down by the help of their linen and bedclothes.

  It is obvious that the success of such a project was so extremely doubtful, that it seemed to be the height of absurdity to reckon upon it. At the very outset, the commencing and carrying oh an intercourse with the prisoner above-stairs, appeared to present an almost insuperable difficulty. If that were surmounted, there was the chance that his confederate might be cowardly or treacherous, there was the hourly risk that their operations would be detected, and there was the danger which they must encounter in effecting their descent from the lofty summit of the prison. But the longing to recover freedom can inspire the captive with hope, though hope be lost. The first obstacle was unconsciously removed by Lorenzo himself That worthy had an insatiable love of gold, and could not bear to see the money of the prisoners pass into any other pockets than his own. Casanova satirically describes him as being one who would have sold St Mark himself for a dollar. The prisoner having desired him to purchase the works of Maffei, the jailer suggested that the expense might be saved by borrowing books from another captive, and lending his own in return. This suggestion was readily adopted by Casanova, who hoped that it might lead to a correspondence, which would forward his design. A volume of Wolff's writing was brought to him, in which he found a sheet of paper, containing a paraphrase in verse of a sentence from Seneca. He had neither pen nor pencil, but he nevertheless contrived to write some verses on the same paper, and a catalogue of his books on the last leaf of the volume. The nail of his little finger, shaped into a sort of pen, and some mulberry juice, were the materials which he employed.

  An answer, in the Latin language, came on the morrow with the second volume. The writer, who was the inhabitant of the cell above Casanova's, stated himself to be a monk, by name Marino Balbi, and of a noble Venetian family; Count Andreas Asquino, of Udina, was his fellow-prisoner. Both of them offered the use of their books. In reply, Casanova gave an account of himself, which drew forth a second epistle from the monk. In the next book was a letter of sixteen pages, and at the back of the volume, paper, pen, and pencil. These invaluable articles the two prisoners had procured by bribing Nicolo, the under-keeper who attended on them.

  Balbi, who had learned from Nicolo the particulars of the recent attempt to escape, was eager to know what were Casanova's present plans. At first Casanova hesitated to trust him, having conceived an unfavourable opinion of his character; but considering that he could not do without his assistance, he finally resolved to confide in him. The monk made some objections to the feasibility of the plan, which, however, were soon overruled. That Balbi might perforate the floor, it was necessary for him to have the stiletto; and Casanova was puzzled how to convey it to him. He at last hit upon a method. He directed Lorenzo to procure a large folio edition of a work which he specified, and which he thought would allow of the stiletto being concealed in the hollow between the binding and the leather back. Unluckily the stiletto proved to be two inches longer than the volume, and Casanova was obliged to task his ingenuity to find a remedy for this defect.

  'I told Lorenzo,' he says, 'that I was desirous of celebrating Michaelmas day with two great plates of macaroni, dressed with butter and Parmesan cheese, and that I wished to give one to the prisoner who had lent me his books. He answered that the same prisoner had expressed a wish to borrow my great book. I told him I would send it with the macaroni, and ordered him to procure me the largest dish he could; I would myself fill it. While Lorenzo went for the dish, I wrapped up the hilt in paper, and stuck it behind the binding. I was convinced that if I put a large dish of macaroni on the top of the book, Lorenzo's attention would be so occupied in carrying that safely, that he never would perceive the end of the iron projecting. I informed Balbi of this, and charged him to be particularly cautious to take the dish and book together. On Michaelmas day Lorenzo came with a great pan, in which the macaroni was stewed. I immediately added the butter, and poured it into both dishes, filling them up with grated Parmesan cheese; the dish for the monk I filled to the brim, and the macaroni swam in butter. I put the dish upon the volume, which was half as broad in diameter as the book was long, and gave them to Lorenzo, with the back of the book turned towards him, telling him to stretch out his arms, and to go slowly, that the butter might not run over the book. I observed him steadily; he could not turn his eyes away from the butter, which he feared to spill. He proposed to take the dish first, and then return for the book, but I told him by so doing my present would lose half its value; he consented to take both at last, observing that it would not be his fault if the butter ran over. I followed him with my eyes as far as I could, and soon heard Balbi cough three times, the concerted signal of the success of my stratagem.'

  Balbi now set to work with the stiletto. Though he was young and strong, he did not labour with the same spirit which had been displayed by Casanova, to whom he often wrote complaining of the toil that he had to encounter, and expressing his fears that it would be unavailing As, however, the floor presented but comparatively few obstacles, he had advanced so far by the middle of October, that only the last plank remained to be cut through.
To push in the ceiling was all that would then be requisite to open a passage, and this, of course, was not to be done till the moment arrived for their flight. But while Casanova was exulting in the idea of speedily regaining his liberty, a formidable impediment was thrown in his way. He heard the outer door open, and instantly made the preconcerted signal to Balbi to stop working. Lorenzo entered, accompanied by two of his underlings and a prisoner, and apologised for being obliged to bring him a scoundrel as a companion. The person he thus described was a very ill-looking, small, thin man, apparently between thirty and forty, wearing a shabby dress and a round black wig. After having ordered a mattress for the newcomer, and informed him that tenpence a day was allowed for his support, the jailer took his leave.

  The name of Casanova's unwelcome comrade was Sorodaci. He was a common informer, and a spy of the worst class, who was sent to prison for having deceived the council by false information, while at the same time he had betrayed his own cousin. He was intensely superstitious, his only vulnerable spot, and upon this Casanova worked. To wait till he was removed would have been to relinquish all hope of escape. The last night of October was fixed for the completion of the enterprise, as the inquisitors and their secretary annually visited some villages on the mainland on the 1st of November; and Lorenzo, taking advantage of their absence, usually made himself so merry, that he did not rise till late the next morning to visit his prisoners. Casanova persuaded the wretched spy that the Holy Virgin would send an angel to release him, through an aperture in the ceiling, in the space of five or six days, and so thoroughly did the dupe fall into the trap prepared for him, that Balbi was enabled to pursue his labours undisturbed till the 31st when all was ready.