The Historical Nights' Entertainment, Rafael Sabatini [freenovel24 .txt] 📗

impossible to cut through the ceiling in such a manner

as to leave the progress of the work unseen.

 

Hence his despair of breaking out of a prison where he had spent

over a year without trial or prospect of a trial, and where he seemed

likely to spend the remainder of his days. He did not even know

precisely why he had been arrested. All that Giacomo Casanova knew

was that he was accounted a disturber of the public peace. He was

notoriously a libertine, a gamester, and heavily in debt: also - and

this was more serious - he was accused of practising magic, as indeed

he had done, as a means of exploiting to his own profit the credulity

of simpletons of all degrees. He would have explained to the

Inquisitors of State of the Most Serene Republic that the books of

magic found by their apparitors in his possession - “The Clavicula

of Solomon,” the “Zecor-ben,” and other kindred works - had been

collected by him as curious instances of human aberration. But the

Inquisitors of State would not have believed him, for the Inquisitors

were among those who took magic seriously. And, anyhow, they had

never asked him to explain, but had left him as if forgotten in that

abominable verminous cell under the leads, until his patrician

friend had obtained him the mercy of this transfer to better quarters.

 

This Casanova was a man of iron nerve and iron constitution. Tall

and well-made, he was boldly handsome, with fine dark eyes and dark

brown hair. In age he was barely one and twenty; but he looked

older, as well he might, for in his adventurer’s way he had already

gathered more experience of life than most men gain in half a

century.

 

The same influence that had obtained him his change of cell had also

gained him latterly the privilege - and he esteemed it beyond all

else - of procuring himself books. Desiring the works of Maffai,

he bade his gaoler purchase them out of the allowance made him by

the Inquisitors in accordance with the Venetian custom. This

allowance was graduated to the social status of each prisoner. But

the books being costly and any monthly surplus from his monthly

expenditure being usually the gaoler’s perquisite, Lorenzo was

reluctant to indulge him. He mentioned that there was a prisoner

above who was well equipped with books, and who, no doubt, would be

glad to lend in exchange.

 

Yielding to the suggestion, Casanova handed Lorenzo a copy of

Peteau’s “Rationarium,” and received next morning, in exchange,

the first volume of Wolf. Within he found a sheet bearing in six

verses a paraphrase of Seneca’s epigram, “Calamitosus est animus

futuri anxius.” Immediately he perceived he had stumbled upon a

means of corresponding with one who might be disposed to assist

him to break prison.

 

In reply, being a scholarly rascal (he had been educated for the

priesthood), he wrote six verses himself. Having no pen, he cut

the long nail of his little finger to a point, and, splitting it,

supplied the want. For ink he used the juice of mulberries. In

addition to the verses, he wrote a list of the books in his

possession, which he placed at the disposal of his fellow-captive.

He concealed the written sheet in the spine of that vellum-bound

volume; and on the title-page, in warning of this, he wrote the

single Latin word “Latet.” Next morning he handed the book to

Lorenzo, telling him that he had read it, and requesting the

second volume.

 

That second volume came on the next day, and in the spine of it

a long letter, some sheets of paper, pens, and a pencil. The

writer announced himself as one Marino Balbi, a patrician and a

monk, who had been four years in that prison, where he had since

been given a companion in misfortune, Count Andrea Asquino.

 

Thus began a regular and very full correspondence between the

prisoners, and soon Casanova - who had not lived on his wits for

nothing - was able to form a shrewd estimate of Balbi’s character.

The monk’s letters revealed it as compounded of sensuality,

stupidity, ingratitude, and indiscretion.

 

“In the world,” says Casanova, “I should have had no commerce with

a fellow of his nature. But in the Piombi I was obliged to make

capital out of everything that came under my hands.”

 

The capital he desired to make in this instance was to ascertain

whether Balbi would be disposed to do for him what he could not do

for himself. He wrote inquiring, and proposing flight.

 

Balbi replied that he and his companion would do anything possible

to make their escape from that abominable prison, but his lack of

resource made him add that he was convinced that nothing was

possible.

 

“All that you have to do,” wrote Casanova in answer, “is to break

through the ceiling of my cell and get me out of this, then trust

to me to get you out of the Piombi. If you are disposed to make

the attempt, I will supply you with the means, and show you the

way.”

 

It was a characteristically bold reply, revealing to us the utter

gamester that he was in all things.

 

He knew that Balbi’s cell was situated immediately under the leads,

and he hoped that once in it he should be able readily to find a way

through the roof. That cell of Balbi’s communicated with a narrow

corridor, no more than a shaft for light and air, which was

immediately above Casanova’s prison. And no sooner had Balbi

written, consenting, than Casanova explained what was to do. Balbi

must break through the wall of his cell into the little corridor,

and there cut a round hole in the floor precisely as Casanova had

done in his former cell - until nothing but a shell of ceiling

remained - a shell that could be broken down by half a dozen blows

when the moment to escape should have arrived.

 

To begin with, he ordered Balbi to purchase himself two or three

dozen pictures of saints, with which to paper his walls, using as

many as might be necessary for a screen to hide the hole he would be

cutting.

 

When Balbi wrote that his walls were hung with pictures of saints,

it became a question of conveying the spontoon to him. This was

difficult, and the monk’s fatuous suggestions merely served further

to reveal his stupidity. Finally Casanova’s wits found the way.

He bade Lorenzo buy him an in-folio edition of the Bible which had

just been published, and it was into the spine of this enormous tome

that he packed the precious spontoon, and thus conveyed it to Balbi,

who immediately got to work.

 

This was at the commencement of October. On the 8th of that month

Balbi wrote to Casanova that a whole night devoted to labour had

resulted merely in the displacing of a single brick, which so

discouraged the faint-hearted monk that he was for abandoning an

attempt whose only result must be to increase in the future the

rigour of their confinement.

 

Without hesitation, Casanova replied that he was assured of success

- although he was far from having any grounds for any such

assurance. He enjoined the monk to believe him, and to persevere,

confident that as he advanced he would find progress easier. This

proved, indeed, to be the case, for soon Balbi found the brickwork

yielding so rapidly to his efforts that one morning, a week later,

Casanova heard three light taps above his head - the preconcerted

signal by which they were to assure themselves that their notions

of the topography of the prison were correct.

 

All that day he heard Balbi at work immediately above him, and again

on the morrow, when Balbi wrote that as the floor was of the

thickness of only two boards, he counted upon completing the job on

the next day, without piercing the ceiling.

 

But it would seem as if Fortune were intent upon making a mock of

Casanova, luring him to heights of hope, merely to cast him down

again into the depths of despair. Just as upon the eve of breaking

out of his former cell mischance had thwarted him, so now, when

again he deemed himself upon the very threshold of liberty, came

mischance again to thwart him.

 

Early in the afternoon the sound of bolts being drawn outside froze

his very blood and checked his breathing. Yet he had the presence

of mind to give the double knock that was the agreed alarm signal,

whereupon Balbi instantly desisted from his labours overhead.

 

Came Lorenzo with two archers, leading an ugly, lean little man of

between forty and fifty years of age, shabbily dressed and wearing

a round black wig, whom the tribunal had ordered should share

Casanova’s prison for the present. With apologies for leaving

such a scoundrel in Casanova’s company, Lorenzo departed, and the

newcomer went down upon his knees, drew forth a chaplet, and began

to tell his beads.

 

Casanova surveyed this intruder at once with disgust and despair.

Presently his disgust was increased when the fellow, whose name

was Soradici, frankly avowed himself a spy in the service of the

Council of Ten, a calling which he warmly defended from the contempt

universally - but unjustly, according to himself - meted out to it.

He had been imprisoned for having failed in his duty on one occasion

through succumbing to a bribe.

 

Conceive Casanova’s frame of mind - his uncertainty as to how long

this monster, as he calls him, might be left in his company, his

curbed impatience to regain his liberty, and his consciousness of

the horrible risk of discovery which delay entailed! He wrote

to Balbi that night while the spy slept, and for the present their

operations were suspended. But not for very long. Soon Casanova’s

wits resolved how to turn to account the weakness which he

discovered in Soradici.

 

The spy was devout to the point of bigoted, credulous superstition.

He spent long hours in prayer, and he talked freely of his special

devotion to the Blessed Virgin, and his ardent faith in miracles.

 

Casanova - the arch-humbug who had worked magic to delude the

credulous - determined there and then to work a miracle for Soradici.

Assuming an inspired air, he solemnly informed the spy one morning

that it had been revealed to him in a dream that Soradici’s devotion

to the Rosary was about to be rewarded; that an angel was to be sent

from heaven to deliver him from prison, and that Casanova himself

would accompany him in his flight.

 

If Soradici doubted, conviction was soon to follow. For Casanova

foretold the very hour at which the angel would come to break into

the prison, and at that hour precisely - Casanova having warned

Balbi - the noise made by the angel overhead flung Soradici into

an ecstasy of terror.

 

But when, at the end of four hours, the angel desisted from his

labours, Soradici was beset by doubts. Casanova explained to him

that since angels invariably put on the garb of human flesh when

descending upon earth, they labour under human difficulties. He

added the prophecy that the angel would return on the last day of

the month, the eve of All Saints’- two days later - and that he

would then conduct them out of captivity.

 

By this means Casanova ensured that no betrayal should be feared

from the thoroughly duped Soradici, who now spent the time in

praying, weeping, and talking of his sins and of the

inexhaustibility of divine grace. To make doubly sure, Casanova

added the most terrible oath that if, by a