CASSANOVA DE SEINGALT.
1757.
Jacques Cassanova de Seingalt says of himself that he was one of the most good-for-nothing fellows in Venice when he was arrested; but, perhaps, in the sense in which he used the words this title may be considered too flattering for him. Be that as it may, however, his account of his imprisonment and escape at Venice is not wanting in interest. Many details are, no doubt, erroneous or exaggerated; not a few writers, indeed, have declared that Cassanova had no greater obstacle to surmount than the watchfulness of his gaolers, and that he found it an easy matter to gain them over by liberal presents; but these assertions, in their turn, have to be taken entirely on trust. All that seems certain is, that Cassanova escaped from the prison near the Bridge of Sighs. We quote from his own account of the exploit, without offering any guarantee of his veracity:—
“At daybreak on the 26th of July, 1755, the terrible Messer Grande came into my room while I lay asleep, and waking me with a rude shake, asked me if my name was Jacques Cassanova. On my replying in the affirmative, he told me to get up and dress myself, to give up every piece of writing I had in my possession, and to follow him.
“ ‘In whose name,’ I asked, ‘do you bring these orders?’
“ ‘In the name of the tribunal.’
“The word tribunal frightened me so much that I had only the strength left to yield him a passive obedience. I was led to a gondola, and Messer Grande took his seat by my side with an escort of four men. When we reached his house he offered me some coffee, but I refused it. I was then locked up in one of the rooms and closely guarded. At about three the captain of the archers came in and said that he had received orders to take me to prison, and I followed him without saying a word. We again took to the gondola, and after passing along many of the smaller canals came at last to the Grand Canal and landed on the Prison Quay (Riva de Schiavoni). We mounted several staircases and crossed the Bridge of Sighs, and at length found ourselves in the presence of a person in the dress of a patrician, who just glanced at me, and then ordered the guard to take me to my cell.”
Cassanova was now placed in a small chamber, opening, with many others, on a large gallery, in which were heaped together a number of the most diverse objects—official papers, decrees of the tribunals, and articles of furniture of every kind. The prisoners took their exercise in this gallery every day while the gaolers were sweeping out the cells. Cassanova suffered a good deal from the heat during the first few days of his incarceration, and fell ill, but he soon recovered and began to form plans for making his escape. One day, while exercising in the gallery, he found a kind of round bolt of iron and a piece of marble, and, hastily concealing them, took them back with him to his cell. He pointed the iron at his leisure by grinding it on the marble, though this was an operation of great difficulty and of the most fatiguing kind.
“After pondering for several days over the best way of using my chisel—or, rather, crowbar, for it was of considerable length—I resolved to make a hole with it through the flooring underneath my bed. I knew that the room to which this would give me access was that in which I had been received by the secretary of the inquisitors on my arrival; and I thought that if I could contrive to secrete myself under the council table during the night I might escape by running hastily out of the room as soon as the door was opened in the morning. I did not forget that in all probability I should find an archer on guard in the room, but I felt confident that my crowbar would enable me to dispose of him. The great difficulty lay in the thickness of the flooring. I should, perhaps, be engaged for two months in cutting my way through, and how was I to avoid discovery, meanwhile, when the guards came to sweep out my room? To forbid them to sweep it would be to awaken their suspicions, more especially as I had previously insisted on its being kept very clean. I began, however, by telling them not to trouble themselves to put the place in order; but in a few days Laurent, the gaoler, asked me the meaning of this unusual request. I replied that the dust raised by the sweepers was peculiarly disagreeable to me. This satisfied him for awhile, but he soon grew suspicious again, and not only ordered the cell to be swept out, but himself examined it most carefully in every corner with a lighted candle.”
Cassanova then cut his finger and rolled his handkerchief round the wound, telling Laurent that the sweeping had affected his lungs, and that he was beginning to spit blood. The surgeon of the place, who was, without doubt, in the prisoner’s interest, bled him, and declared that his life was in danger. The result was that the guards were ordered to discontinue the sweeping.