The Historical Nights' Entertainment by Rafael Sabatini (most important books to read .txt) 📖

since the height of the window

from the floor was unknown to them, and might be considerable. It

would be easy for one of them to lower the other by means of the

rope. But it was not apparent how, hereafter, the other was to

follow. Thus reasoned Casanova.

 

“You had better lower me, anyhow,” said Balbi, without hesitation;

for no doubt he was very tired of that slippery roof, on which a

single false step might have sent him to his account. “Once I am

inside you can consider ways of following me.”

 

That cold-blooded expression of the fellow’s egoism put Casanova

in a rage for the second time since they had left their prison.

But, as before, he conquered it, and without uttering a word he

proceeded to unfasten the coil of rope. Making one end of it

secure under Balbi’s arms, he bade the monk lie prone upon the

roof, his feet pointing downwards, and then, paying out rope, he

lowered him to the dormer. He then bade him get through the

window as far as the level of his waist, and wait thus, hanging

over and supporting himself upon the sill. When he had obeyed,

Casanova followed, sliding carefully down to the roof of the

dormer. Planting himself firmly, and taking the rope once more,

he bade Balbi to let himself go without fear, and so lowered him

to the floor - a height from the window, as it proved, of some

fifty feet. This extinguished all Casanova’s hopes of being able

to follow by allowing himself to drop from the sill. He was

dismayed. But the monk, happy to find himself at last off that

accursed roof, and out of all danger of breaking his neck, called

foolishly to Casanova to throw him the rope so that he might take

care of it.

 

“As may be imagined,” says Casanova, “I was careful not to take

this idiotic advice.”

 

Not knowing now what was to become of him unless he could discover

some other means than those at his command, he climbed back again

to the summit of the roof, and started off desperately upon another

voyage of discovery. This time he succeeded better than before.

He found about a cupola a terrace which he had not earlier noticed,

and on this terrace a hod of plaster, a trowel, and a ladder some

seventy feet long. He saw his difficulties solved. He passed an

end of rope about one of the rungs, laid the ladder flat along the

slope of the roof, and then, still astride of the apex, he worked

his way back, dragging the ladder with him, until he was once more

on a level with the dormer.

 

But now the difficulty was how to get the ladder through the window,

and he had cause to repent having so hastily deprived himself of

his companion’s assistance. He had got the ladder into position,

and lowered it until one of its ends rested upon the dormer, whilst

the other projected some twenty feet beyond the edge of the roof.

He slid down to the dormer, and placing the ladder beside him, drew

it up so that he could reach the eighth rung. To this rung he made

fast his rope, then lowered the ladder again until the upper end of

it was in line with the window through which he sought to introduce

it. But he found it impossible to do so beyond the fifth rung, for

at this point the end of the ladder came in contact with the roof

inside, and could be pushed no farther until it was inclined

downward. Now, the only possible way to accomplish this was by

raising the other end.

 

It occurred to him that he might, by so attaching the rope as to

bring the ladder across the window frame, lower himself hand over

hand to the floor of the attic. But in so doing he must have left

the ladder there to show their pursuers in the morning, not merely

the way they had gone, but for all he knew at this stage, the place

where they might then be still in hiding. Having come so far, at

so much risk and labour, he was determined to leave nothing to

chance. To accomplish his object then, he made his way down to the

very edge of the roof, sliding carefully on his stomach until his

feet found support against the marble gutter, the ladder meanwhile

remaining hooked by one of its rungs to the sill of the dormer.

 

In that perilous position he lifted his end of the ladder a few

inches, and so contrived to thrust it another foot or so through

the window, whereby its weight was considerably diminished. If he

could but get it another couple of feet farther in he was sure that

by returning to the dormer he would have been able to complete the

job. In his anxiety to do this and to obtain the necessary

elevation, he raised himself upon his knees.

 

But in the very act of making the thrust he slipped, and, clutching

wildly as he went, he shot over the edge of the roof. He found

himself hanging there, suspended above that terrific abyss by his

hands and his elbows, which had convulsively hooked themselves on

to the edge of the gutter, so that he had it on a level with his

breast.

 

It was a moment of dread the like of which he was never likely to

endure again in a life that was to know many perils and many

hairbreadth escapes. He could not write of it nearly half a

century later without shuddering and growing sick with horror.

 

A moment he hung there gasping, then almost mechanically, guided

by the sheer instinct of self-preservation, he not merely attempted,

but actually succeeded in raising himself so as to bring his side

against the gutter. Then continuing gradually to raise himself

until his waist was on a level with the edge, he threw the weight

of his trunk forward upon the roof, and slowly brought his right

leg up until he had obtained with his knee a further grip of the

gutter. The rest was easy, and you may conceive him as he lay

there on the roof’s edge, panting and shuddering for a moment to

regain his breath and nerve.

 

Meanwhile, the ladder, driven forward by the thrust that had so

nearly cost him his life, had penetrated another three feet

through the window, and hung there immovable. Recovered, he

took up his spontoon, which he had placed in the gutter, and,

assisted by it, he climbed back to the dormer. Almost without

further difficulty, he succeeded now in introducing the ladder

until, of its own weight, it swung down into position.

 

A moment later he had joined Balbi in the attic, and together

they groped about in it the dark, until finding presently a door,

they passed into another chamber, where they discovered furniture

by hurtling against it. Guided by a faint glimmer of light,

Casanova made his way to one of the windows and opened it. He

looked out upon a black abyss, and, having no knowledge of the

locality, and no inclination to adventure himself into unknown

regions, he immediately abandoned all idea of attempting to climb

down. He closed the window again, and going back to the other

room, he lay down on the floor, with the bundle of ropes for a

pillow, to wait for dawn.

 

And so exhausted was he, not only by the efforts of the past

hours, and the terrible experience in which they had culminated,

but also because in the last two days he had scarcely eaten or

slept, that straightway, and greatly to Balbi’s indignation and

disgust, he fell into a profound sleep.

 

He was aroused three and a half hours later by the clamours and

shakings of the exasperated monk. Protesting that such a sleep at

such a time was a thing inconceivable, Balbi informed him that it

had just struck five.

 

It was still dark, but already there was a dim grey glimmer of

dawn by which objects could be faintly discerned. Searching,

Casanova found another door opposite that of the chamber which

they had entered earlier. It was locked, but the lock was a poor

one that yielded to half a dozen blows of the spontoon, and they

passed into a little room beyond which by an open door they came

into a long gallery lined with pigeon-holes stuffed with

parchments, which they conceived to be the archives. At the end

of this gallery they found a short flight of stairs, and below

that yet another, which brought them to a glass door. Opening

this, they entered a room which Casanova immediately identified

as the ducal chancellery. Descent from one of its windows would

have been easy, but they would have found themselves in the

labyrinth of courts and alleys behind Saint Mark’s, which would

not have suited them at all.

 

On a table Casanova found a stout bodkin with a long wooden handle,

the implement used by the secretaries for piercing parchments that

were to be joined by a cord bearing the leaden seals of the Republic.

He opened a desk, and rummaging in it, found a letter addressed to

the Proveditor of Corfu, advising a remittance of three thousand

sequins for the repair of the fortress. He rummaged further,

seeking the three thousand sequins, which he would have appropriated

without the least scruple. Unfortunately they were not there.

 

Quitting the desk, he crossed to the door, not merely to find it

locked, but to discover that it was not the kind of lock that would

yield to blows. There was no way out but by battering away one of

the panels, and to this he addressed himself without hesitation,

assisted by Balbi, who had armed himself with the bodkin, but who

trembled fearfully at the noise of Casanova’s blows. There was

danger in this, but the danger must be braved, for time was slipping

away. In half an hour they had broken down all the panel it was

possible to remove without the help of a saw. The opening they

had made was at a height of five feet from the ground, and the

splintered woodwork armed it with a fearful array of jagged teeth.

 

They dragged a couple of stools to the door, and getting on to

these, Casanova bade Balbi go first. The long, lean monk folded

his arms, and thrust head and shoulders through the hole; then

Casanova lifted him, first by the waist, then by the legs, and so

helped him through into the room beyond. Casanova threw their

bundles after him, and then placing a third stool on top of the

other two, climbed on to it, and, being almost on a level with

the opening, was able to get through as far as his waist, when

Balbi took him in his arms and proceeded to drag him out. But it

was done at the cost of torn breeches and lacerated legs, and

when he stood up in the room beyond he was bleeding freely from

the wounds which the jagged edges of the wood had dealt him.

 

After that they went down two staircases, and came out at last in

the gallery leading to the great doors at the head of that

magnificent flight of steps known as the Giant’s Staircase. But

these doors - the main entrance of the palace - were locked, and,

at a glance, Casanova saw that nothing short of a hatchet would

serve to open them. There was no more to be done.

 

With a resignation that seemed to Balbi entirely cynical, Casanova

sat down on the floor.

 

“My task is ended,” he announced. “It is now