I put my bar in the keyhole, but
finding immediately that I could not break it open, I resolved on making
a hole in the door. I took care to choose the side where the wood had
fewest knots, and working with all speed I struck as hard and as cleaving
strokes as I was able. The monk, who helped me as well as he could with
the punch I had taken from the desk, trembled at the echoing clamour of
my pike which must have been audible at some distance. I felt the danger
myself, but it had to be risked.

In half an hour the hole was large enough--a fortunate circumstance, for
I should have had much trouble in making it any larger without the aid of
a saw. I was afraid when I looked at the edges of the hole, for they
bristled with jagged pieces of wood which seemed made for tearing clothes
and flesh together. The hole was at a height of five feet from the
ground. We placed beneath it two stools, one beside the other, and when
we had stepped upon them the monk with arms crossed and head foremost
began to make his way through the hole, and taking him by the thighs, and
afterwards by the legs, I succeeded in pushing him through, and though it
was dark I felt quite secure, as I knew the surroundings. As soon as my
companion had reached the other side I threw him my belongings, with the
exception of the ropes, which I left behind, and placing a third stool on
the two others, I climbed up, and got through as far as my middle, though
with much difficulty, owing to the extreme narrowness of the hole. Then,
having nothing to grasp with my hands, nor anyone to push me as I had
pushed the monk, I asked him to take me, and draw me gently and by slow
degrees towards him. He did so, and I endured silently the fearful
torture I had to undergo, as my thighs and legs were torn by the
splinters of wood.

As soon as I got through I made haste to pick up my bundle of linen, and
going down two flights of stairs I opened without difficulty the door
leading into the passage whence opens the chief door to the grand
staircase, and in another the door of the closet of the 'Savio alla
scrittura'. The chief door was locked, and I saw at once that, failing a
catapult or a mine of gunpowder, I could not possibly get through. The
bar I still held seemed to say, "Hic fines posuit. My use is ended and
you can lay me down." It was dear to me as the instrument of freedom, and
was worthy of being hung as an 'ex voto' on the altar of liberty.

I sat down with the