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diff --git a/2792-h/2792-h.htm b/2792-h/2792-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f490aa --- /dev/null +++ b/2792-h/2792-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7226 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>My Ten Years' Imprisonment, by Silvio Pellico</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, My Ten Years' Imprisonment, by Silvio Pellico, +Edited by Henry Morley, Translated by Thomas Roscoe + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: My Ten Years' Imprisonment + + +Author: Silvio Pellico + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: September 19, 2014 [eBook #2792] +[This file was first posted on 30 July 2000] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY TEN YEARS IMPRISONMENT*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1886 Cassell & Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL’S NATIONAL +LIBRARY.</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<h1><span class="GutSmall">MY</span><br /> +TEN YEARS’ IMPRISONMENT.</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +SILVIO PELLICO.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall"><i>TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN</i></span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br /> +THOMAS ROSCOE.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL & COMPANY, <span +class="smcap">Limited</span>:<br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>LONDON</i></span><span +class="GutSmall">, </span><span +class="GutSmall"><i>PARIS</i></span><span class="GutSmall">, +</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>NEW YORK & +MELBOURNE</i></span><span class="GutSmall">.</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1886.</span></p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Silvio Pellico</span> was born at Saluzzo, +in North Italy, in the year of the fall of the Bastille, +1789. His health as a child was feeble, his temper gentle, +and he had the instincts of a poet. Before he was ten years +old he had written a tragedy on a theme taken from +Macpherson’s Ossian. His chief delight as a boy was +in acting plays with other children, and he acquired from his +father a strong interest in the patriotic movements of the +time. He fastened upon French literature during a stay of +some years at Lyons with a relation of his mother’s. +Ugo Foscolo’s <i>Sepolcri</i> revived his patriotism, and +in 1810, at the age of twenty-one, he returned to Italy. He +taught French in the Soldiers’ Orphans’ School at +Milan. At Milan he was admitted to the friendship of +Vincenzo Monti, a poet then touching his sixtieth year, and of +the younger Ugo Foscolo, by whose writings he had been powerfully +stirred, and to whom he became closely bound. Silvio +Pellico wrote in classical form a tragedy, <i>Laodicea</i>, and +then, following the national or romantic school, for a famous +actress of that time, another tragedy, <i>Francesca di +Rimini</i>, which was received with great applause.</p> +<p>After the dissolution of the kingdom of Italy, in April 1814, +Pellico became tutor to the two children of the Count Porro +Lambertenghi, at whose table he met writers of mark, from many +countries; Byron (whose <i>Manfred</i> he translated), Madame de +Stael, Schlegel, Manzoni, and others. In 1819 Silvio +Pellico began publishing <i>Il Conciliatore</i>, a journal purely +literary, that was to look through literature to the life that it +expresses, and so help towards the better future of his +country. But the merciless excisions of inoffensive +passages by the Austrian censorship destroyed the journal in a +year.</p> +<p>A secret political association had been formed in Italy of men +of all ranks who called themselves the Carbonari (charcoal +burners), and who sought the reform of government in Italy. +In 1814 they had planned a revolution in Naples, but there was no +action until 1820. After successful pressure on the King of +the two Sicilies, the forces of the Carbonari under General Pepe +entered Naples on the ninth of July, 1820, and King Ferdinand I. +swore on the 13th of July to observe the constitution which the +Carbonari had proclaimed at Nola and elsewhere during the +preceding month. On the twenty-fifth of August, the +Austrian government decreed death to every member of a secret +society, and <i>carcere duro e durissimo</i>, severest pains of +imprisonment, to all who had neglected to oppose the progress of +Carbonarism. Many seizures were made, and on the 13th of +October the gentle editor of the <i>Conciliatore</i>, Silvio +Pellico, was arrested as a friend of the Carbonari, and taken to +the prison of Santa Margherita in Milan.</p> +<p>In the same month of October, the Emperors of Austria and +Russia, and the Prince of Prussia met at Troppau to concert +measures for crushing the Carbonari.</p> +<p>In January, 1821, they met Ferdinand I. at Laybach and then +took arms against Naples. Naples capitulated on the 20th of +March, and on the 24th of March, 1821, its Revolutionary council +was closed. A decree of April 10th condemned to death all +persons who attended meetings of the Carbonari, and the result +was a great accession to the strength of this secret society, +which spread its branches over Germany and France.</p> +<p>On the 19th of February, 1821, Silvio Pellico was transferred +to imprisonment under the leads, on the isle of San Michele, +Venice. There he wrote two plays, and some poems. On +the 21st of February, 1822, he and his friend Maroncelli were +condemned to death; but, their sentence being commuted to twenty +years for Maroncelli, and fifteen years for Pellico, of +<i>carcere duro</i>, they entered their underground prisons at +Spielberg on the 10th of April, 1822. The government +refused to transmit Pellico’s tragedies to his family, +lest, though harmless in themselves, the acting of them should +bring good-will to a state prisoner. At Spielberg he +composed a third tragedy, <i>Leoniero da Dordona</i>, though +deprived of books, paper, and pens, and preserved it in his +memory. In 1828, a rumour of Pellico’s death in +prison caused great excitement throughout Italy. On the +17th of September, 1830, he was released, by the amnesty of that +year, and, avoiding politics thenceforth, devoted himself to +religion. The Marchesa Baroli, at Turin, provided for his +maintenance, by engaging him as her secretary and +librarian. With health made weaker by his sufferings, +Silvio Pellico lived on to the age of sixty-five, much honoured +by his countrymen. Gioberti dedicated a book to him as +“The first of Italian Patriots.” He died at +Turin on the 1st of February, 1854.</p> +<p>Silvio Pellico’s account of his imprisonment, <i>Le Mie +Prigioni</i>, was first published in Paris in 1833. It has +been translated into many languages, and is the work by which he +will retain his place in European literature. His other +plays, besides the two first named, were <i>Eufemia di +Messina</i>; <i>Iginia di Asti</i>; <i>Leoniero da Dordona</i>, +already named as having been thought out at Spielberg; his +<i>Gismonda</i>; <i>l’Erodiade</i>; <i>Ester +d’Engaddi</i>; <i>Corradino</i>; and a play upon Sir Thomas +More. He wrote also poems, <i>Cantiche</i>, of which the +best are <i>Eligi e Valfrido</i> and <i>Egilde</i>; and, in his +last years, a religious manual on the <i>Duties of Men</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. M.</p> +<h2>AUTHOR’S PREFACE.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Have</span> I penned these memorials, let +me ask myself, from any paltry vanity, or desire to talk about +that self? I hope this is not the case, and forasmuch as +one may be able to judge in one’s own cause, I think I was +actuated by better views. These, briefly, were to afford +consolation to some unfortunate being, situated like myself, by +explaining the evils to which I was exposed, and those sources of +relief which I found were accessible, even when labouring under +the heaviest misfortune; to bear witness, moreover, that in the +midst of my acute and protracted torments, I never found +humanity, in the human instruments around me, so hopelessly +wicked, so unworthy of consideration, or so barren of noble minds +in lowly station, as it is customary to represent it; to engage, +if possible, all the generous and good-hearted to love and esteem +each other, to become incapable of hating any one; to feel +irreconcilable hatred only towards low, base falsehood; +cowardice, perfidy, and every kind of moral degradation. It +is my object to impress on all that well-known but too often +forgotten truth, namely, that both religion and philosophy +require calmness of judgment combined with energy of will, and +that without such a union, there can be no real justice, no +dignity of character, and no sound principles of human +action.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> Friday, the 15th of October, +1820, I was arrested at Milan, and conveyed to the prison of +Santa Margherita. The hour was three in the +afternoon. I underwent a long examination, which occupied +the whole of that and several subsequent days; but of this I +shall say nothing. Like some unfortunate lover, harshly +dealt with by her he adored, yet resolved to bear it with +dignified silence, I leave <i>la Politica</i>, such as <span +class="GutSmall">SHE IS</span>, and proceed to something +else.</p> +<p>At nine in the evening of that same unlucky Friday, the +actuary consigned me to the jailer, who conducted me to my +appointed residence. He there politely requested me to give +up my watch, my money, and everything in my pockets, which were +to be restored to me in due time; saying which he respectfully +bade me good-night.</p> +<p>“Stop, my dear sir,” I observed, “I have not +yet dined; let me have something to eat.”</p> +<p>“Directly; the inn is close by, and you will find the +wine good, sir.”</p> +<p>“Wine I do not drink.”</p> +<p>At this announcement Signor Angiolino gave me a look of +unfeigned surprise; he imagined that I was jesting. +“Masters of prisons,” he rejoined, “who keep +shop, have a natural horror of an abstemious captive.”</p> +<p>“That may be; I don’t drink it.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry for you, sir; you will feel solitude twice +as heavily.”</p> +<p>But perceiving that I was firm, he took his leave; and in half +an hour I had something to eat. I took a mouthful, +swallowed a glass of water, and found myself alone. My +chamber was on the ground floor, and overlooked the +court-yard. Dungeons here, dungeons there, to the right, to +the left, above, below, and opposite, everywhere met my +eye. I leaned against the window, listened to the passing +and repassing of the jailers, and the wild song of a number of +the unhappy inmates. A century ago, I reflected, and this +was a monastery; little then thought the pious, penitent recluses +that their cells would now re-echo only to the sounds of +blasphemy and licentious song, instead of holy hymn and +lamentation from woman’s lips; that it would become a +dwelling for the wicked of every class—the most part +destined to perpetual labour or to the gallows. And in one +century to come, what living being will be found in these +cells? Oh, mighty Time! unceasing mutability of +things! Can he who rightly views your power have reason for +regret or despair when Fortune withdraws her smile, when he is +made captive, or the scaffold presents itself to his eye? +yesterday I thought myself one of the happiest of men; to-day +every pleasure, the least flower that strewed my path, has +disappeared. Liberty, social converse, the face of my +fellow-man, nay, hope itself hath fled. I feel it would be +folly to flatter myself; I shall not go hence, except to be +thrown into still more horrible receptacles of sorrow; perhaps, +bound, into the hands of the executioner. Well, well, the +day after my death it will be all one as if I had yielded my +spirit in a palace, and been conveyed to the tomb, accompanied +with all the pageantry of empty honours.</p> +<p>It was thus, by reflecting on the sweeping speed of time, that +I bore up against passing misfortune. Alas, this did not +prevent the forms of my father, my mother, two brothers, two +sisters, and one other family I had learned to love as if it were +my own, from all whom I was, doubtless, for ever cut off, from +crossing my mind, and rendering all my philosophical reasoning of +no avail. I was unable to resist the thought, and I wept +even as a child.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Three</span> months previous to this time +I had gone to Turin, where, after several years of separation, I +saw my parents, one of my brothers, and two sisters. We had +always been an attached family; no son had ever been more deeply +indebted to a father and a mother than I; I remember I was +affected at beholding a greater alteration in their looks, the +progress of age, than I had expected. I indulged a secret +wish to part from them no more, and soothe the pillow of +departing age by the grateful cares of a beloved son. How +it vexed me, too, I remember, during the few brief days I passed +with them, to be compelled by other duties to spend so much of +the day from home, and the society of those I had such reason to +love and to revere; yes, and I remember now what my mother said +one day, with an expression of sorrow, as I went +out—“Ah! our Silvio has not come to Turin to see +<i>us</i>!” The morning of my departure for Milan was +a truly painful one. My poor father accompanied me about a +mile on my way; and, on leaving me, I more than once turned to +look at him, and, weeping, kissed the ring my mother had just +given me; nor did I ever before quit my family with a feeling of +such painful presentiment. I am not superstitious; but I +was astonished at my own weakness, and I more than once exclaimed +in a tone of terror, “Good God! whence comes this strange +anxiety and alarm?” and, with a sort of inward vision, my +mind seemed to behold the approach of some great calamity. +Even yet in prison I retain the impression of that sudden dread +and parting anguish, and can recall each word and every look of +my distressed parents. The tender reproach of my mother, +“Ah! Silvio has not come to Turin to see <i>us</i>!” +seemed to hang like a weight upon my soul. I regretted a +thousand instances in which I might have shown myself more +grateful and agreeable to them; I did not even tell them how much +I loved; all that I owed to them. I was never to see them +more, and yet I turned my eyes with so much like indifference +from their dear and venerable features! Why, why was I so +chary of giving expression to what I felt (would they could have +read it in my looks), to all my gratitude and love? In +utter solitude, thoughts like these pierced me to the soul.</p> +<p>I rose, shut the window, and sat some hours, in the idea that +it would be in vain to seek repose. At length I threw +myself on my pallet, and excessive weariness brought me +sleep.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> awake the first night in a +prison is a horrible thing. Is it possible, I murmured, +trying to collect my thoughts, is it possible I am here? Is +not all that passed a dream? Did they really seize me +yesterday? Was it I whom they examined from morning till +night, who am doomed to the same process day after day, and who +wept so bitterly last night when I thought of my dear +parents? Slumber, the unbroken silence, and rest had, in +restoring my mental powers, added incalculably to the capability +of reflecting, and, consequently, of grief. There was +nothing to distract my attention; my fancy grew busy with absent +forms, and pictured, to my eye the pain and terror of my father +and mother, and of all dear to me, on first hearing the tidings +of my arrest.</p> +<p>At this moment, said I, they are sleeping in peace; or +perhaps, anxiety for me may keep them watching, yet little +anticipating the fate to which I am here consigned. Happy +for them, were it the will of God, that they should cease to +exist ere they hear of this horrible misfortune. Who will +give them strength to bear it? Some inward voice seemed to +whisper me, He whom the afflicted look up to, love and +acknowledge in their hearts; who enabled a mother to follow her +son to the mount of Golgotha, and to stand under His cross. +He, the friend of the unhappy, the friend of man.</p> +<p>Strange this should be the first time I truly felt the power +of religion in my heart; and to filial love did I owe this +consolation. Though not ill-disposed, I had hitherto been +little impressed with its truth, and had not well adhered to +it. All common-place objections I estimated at their just +value, yet there were many doubts and sophisms which had shaken +my faith. It was long, indeed, since they had ceased to +trouble my belief in the existence of the Deity; and persuaded of +this, it followed necessarily, as part of His eternal justice, +that there must be another life for man who suffers so unjustly +here. Hence, I argued, the sovereign reason in man for +aspiring to the possession of that second life; and hence, too, a +worship founded on the love of God, and of his neighbour, and an +unceasing impulse to dignify his nature by generous +sacrifices. I had already made myself familiar with this +doctrine, and I now repeated, “And what else is +Christianity but this constant ambition to elevate and dignify +our nature?” and I was astonished, when I reflected how +pure, how philosophical, and how invulnerable the essence of +Christianity manifested itself, that there could come an epoch +when philosophy dared to assert, “From this time forth I +will stand instead of a religion like this.” And in +what manner—by inculcating vice? Certainly not. +By teaching virtue? Why that will be to teach us to love +God and our neighbour; and that is precisely what Christianity +has already done, on far higher and purer motives. Yet, +notwithstanding such had, for years, been my opinion, I had +failed to draw the conclusion, Then be a Christian! No +longer let corruption and abuses, the work of man, deter you; no +longer make stumbling-blocks of little points of doctrine, since +the principal point, made thus irresistibly clear, is to love God +and your neighbour.</p> +<p>In prison I finally determined to admit this conclusion, and I +admitted it. The fear, indeed, of appearing to others more +religious than I had before been, and to yield more to misfortune +than to conviction, made me sometimes hesitate; but feeling that +I had done no wrong, I felt no debasement, and cared nothing to +encounter the possible reproaches I had not deserved, resolving +henceforward to declare myself openly a Christian.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">adhered</span> firmly to this resolution +as time advanced; but the consideration of it was begun the first +night of my captivity. Towards morning the excess of my +grief had grown calmer, and I was even astonished at the +change. On recalling the idea of my parents and others whom +I loved, I ceased to despair of their strength of mind, and the +recollection of those virtues which I knew they had long +possessed gave me real consolation. Why had I before felt +such great dismay on thinking of them, and now so much confidence +in their strength of mind? Was this happy change +miraculous, or the natural effect of my renewed belief in +God? What avails the distinction, while the genuine sublime +benefits of religion remain the same.</p> +<p>At midnight two <i>secondini</i> (the under jailers are so +termed) had paid me a visit, and found me in a very ill mood; in +the morning they returned, and were surprised to see me so calm, +and even cheerful.</p> +<p>“Last night, sir, you had the face of a basilisk,” +said Tirola; “now you are quite another thing; I rejoice at +it, if, indeed, it be a sign, forgive me the expression, that you +are not a scoundrel. Your scoundrels (for I am an old hand +at the trade, and my observations are worth something) are always +more enraged the second day after their arrest than the +first. Do you want some snuff?”</p> +<p>“I do not take it, but will not refuse your offer. +If I have not a gorgon-face this morning, it must surely be a +proof of my utter insensibility, or easy belief of soon regaining +my freedom.”</p> +<p>“I should doubt that, even though you were not in +durance for state matters. At this time of day they are not +so easily got over as you might think; you are not so raw as to +imagine such a thing. Pardon me, but you will know more by +and by.”</p> +<p>“Tell me, how come you to have so pleasant a look, +living only, as you do, among the unfortunate?”</p> +<p>“Why, sir, you will attribute it to indifference to +others’ sufferings; of a truth, I know not how it is; yet, +I assure you, it often gives me pain to see the prisoners +weep. Truly, I sometimes pretend to be merry to bring a +smile upon their faces.”</p> +<p>“A thought has just struck me, my friend, which I never +had before; it is, that a jailer may be made of very congenial +clay.”</p> +<p>“Well, the trade has nothing to do with that, sir. +Beyond that huge vault you see there, without the court-yard, is +another court, and other prisons, all prepared for women. +They are, sir, women of a certain class; yet are there some +angels among them, as to a good heart. And if you were in +my place, sir—”</p> +<p>“I?” and I laughed out heartily.</p> +<p>Tirola was quite disconcerted, and said no more. Perhaps +he meant to imply that had I been a <i>secondino</i>, it would +have been difficult not to become attached to some one or other +of these unfortunates.</p> +<p>He now inquired what I wished to take for breakfast, left me, +and soon returned with my coffee. I looked hard at him, +with a sort of malicious smile, as much as to say, “Would +you carry me a bit of a note to an unhappy friend—to my +friend Piero?” <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a> He understood it, and answered +with another: “No sir; and if you do not take heed how you +ask any of my comrades, they will betray you.”</p> +<p>Whether or not we understood each other, it is certain I was +ten times upon the point of asking him for a sheet of paper, +&c.; but there was a something in his eye which seemed to +warn me not to confide in any one about me, and still less to +others than himself.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Had</span> Tirola, with his expression of +good-nature, possessed a less roguish look, had there been +something a little more dignified in his aspect, I should have +tried to make him my ambassador; for perhaps a brief +communication, if in time, might prevent my friend committing +some fatal error, perhaps save him, poor fellow; besides several +others, including myself: and too much was already known. +Patience! it was fated to be thus.</p> +<p>I was here recalled to be examined anew. The process +continued through the day, and was again and again repeated, +allowing me only a brief interval during dinner. While this +lasted, the time seemed to pass rapidly; the excitement of mind +produced by the endless series of questions put to me, and by +going over them at dinner and at night, digesting all that had +been asked and replied to, reflecting on what was likely to come, +kept me in a state of incessant activity. At the end of the +first week I had to endure a most vexatious affair. My poor +friend Piero, eager as myself to have some communication, sent me +a note, not by one of the jailers, but by an unfortunate prisoner +who assisted them. He was an old man from sixty to seventy, +and condemned to I know not how long a period of captivity. +With a pin I had by me I pricked my finger, and scrawled with my +blood a few lines in reply, which I committed to the same +messenger. He was unluckily suspected, caught with the note +upon him, and from the horrible cries that were soon heard, I +conjectured that he was severely bastinadoed. At all events +I never saw him more.</p> +<p>On my next examination I was greatly irritated to see my note +presented to me (luckily containing nothing but a simple +salutation), traced in my blood. I was asked how I had +contrived to draw the blood; was next deprived of my pin, and a +great laugh was raised at the idea and detection of the +attempt. Ah, I did not laugh, for the image of the poor old +messenger rose before my eyes. I would gladly have +undergone any punishment to spare the old man. I could not +repress my tears when those piercing cries fell upon my +ear. Vainly did I inquire of the jailers respecting his +fate. They shook their heads, observing, “He has paid +dearly for it, he will never do such like things again; he has a +little more rest now.” Nor would they speak more +fully. Most probably they spoke thus on account of his +having died under, or in consequence of, the punishment he had +suffered; yet one day I thought I caught a glimpse of him at the +further end of the court-yard, carrying a bundle of wood on his +shoulders. I felt a beating of the heart as if I had +suddenly recognised a brother.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> I ceased to be persecuted with +examinations, and had no longer anything to fill up my time, I +felt bitterly the increasing weight of solitude. I had +permission to retain a bible, and my Dante; the governor also +placed his library at my disposal, consisting of some romances of +Scuderi, Piazzi, and worse books still; but my mind was too +deeply agitated to apply to any kind of reading whatever. +Every day, indeed, I committed a canto of Dante to memory, an +exercise so merely mechanical, that I thought more of my own +affairs than the lines during their acquisition. The same +sort of abstraction attended my perusal of other things, except, +occasionally, a few passages of scripture. I had always +felt attached to this divine production, even when I had not +believed myself one of its avowed followers. I now studied +it with far greater respect than before; yet my mind was often +almost involuntarily bent upon other matters; and I knew not what +I read. By degrees I surmounted this difficulty, and was +able to reflect upon its great truths with higher relish than I +had ever before done. This, in me, did not give rise to the +least tendency to moroseness or superstition, nothing being more +apt than misdirected devotion to weaken and distort the +mind. With the love of God and mankind, it inspired me also +with a veneration for justice, and an abhorrence of wickedness, +along with a desire of pardoning the wicked. Christianity, +instead of militating against anything good, which I had derived +from Philosophy, strengthened it by the aid of logical +deductions, at once more powerful and profound.</p> +<p>Reading one day that it was necessary to pray without ceasing, +and that prayer did not consist in many words uttered after the +manner of the Pharisees, but in making every word and action +accord with the will of God, I determined to commence with +earnestness, to pray in the spirit with unceasing effort: in +other words, to permit no one thought which should not be +inspired by a wish to conform my whole life to the decrees of +God.</p> +<p>The forms I adopted were simple and few; not from contempt of +them (I think them very salutary, and calculated to excite +attention), but from the circumstance of my being unable to go +through them at length, without becoming so far abstracted as to +make me forget the solemn duty in which I am engaged. This +habitual observance of prayer, and the reflection that God is +omnipresent as well as omnipotent in His power to save, began ere +long to deprive solitude of its horrors, and I often repeated, +“Have I not the best society man can have?” and from +this period I grew more cheerful, I even sang and whistled in the +new joy of my heart. And why lament my captivity? +Might not a sudden fever have carried me off? and would my +friends then have grieved less over my fate than now? and cannot +God sustain them even as He could under a more trying +dispensation? And often did I offer up my prayers and +fervent hopes that my dear parents might feel, as I myself felt, +resigned to my lot; but tears frequently mingled with sweet +recollections of home. With all this, my faith in God +remained undisturbed, and I was not disappointed.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> live at liberty is doubtless +much better than living in a prison; but, even here, the +reflection that God is present with us, that worldly joys are +brief and fleeting, and that true happiness is to be sought in +the conscience, not in external objects, can give a real zest to +life. In less than one month I had made up my mind, I will +not say perfectly, but in a tolerable degree, as to the part I +should adopt. I saw that, being incapable of the mean +action of obtaining impunity by procuring the destruction of +others, the only prospect that lay before me was the scaffold, or +long protracted captivity. It was necessary that I should +prepare myself. I will live, I said to myself, so long as I +shall be permitted, and when they take my life, I will do as the +unfortunate have done before me; when arrived at the last moment, +I can die. I endeavoured, as much as possible, not to +complain, and to obtain every possible enjoyment of mind within +my reach. The most customary was that of recalling the many +advantages which had thrown a charm round my previous life; the +best of fathers, of mothers, excellent brothers and sisters, many +friends, a good education, and a taste for letters. Should +I now refuse to be grateful to God for all these benefits, +because He had pleased to visit me with misfortune? +Sometimes, indeed, in recalling past scenes to mind, I was +affected even to tears; but I soon recovered my courage and +cheerfulness of heart.</p> +<p>At the commencement of my captivity I was fortunate enough to +meet with a friend. It was neither the governor, nor any of +his under-jailers, nor any of the lords of the +process-chamber. Who then?—a poor deaf and dumb boy, +five or six years old, the offspring of thieves, who had paid the +penalty of the law. This wretched little orphan was +supported by the police, with several other boys in the same +condition of life. They all dwelt in a room opposite my +own, and were only permitted to go out at certain hours to +breathe a little air in the yard. Little deaf and dumb used +to come under my window, smiled, and made his obeisance to +me. I threw him a piece of bread; he took it, and gave a +leap of joy, then ran to his companions, divided it, and returned +to eat his own share under the window. The others gave me a +wistful look from a distance, but ventured no nearer, while the +deaf and dumb boy expressed a sympathy for me; not, I found, +affected, out of mere selfishness. Sometimes he was at a +loss what to do with the bread I gave him, and made signs that he +had eaten enough, as also his companions. When he saw one +of the under-jailers going into my room, he would give him what +he had got from me, in order to restore it to me. Yet he +continued to haunt my window, and seemed rejoiced whenever I +deigned to notice him. One day the jailer permitted him to +enter my prison, when he instantly ran to embrace my knees, +actually uttering a cry of joy. I took him up in my arms, +and he threw his little hands about my neck, and lavished on me +the tenderest caresses. How much affection in his smile and +manner! how eagerly I longed to have him to educate, raise him +from his abject condition, and snatch him, perhaps, from utter +ruin. I never even learnt his name; he did not himself know +that he had one. He seemed always happy, and I never saw +him weep except once, and that was on being beaten, I know not +why, by the jailer. Strange that he should be thus happy in +a receptacle of so much pain and sorrow; yet he was light-hearted +as the son of a grandee. From him I learnt, at least, that +the mind need not depend on situation, but may be rendered +independent of external things. Govern the imagination, and +we shall be well, wheresoever we happen to be placed. A day +is soon over, and if at night we can retire to rest without +actual pain and hunger, it little matters whether it be within +the walls of a prison, or of a kind of building which they call a +palace. Good reasoning this; but how are we to contrive so +to govern the imagination? I began to try, and sometimes I +thought I had succeeded to a miracle; but at others the +enchantress triumphed, and I was unexpectedly astonished to find +tears starting into my eyes.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">am</span> so far fortunate, I often +said, that they have given me a dungeon on the ground floor, near +the court, where that dear boy comes within a few steps of me, to +converse in our own mute language. We made immense progress +in it; we expressed a thousand various feelings I had no idea we +could do, by the natural expressions of the eye, the gesture, and +the whole countenance. Wonderful human intelligence! +How graceful were his motions! how beautiful his smile! how +quickly he corrected whatever expression I saw of his that seemed +to displease me! How well he understands I love him, when +he plays with any of his companions! Standing only at my +window to observe him, it seemed as if I possessed a kind of +influence over his mind, favourable to his education. By +dint of repeating the mutual exercise of signs, we should be +enabled to perfect the communication of our ideas. The more +instruction he gets, the more gentle and kind he becomes, the +more he will be attached to me. To him I shall be the +genius of reason and of good; he will learn to confide his +sorrows to me, his pleasures, all he feels and wishes; I will +console, elevate, and direct him in his whole conduct. It +may be that this my lot may be protracted from month to month, +even till I grow grey in my captivity. Perhaps this little +child may continue to grow under my eye, and become one in the +service of this large family of pain, and grief, and +calamity. With such a disposition as he has already shown, +what would become of him? Alas; he would at most be made +only a good under-keeper, or fill some similar place. Yet I +shall surely have conferred on him some benefit if I can succeed +in giving him a desire to do kind offices to the good and to +himself, and to nourish sentiments of habitual benevolence. +This soliloquy was very natural in my situation; I was always +fond of children, and the office of an instructor appeared to me +a sublime duty. For a few years I had acted in that +capacity with Giacomo and Giulio Porro, two young men of noble +promise, whom I loved, and shall continue to love as if they were +my own sons. Often while in prison were my thoughts busied +with them; and how it grieved me not to be enabled to complete +their education. I sincerely prayed that they might meet +with a new master, who would be as much attached to them as I had +been.</p> +<p>At times I could not help exclaiming to myself, What a strange +burlesque is all this! instead of two noble youths, rich in all +that nature and fortune can endow them with, here I have a pupil, +poor little fellow! deaf, dumb, a castaway; the son of a robber, +who at most can aspire only to the rank of an under-jailer, and +which, in a little less softened phraseology, would mean to say a +<i>sbirro</i>. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2" +class="citation">[2]</a> This reflection confused and +disquieted me; yet hardly did I hear the <i>strillo</i> <a +name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3" +class="citation">[3]</a> of my little dummy than I felt my heart +grow warm again, just as a father when he hears the voice of a +son. I lost all anxiety about his mean estate. It is +no fault of his if he be lopped of Nature’s fairest +proportions, and was born the son of a robber. A humane, +generous heart, in an age of innocence, is always +respectable. I looked on him, therefore, from day to day +with increased affection, and was more than ever desirous of +cultivating his good qualities, and his growing +intelligence. Nay, perhaps we might both live to get out of +prison, when I would establish him in the college for the deaf +and dumb, and thus open for him a path more fortunate and +pleasing than to play the part of a <i>shirro</i>. Whilst +thus pleasingly engaged in meditating his future welfare, two of +the under-jailers one day walked into my cell.</p> +<p>“You must change your quarters, sir!”</p> +<p>“What mean you by that?”</p> +<p>“We have orders to remove you into another +chamber.”</p> +<p>“Why so?”</p> +<p>“Some other great bird has been caged, and this being +the better apartment—you understand.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! it is the first resting-place for the newly +arrived.”</p> +<p>They conveyed me to the opposite side of the court, where I +could no longer converse with my little deaf and dumb friend, and +was far removed from the ground floor. In walking across, I +beheld the poor boy sitting on the ground, overcome with grief +and astonishment, for he knew he had lost me. Ere I quite +disappeared, he ran towards me; my conductors tried to drive him +away, but he reached me, and I caught him in my arms, and +returned his caresses with expressions of tenderness I sought not +to conceal. I tore myself from him, and entered my new +abode.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a dark and gloomy place; +instead of glass it had pasteboard for the windows; the walls +were rendered more repulsive by being hung with some wretched +attempts at painting, and when free from this lugubrious colour, +were covered with inscriptions. These last gave the name +and country of many an unhappy inmate, with the date of the fatal +day of their captivity. Some consisted of lamentations on +the perfidy of false friends, denouncing their own folly, or +women, or the judge who condemned them. Among a few were +brief sketches of the victims’ lives; still fewer embraced +moral maxims. I found the following words of Pascal: +“Let those who attack religion learn first what religion +is. Could it boast of commanding a direct view of the +Deity, without veil or mystery, it would be to attack that +religion to say, ‘that there is nothing seen in the world +which displays Him with such clear evidence.’ But +since it rather asserts that man is involved in darkness, far +from God, who is hidden from human knowledge, insomuch as to give +Himself the name in scripture of ‘<i>Deus +absconditus</i>,’ what advantage can the enemies of +religion derive when, neglecting, as they profess to do, the +science of truth, they complain that the truth is not made +apparent to them?” Lower down was written (the words +of the same author), “It is not here a question of some +trivial interest relating to a stranger; it applies to ourselves, +and to all we possess. The immortality of the soul is a +question of that deep and momentous importance to all, as to +imply an utter loss of reason to rest totally indifferent as to +the truth or the fallacy of the proposition.” Another +inscription was to this effect: “I bless the hour of my +imprisonment; it has taught me to know the ingratitude of man, my +own frailty, and the goodness of God.” Close to these +words again appeared the proud and desperate imprecations of one +who signed himself an Atheist, and who launched his impieties +against the Deity, as if he had forgotten that he had just before +said there was no God. Then followed another column, +reviling the cowardly fools, as they were termed, whom captivity +had converted into fanatics. I one day pointed out these +strange impieties to one of the jailers, and inquired who had +written them? “I am glad I have found this,” +was the reply, “there are so many of them, and I have so +little time to look for them;” and he took his knife, and +began to erase it as fast as he could.</p> +<p>“Why do you do that?” I inquired of him.</p> +<p>“Because the poor devil who wrote it was condemned to +death for a cold-blooded murder; he repented, and made us promise +to do him this kindness.”</p> +<p>“Heaven pardon him!” I exclaimed; “what was +it he did?”</p> +<p>“Why, as he found he could not kill his enemy, he +revenged himself by slaying the man’s son, one of the +finest boys you ever saw.”</p> +<p>I was horror-struck. Could ferocity of disposition +proceed to such lengths? and could a monster, capable of such a +deed, hold the insulting language of a man superior to all human +weaknesses? to murder the innocent, and a child!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> my new prison, black and filthy +to an extreme, I sadly missed the society of my little dumb +friend. I stood for hours in anxious, weary mood, at the +window which looked over a gallery, on the other side of which +could be seen the extremity of the court-yard, and the window of +my former cell. Who had succeeded me there? I could +discern his figure, as he paced quickly to and fro, apparently in +violent agitation. Two or three days subsequently, I +perceived that he had got writing materials, and remained busied +at his little table the whole of the day. At length I +recognised him. He came forth accompanied by his jailer; he +was going to be examined, when I saw he was no other than +Melchiorre Gioja. <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4" +class="citation">[4]</a> It went to my heart: “You, +too, noble, excellent man, have not escaped!” Yet he +was more fortunate than I. After a few months’ +captivity, he regained his liberty. To behold any really +estimable being always does me good; it affords me pleasant +matter for reflection, and for esteem—both of great +advantage. I could have laid down my life to save such a +man from captivity; yet merely to see him was some consolation to +me. After regarding him intently, some time, to ascertain +if he were tranquil or agitated, I offered up a heart-felt prayer +for his deliverance; I felt my spirits revived, a greater flow of +ideas, and greater satisfaction with myself. Such an +incident as this has a charm for utter solitude, of which you can +form no idea without experiencing it. A poor dumb boy had +before supplied me with this real enjoyment, and I now derived it +from a distant view of a man of distinguished merit.</p> +<p>Perhaps some one of the jailers had informed him where I +was. One morning, on opening his window, he waved his +handkerchief in token of salutation, and I replied in the same +manner. I need not describe the pleasure I felt; it +appeared as if we were no longer separated; and we discoursed in +the silent intercourse of the spirit, which, when every other +medium is cut off, in the least look, gesture, or signal of any +kind, can make itself comprehended and felt.</p> +<p>It was with no small pleasure I anticipated a continuation of +this friendly communication. Day after day, however, went +on, and I was never more gratified by the appearance of the same +favourite signals. Yet I frequently saw my friend at his +window; I waved my handkerchief, but in vain; he answered it no +more. I was now informed by our jailers, that Gioja had +been strictly prohibited from exciting my notice, or replying to +it in any manner. Notwithstanding, he still continued to +look at me, and I at him, and in this way, we conversed upon a +great variety of subjects, which helped to keep us alive.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Along</span> the same gallery, upon a +level with my prison, I saw other prisoners passing and repassing +the whole day to the place of examination. They were, for +the chief part, of lowly condition, but occasionally one or two +of better rank. All, however, attracted my attention, brief +as was the sight of them, and I truly compassionated them. +So sorrowful a spectacle for some time filled me with grief, but +by degrees I became habituated to it, and at last it rather +relieved than added to the horror of my solitude. A number +of women, also, who had been arrested, passed by. There was +a way from the gallery, through a large vault, leading to another +court, and in that part were placed the female prisoners, and +others labouring under disease. A single wall, and very +slight, separated my dwelling from that of some of the +women. Sometimes I was almost deafened with their songs, at +others with their bursts of maddened mirth. Late at +evening, when the din of day had ceased, I could hear them +conversing, and, had I wished, I could easily have joined with +them. Was it timidity, pride, or prudence which restrained +me from all communication with the unfortunate and degraded of +their sex? Perhaps it partook of all. Woman, when she +is what she ought to be, is for me a creature so admirable, so +sublime, the mere seeing, hearing, and speaking to her, enriches +my mind with such noble fantasies; but rendered vile and +despicable, she disturbs, she afflicts, she deprives my heart, as +it were, of all its poetry and its love. Spite of this, +there were among those feminine voices, some so very sweet that, +there is no use in denying it, they were dear to me. One in +particular surpassed the rest; I heard it more seldom, and it +uttered nothing unworthy of its fascinating tone. She sung +little and mostly kept repeating these two pathetic +lines:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Chi rende alla meschina<br /> +La sua felicità?</p> +<p>Ah, who will give the lost one<br /> +Her vanished dream of bliss?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At other times, she would sing from the litany. Her +companions joined with her; but still I could discern the voice +of Maddalene from all others, which seemed only to unite for the +purpose of robbing me of it. Sometimes, too, when her +companions were recounting to her their various misfortunes, I +could hear her pitying them; could catch even her very sighs, +while she invariably strove to console them: “Courage, +courage, my poor dear,” she one day said, “God is +very good, and He will not abandon us.”</p> +<p>How could I do otherwise than imagine she was beautiful, more +unfortunate than guilty, naturally virtuous, and capable of +reformation? Who would blame me because I was affected with +what she said, listened to her with respect, and offered up my +prayers for her with more than usual earnestness of heart. +Innocence is sacred, and repentance ought to be equally +respected. Did the most perfect of men, the Divinity on +earth, refuse to cast a pitying eye on weak, sinful women; to +respect their fear and confusion, and rank them among the minds +he delighted to consort with and to honour? By what law, +then, do we act, when we treat with so much contempt women fallen +into ignominy?</p> +<p>While thus reasoning, I was frequently tempted to raise my +voice and speak, as a brother in misfortune, to poor +Maddalene. I had often even got out the first syllable; and +how strange! I felt my heart beat like an enamoured youth +of fifteen; I who had reached thirty-one; and it seemed as if I +should never be able to pronounce the name, till I cried out +almost in a rage, “Mad! Mad!” yes, mad enough, +thought I.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Thus</span> ended my romance with that +poor unhappy one; yet it did not fail to produce me many sweet +sensations during several weeks. Often, when steeped in +melancholy, would her sweet calm voice breathe consolation to my +spirit; when, dwelling on the meanness and ingratitude of +mankind, I became irritated, and hated the world, the voice of +Maddalene gently led me back to feelings of compassion and +indulgence.</p> +<p>How I wish, poor, unknown, kind-hearted repentant one, that no +heavy punishment may befall thee. And whatever thou shalt +suffer, may it well avail thee, re-dignify thy nature, and teach +thee to live and die to thy Saviour and thy Lord. Mayest +thou meet compassion and respect from all around thee, as thou +didst from me a stranger to thee. Mayest thou teach all who +see thee thy gentle lesson of patience, sweetness, the love of +virtue, and faith in God, with which thou didst inspire him who +loved without having beheld thee. Perhaps I erred in +thinking thee beautiful, but, sure I am, thou didst wear the +beauty of the soul. Thy conversation, though spoken amidst +grossness and corruption of every kind, was ever chaste and +graceful; whilst others imprecated, thou didst bless; when eager +in contention, thy sweet voice still pacified, like oil upon the +troubled waters. If any noble mind hath read thy worth, and +snatched thee from an evil career; hath assisted thee with +delicacy, and wiped the tears from thy eyes, may every reward +heaven can give be his portion, that of his children, and of his +children’s children!</p> +<p>Next to mine was another prison occupied by several men. +I also heard <i>their</i> conversation. One seemed of +superior authority, not so much probably from any difference of +rank, as owing to greater eloquence and boldness. He +played, what may musically be termed, the first fiddle. He +stormed himself, yet put to silence those who presumed to quarrel +by his imperious voice. He dictated the tone of the +society, and after some feeble efforts to throw off his authority +they submitted, and gave the reins into his hands.</p> +<p>There was not a single one of those unhappy men who had a +touch of that in him to soften the harshness of prison hours, to +express one kindly sentiment, one emanation of religion, or of +love. The chief of these neighbours of mine saluted me, and +I replied. He asked me how I contrived to pass such a +cursed dull life? I answered, that it was melancholy, to be +sure; but no life was a cursed one to me, and that to our last +hour, it was best to do all to procure oneself the pleasure of +thinking and of loving.</p> +<p>“Explain, sir, explain what you mean!”</p> +<p>I explained, but was not understood. After many +ingenious attempts, I determined to clear it up in the form of +example, and had the courage to bring forward the extremely +singular and moving effect produced upon me by the voice of +Maddalene; when the magisterial head of the prison burst into a +violent fit of laughter. “What is all that, what is +that?” cried his companions. He then repeated my +words with an air of burlesque; peals of laughter followed, and I +there stood, in their eyes, the picture of a convicted +blockhead.</p> +<p>As it is in prison, so it is in the world. Those who +make it their wisdom to go into passions, to complain, to defy, +to abuse, think that to pity, to love, to console yourself with +gentle and beautiful thoughts and images, in accord with humanity +and its great Author, is all mere folly.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">let</span> them laugh and said not a +word; they hit at me again two or three times, but I was +mute. “He will come no more near the window,” +said one, “he will hear nothing but the sighs of Maddalene; +we have offended him with laughing.” At length, the +chief imposed silence upon the whole party, all amusing +themselves at my expense. “Silence, beasts as you +are; devil a bit you know what you are talking about. Our +neighbour is none so long eared an animal as you imagine. +You do not possess the power of reflection, no not you. I +grin and joke; but afterwards I reflect. Every low-born +clown can stamp and roar, as we do here. Grant a little +more real cheerfulness, a spark more of charity, a bit more faith +in the blessing of heaven;—what do you imagine that all +this would be a sign of?” “Now, that I also +reflect,” replied one, “I fancy it would be a sign of +being a little less of a brute.”</p> +<p>“Bravo!” cried his leader, in a most stentorian +howl! “now I begin to have some hope of you.”</p> +<p>I was not overproud at being thus rated a <i>little less of a +brute</i> than the rest; yet I felt a sort of pleasure that these +wretched men had come to some agreement as to the importance of +cultivating, in some degree, more benevolent sentiments.</p> +<p>I again approached the window, the chief called me, and I +answered, hoping that I might now moralise with him in my own +way. I was deceived; vulgar minds dislike serious +reasoning; if some noble truth start up, they applaud for a +moment, but the next withdraw their notice, or scruple not to +attempt to shine by questioning, or aiming to place it in some +ludicrous point of view.</p> +<p>I was next asked if I were imprisoned for debt?</p> +<p>“Perhaps you are paying the penalty of a false oath, +then?”</p> +<p>“No, it is quite a different thing.”</p> +<p>“An affair of love, most likely, I guess?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“You have killed a man, mayhap?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“It’s for carbonarism, then?”</p> +<p>“Exactly so.”</p> +<p>“And who are these carbonari?”</p> +<p>“I know so little of them, I cannot tell you.”</p> +<p>Here a jailer interrupted us in great anger; and after +commenting on the gross improprieties committed by my neighbours, +he turned towards me, not with the gravity of a <i>sbirro</i>, +but the air of a master: “For shame, sir, for shame! to +think of talking to men of this stamp! do you know, sir, that +they are all robbers?”</p> +<p>I reddened up, and then more deeply for having shown I +blushed, and methought that to deign to converse with the unhappy +of however lowly rank, was rather a mark of goodness than a +fault.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Next</span> morning I went to my window to +look for Melchiorre Gioja; but conversed no more with the +robbers. I replied to their salutation, and added, that I +had been forbidden to hold conversation. The secretary who +had presided at my examinations, told me with an air of mystery, +I was about to receive a visit. After a little further +preparation, he acquainted me that it was my father; and so +saying, bade me follow him. I did so, in a state of great +agitation, assuming at the same time an appearance of perfect +calmness in order not to distress my unhappy parent. Upon +first hearing of my arrest, he had been led to suppose it was for +some trifling affair, and that I should soon be set at +liberty. Finding his mistake, however, he had now come to +solicit the Austrian government on my account. Here, too, +he deluded himself, for he never imagined I could have been rash +enough to expose myself to the penalty of the laws, and the +cheerful tone in which I now spoke persuaded him that there was +nothing very serious in the business.</p> +<p>The few words that were permitted to pass between us gave me +indescribable pain; the more so from the restraint I had placed +upon my feelings. It was yet more difficult at the moment +of parting. In the existing state of things, as regarded +Italy, I felt convinced that Austria would make some fearful +examples, and that I should be condemned either to death or long +protracted imprisonment. It was my object to conceal this +from my father and to flatter his hopes at a moment when I was +inquiring for a mother, brother, and sisters, whom I never +expected to behold more. Though I knew it to be impossible, +I even calmly requested of him that he would come and see me +again, while my heart was wrung with the bitter conflict of my +feelings. He took his leave, filled with the same agreeable +delusion, and I painfully retraced my steps back into my +dungeon. I thought that solitude would now be a relief to +me; that to weep would somewhat ease my burdened heart? yet, +strange to say, I could not shed a tear. The extreme +wretchedness of feeling this inability even to shed tears +excites, under some of the heaviest calamities, is the severest +trial of all, and I have often experienced it.</p> +<p>An acute fever, attended by severe pains in my head, followed +this interview. I could not take any nourishment; and I +often said, how happy it would be for me, were it indeed to prove +mortal. Foolish and cowardly wish! heaven refused to hear +my prayer, and I now feel grateful that it did. Though a +stern teacher, adversity fortifies the mind, and renders man what +he seems to have been intended for; at least, a good man, a being +capable of struggling with difficulty and danger; presenting an +object not unworthy, even in the eyes of the old Romans, of the +approbation of the gods.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Two</span> days afterwards I again saw my +father. I had rested well the previous night, and was free +from fever; before him I preserved the same calm and even +cheerful deportment, so that no one could have suspected I had +recently suffered, and still continued to suffer so much. +“I am in hopes,” observed my father, “that +within a very few days we shall see you at Turin. Your +mother has got your old room in readiness, and we are all +expecting you to come. Pressing affairs now call me away, +but lose no time, I entreat you, in preparing to rejoin us once +more.” His kind and affecting expressions added to my +grief. Compassion and filial piety, not unmingled with a +species of remorse, induced me to feign assent; yet afterwards I +reflected how much more worthy it had been, both of my father and +myself, to have frankly told him that most probably, we should +never see each other again, at least in this world. Let us +take farewell like men, without a murmur and without a tear, and +let me receive the benediction of a father before I die. As +regarded myself, I should wish to have adopted language like +that; but when I gazed on his aged and venerable features, and +his grey hairs, something seemed to whisper me, that it would be +too much for the affectionate old man to bear; and the words died +in my heart. Good God! I thought, should he know the extent +of the <i>evil</i>, he might, perhaps, run distracted, such is +his extreme attachment to me: he might fall at my feet, or even +expire before my eyes. No! I could not tell him the +truth, nor so much as prepare him for it; we shed not a tear, and +he took his departure in the same pleasing delusion as +before. On returning into my dungeon I was seized in the +same manner, and with still more aggravated suffering, as I had +been after the last interview; and, as then, my anguish found no +relief from tears.</p> +<p>I had nothing now to do but resign myself to all the horrors +of long captivity, and to the sentence of death. But to +prepare myself to bear the idea of the immense load of grief that +must fall on every dear member of my family, on learning my lot, +was beyond my power. It haunted me like a spirit, and to +fly from it I threw myself on my knees, and in a passion of +devotion uttered aloud the following prayer:—“My God! +from thy hand I will accept all—for me all: but deign most +wonderfully to strengthen the hearts of those to whom I was so +very dear! Grant thou that I may cease to be such to them +now; and that not the life of the least of them may be shortened +by their care for me, even by a single day!”</p> +<p>Strange! wonderful power of prayer! for several hours my mind +was raised to a contemplation of the Deity, and my confidence in +His goodness proportionately increased; I meditated also on the +dignity of the human mind when, freed from selfishness, it exerts +itself to will only that which is the will of eternal +wisdom. This can be done, and it is man’s duty to do +it. Reason, which is the voice of the Deity, teaches us +that it is right to submit to every sacrifice for the sake of +virtue. And how could the sacrifice which we owe to virtue +be completed, if in the most trying afflictions we struggle +against the will of Him who is the source of all virtue? +When death on the scaffold, or any other species of martyrdom +becomes inevitable, it is a proof of wretched degradation, or +ignorance, not to be able to approach it with blessing upon our +lips. Nor is it only necessary we should submit to death, +but to the affliction which we know those most dear to us must +suffer on our account. All it is lawful for us to ask is, +that God will temper such affliction, and that he will direct us +all, for such a prayer is always sure to be accepted.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> a period of some days I +continued in the same state of mind; a sort of calm sorrow, full +of peace, affection, and religious thoughts. I seemed to +have overcome every weakness, and as if I were no longer capable +of suffering new anxiety. Fond delusion! it is man’s +duty to aim at reaching as near to perfection as possible, though +he can never attain it here. What now disturbed me was the +sight of an unhappy friend, my good Piero, who passed along the +gallery within a few yards of me, while I stood at my +window. They were removing him from his cell into the +prison destined for criminals. He was hurried by so swiftly +that I had barely time to recognise him, and to receive and +return his salutation.</p> +<p>Poor young man! in the flower of his age, with a genius of +high promise, of frank, upright, and most affectionate +disposition, born with a keen zest of the pleasures of existence, +to be at once precipitated into a dungeon, without the remotest +hope of escaping the severest penalty of the laws. So great +was my compassion for him, and my regret at being unable to +afford him the slightest consolation, that it was long before I +could recover my composure of mind. I knew how tenderly he +was attached to every member of his numerous family, how deeply +interested in promoting their happiness, and how devotedly his +affection was returned. I was sensible what must be the +affliction of each and all under so heavy a calamity. +Strange, that though I had just reconciled myself to the idea in +my own case, a sort of phrensy seized my mind when I depicted the +scene; and it continued so long that I began to despair of +mastering it.</p> +<p>Dreadful as this was, it was still but an illusion. Ye +afflicted ones, who believe yourselves victims of some +irresistible, heart-rending, and increasing grief, suffer a +little while with patience, and you will be undeceived. +Neither perfect peace, nor utter wretchedness can be of long +continuance here below. Recollect this truth, that you may +not become unduly elevated in prosperity, and despicable under +the trials which assuredly await you. A sense of weariness +and apathy succeeded the terrible excitement I had +undergone. But indifference itself is transitory, and I had +some fear lest I should continue to suffer without relief under +these wretched extremes of feeling. Terrified at the +prospect of such a future, I had recourse once more to the only +Being from whom I could hope to receive strength to bear it, and +devoutly bent down in prayer. I beseeched the Father of +mercies to befriend my poor deserted Piero, even as myself, and +to support his family no less than my own. By constant +repetition of prayers like these, I became perfectly calm and +resigned.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was then I reflected upon my +previous violence; I was angry at my own weakness and folly, and +sought means of remedying them. I had recourse to the +following expedient. Every morning, after I had finished my +devotions, I set myself diligently to work to recall to mind +every possible occurrence of a trying and painful kind, such as a +final parting from my dearest friends and the approach of the +executioner. I did this not only in order to inure my +nerves to bear sudden or dreadful incidents, too surely my future +portion, but that I might not again be taken unawares. At +first this melancholy task was insupportable, but I persevered; +and in a short time became reconciled to it.</p> +<p>In the spring of 1821 Count Luigi Porro <a +name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a> obtained permission to see me. Our +warm friendship, the eagerness to communicate our mutual +feelings, and the restraint imposed by the presence of an +imperial secretary, with the brief time allowed us, the +presentiments I indulged, and our efforts to appear calm, all led +me to expect that I should be thrown into a state of fearful +excitement, worse than I had yet suffered. It was not so; +after taking his leave I remained calm; such to me proved the +signal efficacy of guarding against the assault of sudden and +violent emotions. The task I set myself to acquire, +constant calmness of mind, arose less from a desire to relieve my +unhappiness than from a persuasion how undignified, unworthy, and +injurious, was a temper opposite to this, I mean a continued +state of excitement and anxiety. An excited mind ceases to +reason; carried away by a resistless torrent of wild ideas, it +forms for itself a sort of mad logic, full of anger and +malignity; it is in a state at once as absolutely unphilosophical +as it is unchristian.</p> +<p>If I were a divine I should often insist upon the necessity of +correcting irritability and inquietude of character; none can be +truly good without that be effected. How nobly pacific, +both with regard to himself and others, was He whom we are all +bound to imitate. There is no elevation of mind, no justice +without moderation in principles and ideas, without a pervading +spirit which inclines us rather to smile at, than fall into a +passion with, the events of this little life. Anger is +never productive of any good, except in the extremely rare case +of being employed to humble the wicked, and to terrify them from +pursuing the path of crime, even as the usurers were driven by an +angry Saviour, from polluting his holy Temple. Violence and +excitement, perhaps, differing altogether from what I felt, are +no less blamable. Mine was the mania of despair and +affliction: I felt a disposition, while suffering under its +horrors, to hate and to curse mankind. Several individuals, +in particular, appeared to my imagination depicted in the most +revolting colours. It is a sort of moral epidemic, I +believe, springing from vanity and selfishness; for when a man +despises and detests his fellow-creatures, he necessarily assumes +that he is much better than the rest of the world. The +doctrine of such men amounts to this:—“Let us admire +only one another, if we turn the rest of mankind into a mere mob, +we shall appear like demi-gods on earth.” It is a +curious fact that living in a state of hostility and rage +actually affords pleasure; it seems as if people thought there +was a species of heroism in it. If, unfortunately, the +object of our wrath happens to die, we lose no time in finding +some one to fill the vacant place. Whom shall I attack +next, whom shall I hate? Ah! is that the villain I was +looking out for? What a prize! Now my friends, at +him, give him no quarter. Such is the world, and, without +uttering a libel, I may add that it is not what it ought to +be.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> showed no great malignity, +however, to complain of the horrible place in which they had +incarcerated me, but fortunately another room became vacant, and +I was agreeably surprised on being informed that I was to have +it. Yet strangely enough, I reflected with regret that I +was about to leave the vicinity of Maddalene. Instead of +feeling rejoiced, I mourned over it with almost childish +feeling. I had always attached myself to some object, even +from motives comparatively slight. On leaving my horrible +abode, I cast back a glance at the heavy wall against which I had +so often supported myself, while listening as closely as possible +to the gentle voice of the repentant girl. I felt a desire +to hear, if only for the last time, those two pathetic +lines,—</p> +<blockquote><p>Chi rende alla meschina<br /> +La sua felicità?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Vain hope! here was another separation in the short period of +my unfortunate life. But I will not go into any further +details, lest the world should laugh at me, though it would be +hypocrisy in me to affect to conceal that, for several days +after, I felt melancholy at this imaginary parting.</p> +<p>While going out of my dungeon I also made a farewell signal to +two of the robbers, who had been my neighbours, and who were then +standing at their window. Their chief also got notice of my +departure, ran to the window, and repeatedly saluted me. He +began likewise to sing the little air, <i>Chi rende alla +meschina</i>; and was this, thought I, merely to ridicule +me? No doubt that forty out of fifty would say decidedly, +“It was!” In spite, however, of being outvoted, +I incline to the opinion that the <i>good robber</i> meant it +kindly; and, as such I received it, and gave him a look of +thanks. He saw it, and thrust his arm through the bars, and +waved his cap, nodding kindly to me as I turned to go down the +stairs.</p> +<p>Upon reaching the yard below, I was further consoled by a +sight of the little deaf and dumb boy. He saw me, and +instantly ran towards me with a look of unfeigned delight. +The wife of the jailer, however, Heaven knows why, caught hold of +the little fellow, and rudely thrusting him back, drove him into +the house. I was really vexed; and yet the resolute little +efforts he made even then to reach me, gave me indescribable +pleasure at the moment, so pleasing it is to find that one is +really loved. This was a day full of great adventures for +<i>me</i>; a few steps further I passed the window of my old +prison, now the abode of Gioja: “How are you, +Melchiorre?” I exclaimed as I went by. He raised his +head, and getting as near me as it was <i>possible</i>, cried +out, “How do you do, Silvio?” They would not +let me stop a single moment; I passed through the great gate, +ascended a flight of stairs, which brought us to a large, +well-swept room, exactly over that occupied by Gioja. My +bed was brought after me, and I was then left to myself by my +conductors. My first object was to examine the walls; I met +with several inscriptions, some written with charcoal, others in +pencil, and a few incised with some sharp point. I remember +there were some very pleasing verses in French, and I am sorry I +forgot to commit them to mind. They were signed “The +duke of Normandy.” I tried to sing them, adapting to +them, as well as I could, the favourite air of my poor +Maddalene. What was my surprise to hear a voice, close to +me, reply in the same words, sung to another air. When he +had finished, I cried out, “Bravo!” and he saluted me +with great respect, inquiring if I were a Frenchman.</p> +<p>“No; an Italian, and my name is Silvio +Pellico.”</p> +<p>“The author of <i>Francesca da Rimini</i>?” <a +name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a></p> +<p>“The same.”</p> +<p>Here he made me a fine compliment, following it with the +condolences usual on such occasions, upon hearing I had been +committed to prison. He then inquired of what part of Italy +I was a native. “Piedmont,” was the reply; +“I am from Saluzzo.” Here I was treated to +another compliment, on the character and genius of the +Piedmontese, in particular, the celebrated men of Saluzzo, at the +head of whom he ranked Bodoni. <a name="citation7"></a><a +href="#footnote7" class="citation">[7]</a> All this was +said in an easy refined tone, which showed the man of the world, +and one who had received a good education.</p> +<p>“Now, may I be permitted,” said I, “to +inquire who you are, sir?”</p> +<p>“I heard you singing one of my little songs,” was +the reply.</p> +<p>“What! the two beautiful stanzas upon the wall are +yours!”</p> +<p>“They are, sir.”</p> +<p>“You are, therefore,—”</p> +<p>“The unfortunate duke of Normandy.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> jailer at that moment passed +under our windows, and ordered us to be silent.</p> +<p>What can he mean by the unfortunate duke of Normandy? thought +I, musing to myself. Ah! is not that the title said to be +assumed by the son of Louis XVI.? but that unhappy child is +indisputably no more. Then my neighbour must be one of +those unlucky adventurers who have undertaken to bring him to +life again. Not a few had already taken upon themselves to +personate this Louis XVII., and were proved to be impostors; how +is my new acquaintance entitled to greater credit for his +pains?</p> +<p>Although I tried to give him the advantage of a doubt, I felt +an insurmountable incredulity upon the subject, which was not +subsequently removed. At the same time, I determined not to +mortify the unhappy man, whatever sort of absurdity he might +please to hazard before my face.</p> +<p>A few minutes afterwards he began again to sing, and we soon +renewed our conversation. In answer to my inquiry, +“What is your real name?” he replied, “I am no +other than Louis XVII.” And he then launched into +very severe invectives against his uncle, Louis XVIII., the +usurper of his just and natural rights.</p> +<p>“But why,” said I, “did you not prefer your +claims at the period of the restoration?”</p> +<p>“I was unable, from extreme illness, to quit the city of +Bologna. The moment I was better I hastened to Paris; I +presented myself to the allied monarchs, but the work was +done. The good Prince of Condé knew, and received me +with open arms, but his friendship availed me not. One +evening, passing through a lonely street, I was suddenly attacked +by assassins, and escaped with difficulty. After wandering +through Normandy, I returned into Italy, and stopped some time at +Modena. Thence I wrote to the allied powers, in particular +to the Emperor Alexander, who replied to my letter with +expressions of the greatest kindness. I did not then +despair of obtaining justice, or, at all events, if my rights +were to be sacrificed, of being allowed a decent provision, +becoming a prince. But I was arrested, and handed over to +the Austrian government. During eight months I have been +here buried alive, and God knows when I shall regain my +freedom.”</p> +<p>I begged him to give me a brief sketch of his life. He +told me very minutely what I already knew relating to Louis XVII. +and the cruel Simon, and of the infamous calumnies that wretch +was induced to utter respecting the unfortunate queen, +&c. Finally he said, that while in prison, some persons +came with an idiot boy of the name of Mathurin, who was +substituted for him, while he himself was carried off. A +coach and four was in readiness; one of the horses was merely a +wooden-machine, in the interior of which he was concealed. +Fortunately, they reached the confines, and the General (he gave +me the name, which has escaped me) who effected his release, +educated him for some time with the attention of a father, and +subsequently sent, or accompanied him, to America. There +the young king, without a sceptre, had room to indulge his +wandering disposition; he was half famished in the forests; +became at length a soldier, and resided some time, in good +credit, at the court of the Brazils. There, too, he was +pursued and persecuted, till compelled to make his escape. +He returned to Europe towards the close of Napoleon’s +career, was kept a close prisoner at Naples by Murat; and, at +last, when he was liberated, and in full preparation to reclaim +the throne of France, he was seized with that unlucky illness at +Bologna, during which Louis XVIII. was permitted to assume his +nephew’s crown.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> this he related with an air of +remarkable frankness and truth. Although not justified in +believing him, I nevertheless was astonished at his knowledge of +the most minute facts connected with the revolution. He +spoke with much natural fluency, and his conversation abounded +with a variety of curious anecdotes. There was something +also of the soldier in his expression, without showing any want +of that sort of elegance resulting from an intercourse with the +best society.</p> +<p>“Will it be permitted me,” I inquired, “to +converse with you on equal terms, without making use of any +titles?”</p> +<p>“That is what I myself wish you to do,” was the +reply. “I have at least reaped one advantage from +adversity; I have learnt to smile at all these vanities. I +assure you that I value myself more upon being a man, than having +been born a prince.”</p> +<p>We were in the habit of conversing together both night and +morning, for a considerable time; and, in spite of what I +considered the comic part of his character, he appeared to be of +a good disposition, frank, affable, and interested in the virtue +and happiness of mankind. More than once I was on the point +of saying, “Pardon me; I wish I could believe you were +Louis XVII., but I frankly confess I cannot prevail on myself to +believe it; be equally sincere, I entreat you, and renounce this +singular fiction of yours.” I had even prepared to +introduce the subject with an edifying discourse upon the vanity +of all imposture, even of such untruths as may appear in +themselves harmless.</p> +<p>I put off my purpose from day to day; I partly expected that +we should grow still more friendly and confidential, but I had +never the heart really to try the experiment upon his +feelings. When I reflect upon this want of resolution, I +sometimes attempt to reconcile myself to it on the ground of +proper urbanity, unwillingness to give offence, and other reasons +of the kind. Still these excuses are far from satisfying +me; I cannot disguise that I ought not to have permitted my +dislike to preaching him a sermon to stand in the way of speaking +my real sentiments. To affect to give credit to imposture +of any kind is miserable weakness, such as I think I should not, +even in similar circumstances, exhibit again. At the same +time, it must be confessed that, preface it as you will, it is a +harsh thing to say to any one, “I don’t believe +you!” He will naturally resent it; it would deprive +us of his friendship or regard: nay it would, perhaps, make him +hate us. Yet it is better to run every risk than to +sanction an untruth. Possibly, the man capable of it, upon +finding that his imposture is known, will himself admire our +sincerity, and afterwards be induced to reflect in a manner that +may produce the best results.</p> +<p>The under-jailers were unanimously of opinion that he was +really Louis XVII., and having already seen so many strange +changes of fortune, they were not without hopes that he would +some day ascend the throne of France, and remember the good +treatment and attentions he had met with. With the +exception of assisting in his escape, they made it their object +to comply with all his wishes. It was by such means I had +the honour of forming an acquaintance with this grand +personage. He was of the middle height, between forty and +forty-five years of age, rather inclined to corpulency, and had +features strikingly like those of the Bourbons. It is very +probable that this accidental resemblance may have led him to +assume the character he did, and play so melancholy a part in +it.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is one other instance of +unworthy deference to private opinion, of which I must accuse +myself. My neighbour was not an Atheist, he rather liked to +converse on religious topics, as if he justly appreciated the +importance of the subject, and was no stranger to its +discussion. Still, he indulged a number of unreasonable +prejudices against Christianity, which he regarded less in its +real nature than its abuses. The superficial philosophy +which preceded the French revolution had dazzled him. He +had formed an idea that religious worship might be offered up +with greater purity than as it had been dictated by the religion +of the Evangelists. Without any intimate acquaintance with +the writings of Condillac and Tracy, he venerated them as the +most profound thinkers, and really thought that the last had +carried the branch of metaphysics to the highest degree of +perfection.</p> +<p>I may fairly say that <i>my</i> philosophical studies had been +better directed; I was aware of the weakness of the experimental +doctrine, and I knew the gross and shameless errors in point of +criticism, which influenced the age of Voltaire in libelling +Christianity. I had also read Guénée, and +other able exposers of such false criticism. I felt a +conviction that, by no logical reasoning, could the being of a +God be granted, and the Bible rejected, and I conceived it a +vulgar degradation to fall in with the stream of antichristian +opinions, and to want elevation of intellect to apprehend how the +doctrine of Catholicism in its true character, is religiously +simple and ennobling. Yet I had the meanness to bow to +human opinion out of deference and respect. The wit and +sarcasms of my neighbour seemed to confound me, while I could not +disguise from myself that they were idle and empty as the +air. I dissimulated, I hesitated to announce my own belief, +reflecting how far it were seasonable thus to contradict my +companion, and persuading myself that it would be useless, and +that I was perfectly justified in remaining silent. What +vile pusillanimity! why thus respect the presumptuous power of +popular errors and opinions, resting upon no foundation. +True it is that an ill-timed zeal is always indiscreet, and +calculated to irritate rather than convert; but to avow with +frankness and modesty what we regard as an important truth, to do +it even when we have reason to conclude it will not be palatable, +and to meet willingly any ridicule or sarcasm which may be +launched against it; this I maintain to be an actual duty. +A noble avowal of this kind, moreover, may always be made, +without pretending to assume, uncalled for, anything of the +missionary character.</p> +<p>It is, I repeat, a duty, not to keep back an important truth +at any period; for though there may be little hope of it being +immediately acknowledged; it may tend to prepare the minds of +others, and in due time, doubtless, produce a better and more +impartial judgment, and a consequent triumph of truth.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">continued</span> in the same apartment +during a month and some days. On the night of February the +18th, 1821, I was roused from sleep by a loud noise of chains and +keys; several men entered with a lantern, and the first idea that +struck me was, that they were come to cut my throat. While +gazing at them in strange perplexity, one of the figures advanced +towards me with a polite air; it was Count B—, <a +name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8" +class="citation">[8]</a> who requested I would dress myself as +speedily as possible to set out.</p> +<p>I was surprised at this announcement, and even indulged a hope +that they were sent to conduct me to the confines of +Piedmont. Was it likely the storm which hung over me would +thus early be dispersed? should I again enjoy that liberty so +dearly prized, be restored to my beloved parents, and see my +brothers and sisters?</p> +<p>I was allowed short time to indulge these flattering +hopes. The moment I had thrown on my clothes, I followed my +conductors without having an opportunity of bidding farewell to +my royal neighbour. Yet I thought I heard him call my name, +and regretted it was out of my power to stop and reply. +“Where are we going?” I inquired of the Count, as we +got into a coach, attended by an officer of the guard. +“I cannot inform you till we shall be a mile on the other +side the city of Milan.” I was aware the coach was +not going in the direction of the Vercelline gate; and my hopes +suddenly vanished. I was silent; it was a beautiful +moonlight night; I beheld the same well-known paths I had +traversed for pleasure so many years before. The houses, +the churches, and every object renewed a thousand pleasing +recollections. I saw the <i>Corsia</i> of Porta Orientale, +I saw the public gardens, where I had so often rambled with +Foscolo, <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9" +class="citation">[9]</a> Monti, <a name="citation10"></a><a +href="#footnote10" class="citation">[10]</a> Lodovico di Breme, +<a name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11" +class="citation">[11]</a> Pietro Borsieri, <a +name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12" +class="citation">[12]</a> Count Porro, and his sons, with many +other delightful companions, conversing in all the glow of life +and hope. How I felt my friendship for these noble men +revive with double force when I thought of having parted from +them for the last time, disappearing as they had done, one by +one, so rapidly from my view. When we had gone a little way +beyond the gate, I pulled my hat over my eyes, and indulged these +sad retrospections unobserved.</p> +<p>After having gone about a mile, I addressed myself to Count +B-. “I presume we are on the road to +Verona.” “Yes, further,” was the reply; +“we are for Venice, where it is my duty to hand you over to +a special commission there appointed.”</p> +<p>We travelled post, stopped nowhere, and on the 20th of +February arrived at my destination. The September of the +year preceding, just one month previous to my arrest, I had been +at Venice, and had met a large and delightful party at dinner, in +the Hotel della Luna. Strangely enough, I was now conducted +by the Count and the officer to the very inn where we had spent +that evening in social mirth.</p> +<p>One of the waiters started on seeing me, perceiving that, +though my conductors had assumed the dress of domestics, I was no +other than a prisoner in their hands. I was gratified at +this recognition, being persuaded that the man would mention my +arrival there to more than one.</p> +<p>We dined, and I was then conducted to the palace of the Doge, +where the tribunals are now held. I passed under the +well-known porticoes of the <i>Procuratie</i>, and by the Florian +Hotel, where I had enjoyed so many pleasant evenings the last +autumn; but I did not happen to meet a single acquaintance. +We went across the piazzetta, and there it struck me that the +September before, I had met a poor mendicant, who addressed me in +these singular words:—</p> +<p>“I see, sir, you are a stranger, but I cannot make out +why you, sir, and all other strangers, should so much admire this +place. To me it is a place of misfortune, and I never pass +it when I can avoid it.”</p> +<p>“What, did you here meet with some disaster?”</p> +<p>“I did, sir; a horrible one, sir; and not only I. +God protect you from it, God protect you!” And he +took himself off in haste.</p> +<p>At this moment it was impossible for me to forget the words of +the poor beggarman. He was present there, too, the next +year, when I ascended the scaffold, whence I heard read to me the +sentence of death, and that it had been commuted for fifteen +years hard imprisonment. Assuredly, if I had been inclined +ever so little to superstition, I should have thought much of the +mendicant, predicting to me with so much energy, as he did, and +insisting that this was a place of misfortune. As it is, I +have merely noted it down for a curious incident. We +ascended the palace; Count B— spoke to the judges, then, +handing me over to the jailer, after embracing me with much +emotion, he bade me farewell.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">followed</span> the jailer in +silence. After turning through a number of passages, and +several large rooms, we arrived at a small staircase, which +brought us under the <i>Piombi</i>, those notorious state +prisons, dating from the time of the Venetian republic.</p> +<p>There the jailer first registered my name, and then locked me +up in the room appointed for me. The chambers called <i>I +Piombi</i> consist of the upper portion of the Doge’s +palace, and are covered throughout with lead.</p> +<p>My room had a large window with enormous bars, and commanded a +view of the roof (also of lead), and the church, of St. +Mark. Beyond the church I could discern the end of the +Piazza in the distance, with an immense number of cupolas and +belfries on all sides. St. Mark’s gigantic Campanile +was separated from me only by the length of the church, and I +could hear persons speaking from the top of it when they talked +at all loud. To the left of the church was to be seen a +portion of the grand court of the palace, and one of the chief +entrances. There is a public well in that part of the +court, and people were continually in the habit of going thither +to draw water. From the lofty site of my prison they +appeared to me about the size of little children, and I could not +at all hear their conversation, except when they called out very +loud. Indeed, I found myself much more solitary than I had +been in the Milanese prisons.</p> +<p>During several days the anxiety I suffered from the criminal +trial appointed by the special commission, made me rather +melancholy, and it was increased, doubtless, by that painful +feeling of deeper solitude.</p> +<p>I was here, moreover, further removed from my family, of whom +I heard no more. The new faces that appeared wore a gloom +at once strange and appalling. Report had greatly +exaggerated the struggle of the Milanese and the rest of Italy to +recover their independence; it was doubted if I were not one of +the most desperate promoters of that mad enterprise. I +found that my name, as a writer, was not wholly unknown to my +jailer, to his wife, and even his daughter, besides two sons, and +the under-jailers, all of whom, by their manner, seemed to have +an idea that a writer of tragedies was little better than a kind +of magician. They looked grave and distant, yet as if eager +to learn more of me, had they dared to waive the ceremony of +their iron office.</p> +<p>In a few days I grew accustomed to their looks, or rather, I +think, they found I was not so great a necromancer as to escape +through the lead roofs, and, consequently, assumed a more +conciliating demeanour. The wife had most of the character +that marks the true jailer; she was dry and hard, all bone, +without a particle of heart, about forty, and incapable of +feeling, except it were a savage sort of instinct for her +offspring. She used to bring me my coffee, morning and +afternoon, and my water at dinner. She was generally +accompanied by her daughter, a girl of about fifteen, not very +pretty, but with mild, compassionating looks, and her two sons, +from ten to thirteen years of age. They always went back +with their mother, but there was a gentle look and a smile of +love for me upon their young faces as she closed the door, my +only company when they were gone. The jailer never came +near me, except to conduct me before the special commission, that +terrible ordeal for what are termed crimes of state.</p> +<p>The under-jailers, occupied with the prisons of the police, +situated on a lower floor, where there were numbers of robbers, +seldom came near me. One of these assistants was an old +man, more than seventy, but still able to discharge his laborious +duties, and to run up and down the steps to the different +prisons; another was a young man about twenty-five, more bent +upon giving an account of his love affairs than eager to devote +himself to his office.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">had</span> now to confront the terrors +of a state trial. What was my dread of implicating others +by my answers! What difficulty to contend against so many +strange accusations, so many suspicions of all kinds! How +impossible, almost, not to become implicated by these incessant +examinations, by daily new arrests, and the imprudence of other +parties, perhaps not known to you, yet belonging to the same +movement! I have decided not to speak on politics; and I +must suppress every detail connected with the state trials. +I shall merely observe that, after being subjected for successive +hours to the harassing process, I retired in a frame of mind so +excited, and so enraged, that I should assuredly have taken my +own life, had not the voice of religion, and the recollection of +my parents restrained my hand. I lost the tranquillity of +mind I had acquired at Milan; during many days, I despaired of +regaining it, and I cannot even allude to this interval without +feelings of horror. It was vain to attempt it, I could not +pray; I questioned the justice of God; I cursed mankind, and all +the world, revolving in my mind all the possible sophisms and +satires I could think of, respecting the hollowness and vanity of +virtue. The disappointed and the exasperated are always +ingenious in finding accusations against their fellow-creatures, +and even the Creator himself. Anger is of a more universal +and injurious tendency than is generally supposed. As we +cannot rage and storm from morning till night, and as the most +ferocious animal has necessarily its intervals of repose, these +intervals in man are greatly influenced by the immoral character +of the conduct which may have preceded them. He appears to +be at peace, indeed, but it is an irreligious, malignant peace; a +savage sardonic smile, destitute of all charity or dignity; a +love of confusion, intoxication, and sarcasm.</p> +<p>In this state I was accustomed to sing—anything but +hymns—with a kind of mad, ferocious joy. I spoke to +all who approached my dungeon, jeering and bitter things; and I +tried to look upon the whole creation through the medium of that +commonplace wisdom, the wisdom of the cynics. This +degrading period, on which I hate to reflect, lasted happily only +for six or seven days, during which my Bible had become covered +with dust. One of the jailer’s boys, thinking to +please me, as he cast his eye upon it, observed, “Since you +left off reading that great, ugly book, you don’t seem half +so melancholy, sir.” “Do you think so?” +said I. Taking the Bible in my hands, I wiped off the dust, +and opening it hastily, my eyes fell upon the following +words:—“And he said unto his disciples, it must needs +be that offences come; but woe unto him by whom they come; for +better had it been for him that a millstone were hanged about his +neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of +these little ones.”</p> +<p>I was affected upon reading this passage, and I felt ashamed +when I thought that this little boy had perceived, from the dust +with which it was covered, that I no longer read my Bible, and +had even supposed that I had acquired a better temper by want of +attention to my religious duties, and become less wretched by +forgetting my God. “You little graceless +fellow,” I exclaimed, though reproaching him in a gentle +tone, and grieved at having afforded him a subject of scandal; +“this is not a great, ugly book, and for the few days that +I have left off reading it, I find myself much worse. If +your mother would let you stay with me a little while, you would +see that I know how to get rid of my ill-humour. If you +knew how hard it was to be in good humour, when left so long +alone, and when you hear me singing and talking like a madman, +you would not call this a great ugly book.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> boy left me, and I felt a sort +of pleasure at having taken the Bible again in my hands, more +especially at having owned I had been worse for having neglected +it. It seemed as if I had made atonement to a generous +friend whom I had unjustly offended, but had now become +reconciled to. Yes! I had even forgotten my God! I +exclaimed, and perverted my better nature. Could I have +been led to believe that the vile mockery of the cynic was +applicable to one in my forlorn and desperate situation?</p> +<p>I felt an indescribable emotion on asking myself this +question; I placed the Bible upon a chair, and, falling on my +knees, I burst into tears of remorse: I who ever found it so +difficult to shed even a tear. These tears were far more +delightful to me than any physical enjoyment I had ever +felt. I felt I was restored to God, I loved him, I repented +of having outraged religion by degrading myself; and I made a vow +never, never more to forget, to separate myself from, my God.</p> +<p>How truly a sincere return to faith, and love, and hope, +consoles and elevates the mind. I read and continued to +weep for upwards of an hour. I rose with renewed confidence +that God had not abandoned me, but had forgiven my every fault +and folly. It was then that my misfortunes, the horrors of +my continued examinations, and the probable death which awaited +me, appeared of little account. I rejoiced in suffering, +since I was thus afforded an occasion to perform some duty, and +that, by submitting with a resigned mind, I was obeying my Divine +Master. I was enabled, thanks be to Heaven, to read my +Bible. I no longer estimated it by the wretched, critical +subterfuges of a Voltaire, heaping ridicule upon mere +expressions, in themselves neither false nor ridiculous, except +to gross ignorance or malice, which cannot penetrate their +meaning. I became clearly convinced how indisputably it was +the code of sanctity, and hence of truth itself; how really +unphilosophical it was to take offence at a few little +imperfections of style, not less absurd than the vanity of one +who despises everything that wears not the gloss of elegant +forms; what still greater absurdity to imagine that such a +collection of books, so long held in religious veneration, should +not possess an authentic origin, boasting, as they do, such a +vast superiority over the Koran, and the old theology of the +Indies.</p> +<p>Many, doubtless, abused its excellence, many wished to turn it +into a code of injustice, and a sanction of all their bad +passions. But the triumphant answer to these is, that every +thing is liable to abuse; and when did the abuse of the most +precious and best of things lead us to the conclusion that they +were in their own nature bad? Our Saviour himself declared +it; the whole law and the Prophets, the entire body of these +sacred books, all inculcate the same precept to love God and +mankind. And must not such writings embrace the +truth—truth adapted to all times and ages? must they not +ever constitute the living word of the Holy Spirit?</p> +<p>Whilst I made these reflections, I renewed my intention of +identifying with religion all my thoughts concerning human +affairs, all my opinions upon the progress of civilisation, my +philanthropy, love of my country, in short, all the passions of +my mind.</p> +<p>The few days in which I remained subjected to the cynic +doctrine, did me a deal of harm. I long felt its effects, +and had great difficulty to remove them. Whenever man +yields in the least to the temptation of undignifying his +intellect, to view the works of God through the infernal medium +of scorn, to abandon the beneficent exercise of prayer, the +injury which he inflicts upon his natural reason prepares him to +fall again with but little struggle. For a period of +several weeks I was almost daily assaulted with strong, bitter +tendencies to doubt and disbelief; and it called for the whole +power of my mind to free myself from their grasp.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> these mental struggles had +ceased, and I had again become habituated to reverence the Deity +in all my thoughts and feelings, I for some time enjoyed the most +unbroken serenity and peace. The examinations to which I +was every two or three days subjected by the special commission, +however tormenting, produced no lasting anxiety, as before. +I succeeded in this arduous position, in discharging all which +integrity and friendship required of me, and left the rest to the +will of God. I now, too, resumed my utmost efforts to guard +against the effects of any sudden surprise, every emotion and +passion, and every imaginable misfortune; a kind of preparation +for future trials of the greatest utility.</p> +<p>My solitude, meantime, grew more oppressive. Two sons of +the jailer, whom I had been in the habit of seeing at brief +intervals, were sent to school, and I saw them no more. The +mother and the sister, who had been accustomed, along with them, +to speak to me, never came near me, except to bring my +coffee. About the mother I cared very little; but the +daughter, though rather plain, had something so pleasing and +gentle, both in her words and looks, that I greatly felt the loss +of them. Whenever she brought the coffee, and said, +“It was I who made it,” I always thought it +excellent: but when she observed, “This is my +mother’s making,” it lost all its relish.</p> +<p>Being almost deprived of human society, I one day made +acquaintance with some ants upon my window; I fed them; they went +away, and ere long the placed was thronged with these little +insects, as if come by invitation. A spider, too, had +weaved a noble edifice upon my walls, and I often gave him a +feast of gnats or flies, which were extremely annoying to me, and +which he liked much better than I did. I got quite +accustomed to the sight of him; he would run over my bed, and +come and take the precious morsels out of my hand. Would to +heaven these had been the only insects which visited my +abode. It was still summer, and the gnats had begun to +multiply to a prodigious and alarming extent. The previous +winter had been remarkably mild, and after the prevalence of the +March winds followed extreme heat. It is impossible to +convey an idea of the insufferable oppression of the air in the +place I occupied. Opposed directly to a noontide sun, under +a leaden roof, and with a window looking on the roof of St. Mark, +casting a tremendous reflection of the heat, I was nearly +suffocated. I had never conceived an idea of a punishment +so intolerable: add to which the clouds of gnats, which, spite of +my utmost efforts, covered every article of furniture in the +room, till even the walls and ceiling seemed alive with them; and +I had some apprehension of being devoured alive. Their +bites, moreover, were extremely painful, and when thus punctured +from morning till night, only to undergo the same operation from +day to day, and engaged the whole time in killing and slaying, +some idea may be formed of the state both of my body and my +mind.</p> +<p>I felt the full force of such a scourge, yet was unable to +obtain a change of dungeon, till at length I was tempted to rid +myself of my life, and had strong fears of running +distracted. But, thanks be to God, these thoughts were not +of long duration, and religion continued to sustain me. It +taught me that man was born to suffer, and to suffer with +courage: it taught me to experience a sort of pleasure in my +troubles, to resist and to vanquish in the battle appointed me by +Heaven. The more unhappy, I said to myself, my life may +become, the less will I yield to my fate, even though I should be +condemned in the morning of my life to the scaffold. +Perhaps, without these preliminary and chastening trials, I might +have met death in an unworthy manner. Do I know, moreover, +that I possess those virtues and qualities which deserve +prosperity; where and what are they? Then, seriously +examining into my past conduct, I found too little good on which +to pride myself; the chief part was a tissue of vanity, idolatry, +and the mere exterior of virtue. Unworthy, therefore, as I +am, let me suffer! If it be intended that men and gnats +should destroy me, unjustly or otherwise, acknowledge in them the +instruments of a divine justice, and be silent.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Does</span> man stand in need of +compulsion before he can be brought to humble himself with +sincerity? to look upon himself as a sinner? Is it not too +true that we in general dissipate our youth in vanity, and, +instead of employing all our faculties in the acquisition of what +is good, make them the instruments of our degradation? +There are, doubtless, exceptions, but I confess they cannot apply +to a wretched individual like myself. There is no merit in +thus being dissatisfied with myself; when we see a lamp which +emits more smoke than flame, it requires no great sincerity to +say that it does not burn as it ought to do.</p> +<p>Yes, without any degradation, without any scruples of +hypocrisy, and viewing myself with perfect tranquillity of mind, +I perceived that I had merited the chastisement of my God. +An internal monitor told me that such chastisements were, for one +fault or other, amply merited; they assisted in winning me back +to Him who is perfect, and whom every human being, as far as +their limited powers will admit, are bound to imitate. By +what right, while constrained to condemn myself for innumerable +offences and forgetfulness towards God, could I complain, because +some men appeared to me despicable, and others wicked? What +if I were deprived of all worldly advantages, and was doomed to +linger in prison, or to die a violent death? I sought to +impress upon my mind reflections like these, at once just and +applicable; and this done, I found it was necessary to be +consistent, and that it could be effected in no other manner than +by sanctifying the upright judgments of the Almighty, by loving +them, and eradicating every wish at all opposed to them. +The better to persevere in my intention, I determined, in future, +carefully to revolve in my mind all my opinions, by committing +them to writing. The difficulty was that the Commission, +while permitting me to have the use of ink and paper, counted out +the leaves, with an express prohibition that I should not destroy +a single one, and reserving the power of examining in what manner +I had employed them. To supply the want of paper, I had +recourse to the simple stratagem of smoothing with a piece of +glass a rude table which I had, and upon this I daily wrote my +long meditations respecting the duties of mankind, and especially +of those which applied to myself. It is no exaggeration to +say that the hours so employed were sometimes delightful to me, +notwithstanding the difficulty of breathing I experienced from +the excessive heat, to say nothing of the bitterly painful +wounds, small though they were, of those poisonous gnats. +To defend myself from the countless numbers of these tormentors, +I was compelled, in the midst of suffocation, to wrap my head and +my legs in thick cloth, and not only write with gloves on, but to +bandage my wrist to prevent the intruders creeping up my +sleeves.</p> +<p>Meditations like mine assumed somewhat of a biographical +character. I made out an account of all the good and the +evil which had grown up with me from my earliest youth, +discussing them within myself, attempting to resolve every doubt, +and arranging, to the best of my power, the various kinds of +knowledge I had acquired, and my ideas upon every subject. +When the whole surface of the table was covered with my +lucubrations, I perused and re-perused them, meditated on what I +had already meditated, and, at length, resolved (however +unwillingly) to scratch out all I had done with the glass, in +order to have a clean superficies upon which to recommence my +operations.</p> +<p>From that time I continued the narrative of my experience of +good and evil, always relieved by digressions of every kind, by +some analysis of this or that point, whether in metaphysics, +morals, politics, or religion; and when the whole was complete, I +again began to read, and re-read, and lastly, to scratch +out. Being anxious to avoid every chance of interruption, +or of impediment, to my repeating with the greatest possible +freedom the facts I had recorded, and my opinions upon them, I +took care to transpose and abbreviate the words in such a manner +as to run no risk from the most inquisitorial visit. No +search, however, was made, and no one was aware that I was +spending my miserable prison-hours to so good a purpose. +Whenever I heard the jailer or other person open the door I +covered my little table with a cloth, and placed upon it the +ink-stand, with the <i>lawful</i> quantity of state paper by its +side.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Still</span> I did not wholly neglect the +paper put into my hands, and sometimes even devoted an entire day +or night to writing. But here I only treated of literary +matters. I composed at that time the <i>Ester +d’Engaddi</i>, the <i>Iginia d’Asti</i>, and the +<i>Cantichi</i>, entitled, <i>Tanereda Rosilde</i>, <i>Eligi</i> +and <i>Valafrido</i>, <i>Adello</i>, besides several sketches of +tragedies, and other productions, in the list of which was a poem +upon the <i>Lombard League</i>, and another upon <i>Christopher +Columbus</i>.</p> +<p>As it was not always so easy an affair to get a reinforcement +of paper, I was in the habit of committing my rough draughts to +my table, or the wrapping-paper in which I received fruit and +other articles. At times I would give away my dinner to the +under-jailer, telling him that I had no appetite, and then +requesting from him the favour of a sheet of paper. This +was, however, only in certain exigencies, when my little table +was full of writing, and I had not yet determined on clearing it +away. I was often very hungry, and though the jailer had +money of mine in his possession, I did not ask him to bring me +anything to eat, partly lest he should suspect I had given away +my dinner, and partly that the under-jailer might not find out +that I had said the thing which was not when I assured him of my +loss of appetite. In the evening I regaled myself with some +strong coffee, and I entreated that it might be made by the +little <i>sioa</i>, Zanze. <a name="citation13"></a><a +href="#footnote13" class="citation">[13]</a> This was the +jailer’s daughter, who, if she could escape the lynx-eye of +her sour mamma, was good enough to make it exceedingly good; so +good, indeed, that, what with the emptiness of my stomach, it +produced a kind of convulsion, which kept me awake the whole of +the night.</p> +<p>In this state of gentle inebriation, I felt my intellectual +faculties strangely invigorated; wrote poetry, philosophized, and +prayed till morning with feelings of real pleasure. I then +became completely exhausted, threw myself upon my bed, and, spite +of the gnats that were continually sucking my blood, I slept an +hour or two in profound rest.</p> +<p>I can hardly describe the peculiar and pleasing exaltation of +mind which continued for nights together, and I left no means +untried to secure the same means of continuing it. With +this view I still refused to touch a mouthful of dinner, even +when I was in no want of paper, merely in order to obtain my +magic beverage for the evening.</p> +<p>How fortunate I thought myself when I succeeded; not +unfrequently the coffee was not made by the gentle Angiola; and +it was always vile stuff from her mother’s hands. In +this last case, I was sadly put out of humour, for instead of the +electrical effect on my nerves, it made me wretched, weak, and +hungry; I threw myself down to sleep, but was unable to close an +eye. Upon these occasions I complained bitterly to Angiola, +the jailer’s daughter, and one day, as if she had been in +fault, I scolded her so sharply that the poor girl began to weep, +sobbing out, “Indeed, sir, I never deceived anybody, and +yet everybody calls me a deceitful little mix.”</p> +<p>“Everybody! Oh then, I see I am not the only one +driven to distraction by your vile slops.”</p> +<p>“I do not mean to say that, sir. Ah, if you only +knew; if I dared to tell you all that my poor, wretched +heart—”</p> +<p>“Well, don’t cry so! What is all this +ado? I beg your pardon, you see, if I scolded you. +Indeed, I believe you would not, you could not, make me such vile +stuff as this.”</p> +<p>“Dear me! I am not crying about that, +sir.”</p> +<p>“You are not!” and I felt my self-love not a +little mortified, though I forced a smile. “Are you +crying, then, because I scolded you, and yet not about the +coffee?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed, sir?”</p> +<p>“Ah! then who called you a little deceitful one +before?”</p> +<p>“<i>He</i> did, sir.”</p> +<p>“<i>He</i> did; and who is <i>he</i>?”</p> +<p>“My lover, sir;” and she hid her face in her +little hands.</p> +<p>Afterwards she ingenuously intrusted to my keeping, and I +could not well betray her, a little serio-comic sort of pastoral +romance, which really interested me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">From</span> that day forth, I know not +why, I became the adviser and confidant of this young girl, who +returned and conversed with me for hours. She at first +said, “You are so good, sir, that I feel just the same when +I am here as if I were your own daughter.”</p> +<p>“That is a very poor compliment,” replied I, +dropping her hand; “I am hardly yet thirty-two, and you +look upon me as if I were an old father.”</p> +<p>“No, no, not so; I mean as a brother, to be sure;” +and she insisted upon taking hold of my hand with an air of the +most innocent confidence and affection.</p> +<p>I am glad, thought I to myself, that you are no beauty; else, +alas, this innocent sort of fooling might chance to disconcert +me; at other times I thought it is lucky, too, she is so young, +there could never be any danger of becoming attached to girls of +her years. At other times, however, I felt a little uneasy, +thinking I was mistaken in having pronounced her rather plain, +whereas her whole shape and features were by no means wanting in +proportion or expression. If she were not quite so pale, I +said, and her face free from those marks, she might really pass +for a beauty. It is impossible, in fact, not to find some +charm in the presence and in the looks and voice of a young girl +full of vivacity and affection. I had taken not the least +pains to acquire her good-will; yet was I as dear to either as a +father or a brother, whichever title I preferred. And +why? Only because she had read <i>Francesca da Rimini</i> +and <i>Eufemio</i>, and my poems, she said, had made her weep so +often; then, besides, I was a solitary prisoner, <i>without +having</i>, as she observed, either robbed or murdered +anybody.</p> +<p>In short, when I had become attached to poor Maddalene, +without once seeing her, how was it likely that I could remain +indifferent to the sisterly assiduity and attentions, to the +thousand pleasing little compliments, and to the most delicious +cups of coffee of this young Venice girl, my gentle little +jailer? <a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14" +class="citation">[14]</a> I should be trying to impose on +myself, were I to attribute to my own prudence the fact of my not +having fallen in love with Angiola. I did not do so, simply +from the circumstance of her having already a lover of her own +choosing, to whom she was desperately, unalterably +attached. Heaven help me! if it had not been thus I should +have found myself in a very <i>critical</i> position, indeed, for +an author, with so little to keep alive his attention. The +sentiment I felt for her was not, then, what is called +love. I wished to see her happy, and that she might be +united to the lover of her choice; I was not jealous, nor had I +the remotest idea she could ever select me as the object of her +regard. Still, when I heard my prison-door open, my heart +began to beat in the hope it was my Angiola; and if she appeared +not, I experienced a peculiar kind of vexation; when she really +came my heart throbbed yet more violently, from a feeling of pure +joy. Her parents, who had begun to entertain a good opinion +of me, and were aware of her passionate regard for another, +offered no opposition to the visits she thus made me, permitting +her almost invariably to bring me my coffee in a morning, and not +unfrequently in the evening.</p> +<p>There was altogether a simplicity and an affectionateness in +her every word, look, and gesture, which were really +captivating. She would say, “I am excessively +attached to another, and yet I take such delight in being near +you! When I am not in <i>his</i> company, I like being +nowhere so well as here.” (Here was another +compliment.)</p> +<p>“And don’t you know why?” inquired I.</p> +<p>“I do not.”</p> +<p>“I will tell you, then. It is because I permit you +to talk about your lover.”</p> +<p>“That is a good guess; yet still I think it is a good +deal because I esteem you so very much!”</p> +<p>Poor girl! along with this pretty frankness she had that +blessed sin of taking me always by the hand, and pressing it with +all her heart, not perceiving that she at once pleased and +disconcerted me by her affectionate manner. Thanks be to +Heaven, that I can always recall this excellent little girl to +mind without the least tinge of remorse.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> following portion of my +narrative would assuredly have been more interesting had the +gentle Angiola fallen in love with me, or if I had at least run +half mad to enliven my solitude. There was, however, +another sentiment, that of simple benevolence, no less dear to +me, which united our hearts in one. And if, at any moment, +I felt there was the least risk of its changing its nature in my +vain, weak heart, it produced only sincere regret.</p> +<p>Once, certainly, having my doubts that this would happen, and +finding her, to my sorrow, a hundred times more beautiful than I +had at first imagined; feeling too so very melancholy when she +was absent, so joyous when near, I took upon myself to play the +<i>unamiable</i>, in the idea that this would remove all danger +by making her leave off the same affectionate and familiar +manner. This innocent stratagem was tried in vain; the poor +girl was so patient, so full of compassion for me. She +would look at me in silence, with her elbow resting upon the +window, and say, after a long pause, “I see, sir, you are +tired of my company, yet <i>I</i> would stay here the whole day +if I could, merely to keep the hours from hanging so heavy upon +you. This ill-humour of yours is the natural effect of your +long solitude; if you were able to chat awhile, you would be +quite well again. If you don’t like to talk, I will +talk for you.”</p> +<p>“About your lover, eh?”</p> +<p>“No, no; not always about him; I can talk of many +things.”</p> +<p>She then began to give me some extracts from the household +annals, dwelling upon the sharp temper of her mother, her +good-natured father, and the monkey-tricks of her little +brothers; and she told all this with a simple grace and innocent +frankness not a little alluring. Yet I was pretty near the +truth; for, without being aware of it, she uniformly concluded +with the one favourite theme: her ill-starred love. Still I +went on acting the part of the <i>unamiable</i>, in the hope that +she would take a spite against me. But whether from +inadvertency or design, she would not take the hint, and I was at +last fairly compelled to give up by sitting down contented to let +her have her way, smiling, sympathising with, and thanking her +for the sweet patience with which she had so long borne with +me.</p> +<p>I no longer indulged the ungracious idea of spiting her +against me, and, by degrees, all my other fears were +allayed. Assuredly I had not been smitten; I long examined +into the nature of my scruples, wrote down my reflections upon +the subject, and derived no little advantage from the +process.</p> +<p>Man often terrifies himself with mere bugbears of the +mind. If we would learn not to fear them, we have only to +examine them a little more nearly and attentively. What +harm, then, if I looked forward to her visits to me with a tender +anxiety, if I appreciated their sweetness, if it did me good to +be compassioned by her, and to interchange all our thoughts and +feelings, unsullied, I will say, as those of childhood. +Even her most affectionate looks, and smiles, and pressures of +the hand, while they agitated me, produced a feeling of salutary +respect mingled with compassion. One evening, I remember, +when suffering under a sad misfortune, the poor girl threw her +arms round my neck, and wept as if her heart would break. +She had not the least idea of impropriety; no daughter could +embrace a father with more perfect innocence and unsuspecting +affection. I could not, however, reflect upon that embrace +without feeling somewhat agitated. It often recurred to my +imagination, and I could then think of no other subject. On +another occasion, when she thus threw herself upon my confidence, +I was really obliged to disentangle myself from her dear arms, +ere I once pressed her to my bosom, or gave her a single kiss, +while I stammered out, “I pray you, now, sweet Angiola, do +not embrace me ever again; it is not quite proper.” +She fixed her eyes upon me for a moment, then cast them down, +while a blush suffused her ingenuous countenance; and I am sure +it was the first time that she read in my mind even the +possibility of any weakness of mine in reference to her. +Still she did not cease to continue her visits upon the same +friendly footing, with a little mere reserve and respect, such as +I wished it to be; and I was grateful to her for it.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">am</span> unable to form an estimate of +the evils which afflict others; but, as respects myself, I am +bound to confess that, after close examination, I found that no +sufferings had been appointed me, except to some wise end, and +for my own advantage. It was thus even with the excessive +heat which oppressed, and the gnats which tormented me. +Often have I reflected that but for this continual suffering I +might not have successfully resisted the temptation of falling in +love, situated as I was, and with one whose extremely +affectionate and ardent feelings would have made it difficult +always to preserve it within respectful limits. If I had +sometimes reason to tremble, how should I have been enabled to +regulate my vain imagination in an atmosphere somewhat inspiring, +and open to the breathings of joy.</p> +<p>Considering the imprudence of Angiola’s parents, who +reposed such confidence in me, the imprudence of the poor girl +herself, who had not an idea of giving rise to any culpable +affection on my part, and considering, too, the little +steadfastness of my virtue, there can be little doubt but the +suffocating heat of my great oven, and the cruel warfare of the +gnats, were effectual safeguards to us both.</p> +<p>Such a reflection reconciled me somewhat to these scourges; +and I then asked myself, Would you consent to become free, and to +take possession of some handsome apartment, filled with flowers +and fresh air, on condition of never more seeing this +affectionate being? I will own the truth; I had not courage +to reply to this simple question.</p> +<p>When you really feel interested about any one, it is +indescribable what mere trifles are capable of conferring +pleasure. A single word, a smile, a tear, a Venetian turn +of expression, her eagerness in protecting me from my enemies, +the gnats, all inspired me with a childish delight that lasted +the whole day. What most gratified me was to see that her +own sufferings seemed to be relieved by conversing with me, that +my compassion consoled her, that my advice influenced her, and +that her heart was susceptible of the warmest devotion when +treating of virtue and its great Author.</p> +<p>When we had sometimes discussed the subject of religion, she +would observe, “I find that I can now pray with more +willingness and more faith than I did.” At other +times, suddenly breaking off some frivolous topic, she took the +Bible, opened it, pressed her lips to it, and then begged of me +to translate some passages, and give my comments. She +added, “I could wish that every time you happen to recur to +this passage you should call to mind that I have kissed and +kissed it again.”</p> +<p>It was not always, indeed, that her kisses fell so +appropriately, more especially if she happened to open at the +spiritual songs. Then, in order to spare her blushes, I +took advantage of her want of acquaintance with the Latin, and +gave a turn to the expressions which, without detracting from the +sacredness of the Bible, might serve to respect her +innocence. On such occasions I never once permitted myself +to smile; at the same time I was not a little perplexed, when, +not rightly comprehending my new version, she entreated of me to +translate the whole, word for word, and would by no means let me +shy the question by turning her attention to something else.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Nothing</span> is durable here +below! Poor Angiola fell sick; and on one of the first days +when she felt indisposed, she came to see me, complaining +bitterly of pains in her head. She wept, too, and would not +explain the cause of her grief. She only murmured something +that looked like reproaches of her lover. “He is a +villain!” she said; “but God forgive him, as I +do!”</p> +<p>I left no means untried to obtain her confidence, but it was +the first time I was quite unable to ascertain why she distressed +herself to such an excess. “I will return to-morrow +morning,” she said, one evening on parting from me; +“I will, indeed.” But the next morning came, +and my coffee was brought by her mother; the next, and the next, +by the under-jailers; and Angiola continued grievously ill. +The under-jailers, also, brought me very unpleasant tidings +relating to the love-affair; tidings, in short, which made me +deeply sympathize with her sufferings. A case of +seduction! But, perhaps, it was the tale of calumny. +Alas! I but too well believed it, and I was affected at it +more than I can express; though I still like to flatter myself +that it was false. After upwards of a month’s +illness, the poor girl was taken into the country, and I saw her +no more.</p> +<p>It is astonishing how deeply I felt this deprivation, and how +much more horrible my solitude now appeared. Still more +bitter was the reflection that she, who had so tenderly fed, and +watched, and visited me in my sad prison, supplying every want +and wish within her power, was herself a prey to sorrow and +misfortune. Alas! I could make her no return; yet, surely +she will feel aware how truly I sympathize with her; that there +is no effort I would not make to afford her comfort and relief, +and that I shall never cease to offer up my prayers for her, and +to bless her for her goodness to a wretched prisoner.</p> +<p>Though her visits had been too brief, they were enough to +break upon the horrid monotony of my solitude. By +suggesting and comparing our ideas, I obtained new views and +feelings, exercised some of the best and sweetest affections, +gave a zest to life, and even threw a sort of lustre round my +misfortunes.</p> +<p>Suddenly the vision fled, and my dungeon became to me really +like a living tomb. A strange sadness for many days quite +oppressed me. I could not even write: it was a dark, quiet, +nameless feeling, in no way partaking of the violence and +irritation which I had before experienced. Was it that I +had become more inured to adversity, more philosophical, more of +a Christian? Or was it really that the extremely enervating +heat of my dungeon had so prostrated my powers that I could no +longer feel the pangs of excessive grief. Ah, no! for I can +well recollect that I then felt it to my inmost soul; and, +perhaps, more intensely from the want both of will and power to +give vent to it by agitation, maledictions, and cries. The +fact is, I believe, that I had been severely schooled by my past +sufferings, and was resigned to the will of God. I had so +often maintained that it was a mark of cowardice to complain, +that, at length, I succeeded in restraining my passion, when on +the point of breaking out, and felt vexed that I had permitted it +to obtain any ascendancy over me.</p> +<p>My mental faculties were strengthened by the habit of writing +down my thoughts; I got rid of all my vanity, and reduced the +chief part of my reasonings to the following conclusions: There +is a God: <span class="GutSmall">THEREFORE</span> unerring +justice; <span class="GutSmall">THEREFORE</span> all that happens +is ordained to the best end; consequently, the sufferings of man +on earth are inflicted for the good of man.</p> +<p>Thus, my acquaintance with Angiola had proved beneficial, by +soothing and conciliating my feelings. Her good opinion of +me had urged me to the fulfilment of many duties, especially of +that of proving one’s self superior to the shocks of +fortune, and of suffering in patience. By exerting myself +to persevere for about a month, I was enabled to feel perfectly +resigned.</p> +<p>Angiola had beheld me two or three times in a downright +passion; once, as I have stated, on account of her having brought +me bad coffee, and a second time as follows:—</p> +<p>Every two or three weeks the jailer had brought me a letter +from some of my family. It was previously submitted to the +Commission, and most roughly handled, as was too evident by the +number of <i>erasures</i> in the blackest ink which appeared +throughout. One day, however, instead of merely striking +out a few passages, they drew the black line over the entire +letter, with the exception of the words, “<span +class="smcap">My Dearest Silvio</span>,” at the beginning, +and the parting salutation at the close, “<i>All unite in +kindest love to you</i>.”</p> +<p>This act threw me into such an uncontrollable fit of passion, +that, in presence of the gentle Angiola, I broke out into violent +shouts of rage, and cursed I know not whom. The poor girl +pitied me from her heart; but, at the same time, reminded me of +the strange inconsistency of my principles. I saw she had +reason on her side, and I ceased from uttering my +maledictions.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> of the under-jailers one day +entered my prison with a mysterious look, and said, +“Sometime, I believe, that Siora Zanze (Angiola) . . . was +used to bring you your coffee . . . She stopped a good while to +converse with you, and I was afraid the cunning one would worm +out all your secrets, sir.”</p> +<p>“Not one,” I replied, in great anger; “or if +I had any, I should not be such a fool as to tell them in that +way. Go on.”</p> +<p>“Beg pardon, sir; far from me to call you by such a name +. . . But I never trusted to that Siora Zanze. And now, +sir, as you have no longer any one to keep you company . . . I +trust I—”</p> +<p>“What, what! explain yourself at once!”</p> +<p>“Swear first that you will not betray me.”</p> +<p>“Well, well; I could do that with a safe +conscience. I never betrayed any one.”</p> +<p>“Do you say really you will swear?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I swear not to betray you. But what a wretch +to doubt it; for any one capable of betraying you will not +scruple to violate an oath.”</p> +<p>He took a letter from his coat-lining, and gave it me with a +trembling hand, beseeching I would destroy it the moment I had +read it.</p> +<p>“Stop,” I cried, opening it; “I will read +and destroy it while you are here.”</p> +<p>“But, sir, you must answer it, and I cannot stop +now. Do it at your leisure. Only take heed, when you +hear any one coming, you will know if it be I by my singing, +pretty loudly, the tune, <i>Sognai mi gera un gato</i>. You +need, then, fear nothing, and may keep the letter quietly in your +pocket. But should you not hear this song, set it down for +a mark that it cannot be me, or that some one is with me. +Then, in a moment, out with it, don’t trust to any +concealment, in case of a search; out with it, tear it into a +thousand bits, and throw it through the window.”</p> +<p>“Depend upon me; I see you are prudent, I will be so +too.”</p> +<p>“Yet you called me a stupid wretch.”</p> +<p>“You do right to reproach me,” I replied, shaking +him by the hand, “and I beg your pardon.” He +went away, and I began to read</p> +<p>“I am (and here followed the name) one of your admirers: +I have all your <i>Francesca da Rimini</i> by heart. They +arrested me for—(and here he gave the reason with the +date)—and I would give, I know not how many pounds of my +blood to have the pleasure of being with you, or at least in a +dungeon near yours, in order that we might converse +together. Since I heard from Tremerello, so we shall call +our confidant, that you, sir, were a prisoner, and the cause of +your arrest, I have longed to tell you how deeply I lament your +misfortune, and that no one can feel greater attachment to you +than myself. Have you any objection to accept the offer I +make, namely, that we should try to lighten the burden of our +solitude by writing to each other. I pledge you my honour, +that not a being shall ever hear of our correspondence from me, +and am persuaded that I may count upon the same secresy on your +part, if you adopt my plan. Meantime, that you may form +some idea, I will give you an abstract from my +life.”—(It followed.)</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> reader, however deficient in +the imaginative organ, may easily conceive the electric effect of +such a letter upon the nerves of a poor prisoner, not of the most +savage disposition, but possessing an affectionate and gregarious +turn of mind. I felt already an affection for the unknown; +I pitied his misfortunes, and was grateful for the kind +expressions he made use of. “Yes,” exclaimed I, +“your generous purpose shall be effected. I wish my +letters may afford you consolation equal to that which I shall +derive from yours.”</p> +<p>I re-perused his letter with almost boyish delight, and +blessed the writer; there was not an expression which did not +exhibit evidence of a clear and noble mind.</p> +<p>The sun was setting, it was my hour of prayer; I felt the +presence of God; how sincere was my gratitude for his providing +me with new means of exercising the faculties of my mind. +How it revived my recollection of all the invaluable blessings he +had bestowed upon me!</p> +<p>I stood before the window, with my arms between the bars, and +my hands folded; the church of St. Mark lay below me, an immense +flock of pigeons, free as the air, were flying about, were cooing +and billing, or busied in constructing their nests upon the +leaden roof; the heavens in their magnificence were before me; I +surveyed all that part of Venice visible from my prison; a +distant murmur of human voices broke sweetly on my ear. +From this vast unhappy prison-house did I hold communion with +Him, whose eyes alone beheld me; to Him I recommended my father, +my mother, and, individually, all those most dear to me, and it +appeared as if I heard Him reply, “Confide in my +goodness,” and I exclaimed, “Thy goodness assures +me.”</p> +<p>I concluded my prayer with much emotion, greatly comforted, +and little caring for the bites of the gnats, which had been +joyfully feasting upon me. The same evening, my mind, after +such exaltation, beginning to grow calmer, I found the torment +from the gnats becoming insufferable, and while engaged in +wrapping up my hands and face, a vulgar and malignant idea all at +once entered my mind, which horrified me, and which I vainly +attempted to banish.</p> +<p>Tremerello had insinuated a vile suspicion respecting Angiola; +that, in short, she was a spy upon my secret opinions! She! +that noble-hearted creature, who knew nothing of politics, and +wished to know nothing of them!</p> +<p>It was impossible for me to suspect her; but have I, said I, +the same certainty respecting Tremerello? Suppose that +rogue should be the bribed instrument of secret informers; +suppose the letter had been fabricated by <i>who knows whom</i>, +to induce me to make important disclosures to my new +friend. Perhaps his pretended prison does not exist; or if +so, he may be a traitor, eager to worm out secrets in order to +make his own terms; perhaps he is a man of honour, and Tremerello +himself the traitor who aims at our destruction in order to gain +an additional salary.</p> +<p>Oh, horrible thought, yet too natural to the unhappy prisoner, +everywhere in fear of enmity and fraud!</p> +<p>Such suspicions tormented and degraded me. I did not +entertain them as regarded Angiola a single moment. Yet, +from what Tremerello had said, a kind of doubt clung to me as to +the conduct of those who had permitted her to come into my +apartment. Had they, either from their own zeal, or by +superior authority, given her the office of spy? in that case, +how ill had she discharged such an office!</p> +<p>But what was I to do respecting the letter of the +unknown? Should I adopt the severe, repulsive counsel of +fear which we call prudence? Shall I return the letter to +Tremerello, and tell him, I do not wish to run any risk. +Yet suppose there should be no treason; and the unknown be a +truly worthy character, deserving that I should venture +something, if only to relieve the horrors of his solitude? +Coward as I am, standing on the brink of death, the fatal decree +ready to strike me at any moment, yet to refuse to perform a +simple act of love! Reply to him I must and will. +Grant that it be discovered, no one can fairly be accused of +writing the letter, though poor Tremerello would assuredly meet +with the severest chastisement. Is not this consideration +of itself sufficient to decide me against undertaking any +clandestine correspondence? Is it not my absolute duty to +decline it?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">was</span> agitated the whole evening; I +never closed my eyes that night, and amidst so many conflicting +doubts, I knew not on what to resolve.</p> +<p>I sprung from my bed before dawn, I mounted upon the +window-place, and offered up my prayers. In trying +circumstances it is necessary to appeal with confidence to God, +to heed his inspirations, and to adhere to them.</p> +<p>This I did, and after long prayer, I went down, shook off the +gnats, took the bitten gloves in my hands, and came to the +determination to explain my apprehensions to Tremerello and warn +him of the great danger to which he himself was exposed by +bearing letters; to renounce the plan if he wavered, and to +accept it if its terrors did not deter him. I walked about +till I heard the words of the song:—<i>Segnai mi gera un +gato</i>, <i>E ti me carezzevi</i>. It was Tremerello +bringing me my coffee. I acquainted him with my scruples +and spared nothing to excite his fears. I found him staunch +in his desire to <i>serve</i>, as he said, <i>two such complete +gentlemen</i>. This was strangely at variance with the +sheep’s face he wore, and the name we had just given him. +<a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15" +class="citation">[15]</a> Well, I was as firm on my +part.</p> +<p>“I shall leave you my wine,” said I, “see to +find me the paper; I want to carry on this correspondence; and, +rely on it, if any one comes without the warning song, I shall +make an end of every suspicious article.”</p> +<p>“Here is a sheet of paper ready for you; I will give you +more whenever you please, and am perfectly satisfied of your +prudence.”</p> +<p>I longed to take my coffee; Tremerello left me, and I sat down +to write. Did I do right? was the motive really approved by +God? Was it not rather the triumph of my natural courage, +of my preference of that which pleased me, instead of obeying the +call for painful sacrifices. Mingled with this was a proud +complacency, in return for the esteem expressed towards me by the +unknown, and a fear of appearing cowardly, if I were to adhere to +silence and decline a correspondence, every way so fraught with +peril. How was I to resolve these doubts? I explained +them frankly to my fellow-prisoner in replying to him, stating it +nevertheless, as my opinion, that if anything were undertaken +from good motives, and without the least repugnance of +conscience, there could be no fear of blame. I advised him +at the same time to reflect seriously upon the subject, and to +express clearly with what degree of tranquillity, or of anxiety, +he was prepared to engage, in it. Moreover, if, upon +reconsideration, he considered the plan as too dangerous, we +ought to have firmness enough to renounce the satisfaction we +promised ourselves in such a correspondence, and rest satisfied +with the acquaintance we had formed, the mutual pleasure we had +already derived, and the unalterable goodwill we felt towards +each other, which resulted from it. I filled four pages +with my explanations, and expressions of the warmest friendship; +I briefly alluded to the subject of my imprisonment; I spoke of +my family with enthusiastic love, as well as of some of my +friends, and attempted to draw a full picture of my mind and +character.</p> +<p>In the evening I sent the letter. I had not slept during +the preceding night; I was completely exhausted, and I soon fell +into a profound sleep, from which I awoke on the ensuing morning, +refreshed and comparatively happy. I was in hourly +expectation of receiving my new friend’s answer, and I felt +at once anxious and pleased at the idea.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> answer was brought with my +coffee. I welcomed Tremerello, and, embracing him, +exclaimed, “May God reward you for this +goodness!” My suspicions had fled, because they were +hateful to me; and because, making a point of never speaking +imprudently upon politics, they appeared equally useless; and +because, with all my admiration for the genius of Tacitus, I had +never much faith in the justice of <i>tacitising</i> as he does, +and of looking upon every object on the dark side. Giuliano +(as the writer signed himself), began his letter with the usual +compliments, and informed me that he felt not the least anxiety +in entering upon the correspondence. He rallied me upon my +hesitation; occasionally assumed a tone of irony; and then more +seriously declared that it had given him no little pain to +observe in me “a certain scrupulous wavering, and a +subtilty of conscience, which, however Christian-like, was little +in accordance with true philosophy.” “I shall +continue to esteem you,” he added, “though we should +not agree upon that point; for I am bound, in all sincerity, to +inform you, that I have no religion, that I abhor all creeds, and +that I assume from a feeling of modesty the name of Julian, from +the circumstance of that good emperor having been so decided an +enemy of the Christians, though, in fact, I go much further than +he ever did. The sceptred Julian believed in God, and had +his own little superstitions. I have none; I believe not in +a God, but refer all virtue to the love of truth, and the hatred +of such as do not please me.” There was no reasoning +in what he said. He inveighed bitterly against +Christianity, made an idol of worldly honour and virtue; and in a +half serious and jocular vein took on himself to pronounce the +Emperor Julian’s eulogium for his apostasy, and his +philanthropic efforts to eradicate all traces of the gospel from +the face of the earth.</p> +<p>Apprehending that he had thus given too severe a shock to my +opinions, he then asked my pardon, attempting to excuse himself +upon the ground of <i>perfect sincerity</i>. Reiterating +his extreme wish to enter into more friendly relations with me, +he then bade me farewell.</p> +<p>In a postscript he added:—“I have no sort of +scruples, except a fear of not having made myself sufficiently +understood. I ought not to conceal that to me the Christian +language which you employ, appears a mere mask to conceal your +real opinions. I wish it may be so; and in this case, throw +off your cloak, as I have set you an example.”</p> +<p>I cannot describe the effect this letter had upon me. I +had opened it full of hope and ardour. Suddenly an icy hand +seemed to chill the life-blood of my heart. That sarcasm on +my conscientiousness hurt me extremely. I repented having +formed any acquaintance with such a man, I who so much detest the +doctrine of the cynics, who consider it so wholly +unphilosophical, and the most injurious in its tendency: I who +despise all kind of arrogance as it deserves.</p> +<p>Having read the last word it contained, I took the letter in +both my hands, and tearing it directly down the middle, I held up +a half in each like an executioner, employed in exposing it to +public scorn.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">kept</span> my eye fixed on the +fragments, meditating for a moment upon the inconstancy and +fallacy of human things I had just before eagerly desired to +obtain, that which I now tore with disdain. I had hoped to +have found a companion in misfortune, and how I should have +valued his friendship! Now I gave him all kinds of hard +names, insolent, arrogant, atheist, and self-condemned.</p> +<p>I repeated the same operation, dividing the wretched members +of the guilty letter again and again, till happening to cast my +eye on a piece remaining in my hand, expressing some better +sentiment, I changed my intention, and collecting together the +<i>disjecta membra</i>, ingeniously pieced them with the view of +reading it once more. I sat down, placed them on my great +Bible, and examined the whole. I then got up, walked about, +read, and thought, “If I do not answer,” said I, +“he will think he has terrified me at the mere appearance +of such a philosophical hero, a very Hercules in his own +estimation. Let us show him, with all due courtesy, that we +fear not to confront him and his vicious doctrines, any more than +to brave the risk of a correspondence, more dangerous to others +than to ourselves. I will teach him that true courage does +not consist in ridiculing <i>conscience</i>, and that real +dignity does not consist in arrogance and pride. He shall +be taught the reasonableness of Christianity, and the nothingness +of disbelief. Moreover, if this mock Julian start opinions +so directly opposite to my own, if he spare not the most biting +sarcasm, if he attack me thus uncourteously; is it not all a +proof that he can be no spy? Yet, might not this be a mere +stratagem, to draw me into a discussion by wounding my +self-love? Yet no! I am unjust—I smart under +his bitter irreligious jests, and conclude at once that he must +be the most infamous of men. Base suspicion, which I have +so often decried in others! he may be what he appears—a +presumptuous infidel, but not a spy. Have I even a right to +call by the name of <i>insolence</i>, what he considers +<i>sincerity</i>. Is this, I continued, thy humility, oh, +hypocrite? If any one presume to maintain his own opinions, +and to question your faith, he is forthwith to be met with +contempt and abuse. Is not this worse in a Christian, than +the bold sincerity of the unbeliever? Yes, and perhaps he +only requires one ray of Divine grace, to employ his noble +energetic love of truth in the cause of true religion, with far +greater success than yourself. Were it not, then, more +becoming in me to pray for, than to irritate him? Who +knows, but while employed in destroying his letter with every +mark of ignominy, he might be reading mine with expressions of +kindness and affection; never dreaming I should fly into such a +mighty passion at his plain and bold sincerity. Is he not +the better of the two, to love and esteem me while declaring he +is no Christian; than I who exclaim, I am a Christian, and I +detest you. It is difficult to obtain a knowledge of a man +during a long intercourse, yet I would condemn him on the +evidence of a single letter. He may, perhaps, be unhappy in +his atheism, and wish to hear all my arguments to enable him the +better to arrive at the truth. Perhaps, too, I may be +called to effect so beneficent a work, the humble instrument of a +gracious God. Oh, that it may indeed be so, I will not +shrink from the task.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">sat</span> down to write to Julian, and +was cautious not to let one irritating word proceed from my +pen. I took in good part his reflection upon my +fastidiousness of conscience; I even joked about it, telling him +he perhaps gave me too much credit for it, and ought to suspend +his good opinion till he knew me better. I praised his +sincerity, assuring him that he would find me equal to him in +this respect, and that as a proof of it, I had determined to +defend Christianity, “Well persuaded,” I added, +“that as I shall readily give free scope to your opinions, +you will be prepared to give me the same advantage.”</p> +<p>I then boldly entered upon my task, arguing my way by degrees, +and analysing with impartiality the essence of Christianity; the +worship of God free from superstitions, the brotherhood of +mankind, aspiration after virtue, humility without baseness, +dignity without pride, as exemplified in our Divine Saviour! what +more philosophical, and more truly grand?</p> +<p>It was next my object to demonstrate, “that this divine +wisdom had more or less displayed itself to all those who by the +light of reason had sought after the truth, though not generally +diffused till the arrival of its great Author upon the +earth. He had proved his heavenly mission by effecting the +most wonderful and glorious results, by human means the most mean +and humble. What the greatest philosophers had in vain +attempted, the overthrow of idolatry, and the universal preaching +of love and brotherhood, was achieved by a few untutored +missionaries. From that era was first dated the +emancipation of slaves, no less from bondage of limbs than of +mind, until by degrees a civilisation without slavery became +apparent, a state of society believed to be utterly impracticable +by the ancient philosophers. A review of history from the +appearance of Christ to the present age, would finally +demonstrate that the religion he established had invariably been +found adapted to all possible grades in civilised society. +For this reason, the assertion that the gospel was no longer in +accordance with the continued progress of civilisation, could not +for a moment be maintained.”</p> +<p>I wrote in as small characters as I could, and at great +length, but I could not embrace all which I had ready prepared +upon the subject. I re-examined the whole carefully. +There was not one revengeful, injurious, or even repulsive +word. Benevolence, toleration, and forbearance, were the +only weapons I employed against ridicule and sarcasm of every +kind; they were also employed after mature deliberation, and +dictated from the heart.</p> +<p>I despatched the letter, and in no little anxiety waited the +arrival of the next morning, in hopes of a speedy reply.</p> +<p>Tremerello came, and observed; “The gentleman, sir, was +not able to write, but entreats of you to continue the +joke.”</p> +<p>“The joke!” I exclaimed. “No, he could +not have said that! you must have mistaken him.”</p> +<p>Tremerello shrugged up his shoulders: “I suppose I must, +if you say so.”</p> +<p>“But did it really seem as if he had said a +joke?”</p> +<p>“As plainly as I now hear the sound of St. Mark’s +clock;” (the <i>Campanone</i> was just then heard.) I +drank my coffee and was silent.</p> +<p>“But tell me; did he read the whole of the +letter?”</p> +<p>“I think he did; for he laughed like a madman, and then +squeezing your letter into a ball, he began to throw it about, +till reminding him that he must not forget to destroy it, he did +so immediately.”</p> +<p>“That is very well.”</p> +<p>I then put my coffee cup into Tremerello’s hands, +observing that it was plain the coffee had been made by the Siora +Bettina.</p> +<p>“What! is it so bad?”</p> +<p>“Quite vile!”</p> +<p>“Well! I made it myself; and I can assure you that +I made it strong; there were no dregs.”</p> +<p>“True; it may be, my mouth is out of taste.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">walked</span> about the whole morning in +a rage. “What an abandoned wretch is this Julian! +what, call my letter a joke! play at ball with it, reply not a +single line! But all your infidels are alike! They +dare not stand the test of argument; they know their weakness, +and try to turn it off with a jest. Full of vanity and +boasting, they venture not to examine even themselves. They +philosophers, indeed! worthy disciples of Democritus; who +<i>did</i> nothing but laugh, and <i>was</i> nothing but a +buffoon. I am rightly served, however, for beginning a +correspondence like this; and still more for writing a second +time.”</p> +<p>At dinner, Tremerello took up my wine, poured it into a flask, +and put it into his pocket, observing: “I see that you are +in want of paper;” and he gave me some. He retired, +and the moment I cast my eye on the paper, I felt tempted to sit +down and write to Julian a sharp lecture on his intolerable +turpitude and presumption, and so take leave of him. But +again, I repented of my own violence, and uncharitableness, and +finally resolved to write another letter in a better spirit as I +had done before.</p> +<p>I did so, and despatched it without delay. The next +morning I received a few lines, simply expressive of the +writer’s thanks; but without a single jest, or the least +invitation to continue the correspondence. Such a billet +displeased me; nevertheless I determined to persevere. Six +long letters were the result, for each of which I received a few +laconic lines of thanks, with some declamation against his +enemies, followed by a joke on the abuse he had heaped upon them, +asserting that it was extremely natural the strong should oppress +the weak, and regretting that he was not in the list of the +former. He then related some of his love affairs, and +observed that they exercised no little sway over his disturbed +imagination.</p> +<p>In reply to my last on the subject of Christianity, he said he +had prepared a long letter; for which I looked out in vain, +though he wrote to me every day on other topics—chiefly a +tissue of obscenity and folly.</p> +<p>I reminded him of his promise that he would answer all my +arguments, and recommended him to weigh well the reasonings with +which I had supplied him before he attempted to write. He +replied to this somewhat in a rage, assuming the airs of a +philosopher, a man of firmness, a man who stood in no want of +brains to distinguish “a hawk from a hand-saw.” <a +name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16" +class="citation">[16]</a> He then resumed his jocular vein, +and began to enlarge upon his experiences in life, and especially +some very scandalous love adventures.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">bore</span> all this patiently, to give +him no handle for accusing me of bigotry or intolerance, and in +the hope that after the fever of erotic buffoonery and folly had +subsided, he might have some lucid intervals, and listen to +common sense. Meantime I gave him expressly to understand +that I disapproved of his want of respect towards women, his free +and profane expressions, and pitied those unhappy ones, who, he +informed me, had been his victims.</p> +<p>He pretended to care little about my disapprobation, and +repeated: “spite of your fine strictures upon immorality, I +know well you are amused with the account of my adventures. +All men are as fond of pleasure as I am, but they have not the +frankness to talk of it without cloaking it from the eyes of the +world; I will go on till you are quite enchanted, and confess +yourself compelled in <i>very conscience</i> to applaud +me.” So he went on from week to week, I bearing with +him, partly out of curiosity and partly in the expectation he +would fall upon some better topic; and I can fairly say that this +species of tolerance, did me no little harm. I began to +lose my respect for pure and noble truths, my thoughts became +confused, and my mind disturbed. To converse with men of +degraded minds is in itself degrading, at least if you possess +not virtue very superior to mine. “This is a proper +punishment,” said I, “for my presumption; this it is +to assume the office of a missionary without its sacredness of +character.”</p> +<p>One day I determined to write to him as follows:—“ +I have hitherto attempted to turn your attention to other +subjects, and you persevere in sending me accounts of yourself +which no way please me. For the sake of variety, let us +correspond a little respecting worthier matters; if not, give the +hand of fellowship, and let us have done.”</p> +<p>The two ensuing days I received no answer, and I was glad of +it. “Oh, blessed solitude;” often I exclaimed, +“how far holier and better art thou than harsh and +undignified association with the living. Away with the +empty and impious vanities, the base actions, the low despicable +conversations of such a world. I have studied it enough; +let me turn to my communion with God; to the calm, dear +recollections of my family and my true friends. I will read +my Bible oftener than I have done, I will again write down my +thoughts, will try to raise and improve them, and taste the +pleasure of a sorrow at least innocent; a thousand fold to be +preferred to vulgar and wicked imaginations.”</p> +<p>Whenever Tremerello now entered my room he was in the habit of +saying, “I have got no answer yet.”</p> +<p>“It is all right,” was my reply.</p> +<p>About the third day from this, he said, with a serious look, +“Signor N. N. is rather indisposed.”</p> +<p>“What is the matter with him?”</p> +<p>“He does not say, but he has taken to his bed, neither +eats nor drinks, and is sadly out of humour.”</p> +<p>I was touched; he was suffering and had no one to console +him.</p> +<p>“I will write him a few lines,” exclaimed I.</p> +<p>“I will take them this evening, then,” said +Tremerello, and he went out.</p> +<p>I was a little perplexed on sitting down to my table: +“Am I right in resuming this correspondence?” was I +not, just now, praising solitude as a treasure newly found? what +inconsistency is this! Ah! but he neither eats nor drinks, +and I fear must be very ill. Is it, then, a moment to +abandon him? My last letter was severe, and may perhaps +have caused him pain. Perhaps, in spite of our different +ways of thinking, he wished not to end our correspondence. +Yes, he has thought my letter more caustic than I meant it to be, +and taken it in the light of an absolute and contemptuous +dismission.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">sat</span> down and wrote as +follows:—</p> +<p>“I hear that you are not well, and am extremely sorry +for it. I wish I were with you, and enabled to assist you +as a friend. I hope your illness is the sole cause why you +have not written to me during the last three days. Did you +take offence at my little strictures the other day? Believe +me they were dictated by no ill will or spleen, but with the +single object of drawing your attention to more serious +subjects. Should it be irksome for you to write, send me an +exact account, by word, how you find yourself. You shall +hear from me every day, and I will try to say something to amuse +you, and to show you that I really wish you well.”</p> +<p>Imagine my unfeigned surprise when I received an answer, +couched in these terms:</p> +<p>“I renounce your friendship: if you are at a loss how to +estimate mine, I return the compliment in its full force. I +am not a man to put up with injurious treatment; I am not one, +who, once rejected, will be ordered to return.”</p> +<p>“Because you heard I was unwell, you approach me with a +hypocritical air, in the idea that illness will break down my +spirit, and make me listen to your sermons . . . ”</p> +<p>In this way he rambled on, reproaching and despising me in the +most revolting terms he could find, and turning every thing I had +said into ridicule and burlesque. He assured me that he +knew how to live and die with consistency; that is to say, with +the utmost hatred and contempt for all philosophical creeds +differing from his own. I was dismayed!</p> +<p>“A pretty conversion I have made of it!” I +exclaimed; “yet God is my witness that my motives were +pure. I have done nothing to merit an attack like +this. But patience! I am once more undeceived. +I am not called upon to do more.”</p> +<p>In a few days I became less angry, and conceived that all this +bitterness might have resulted from some excitement which might +pass away. Probably he repents, yet scorns to confess he +was in the wrong. In such a state of mind, it might be +generous of me to write to him once more. It cost my +self-love something, but I did it. To humble one’s +self for a good purpose is not degrading, with whatever degree of +unjust contempt it may be returned.</p> +<p>I received a reply less violent, but not less insulting. +The implacable patient declared that he admired what he called my +evangelical moderation. “Now, therefore,” he +continued, “let us resume our correspondence, but let us +speak out. We do not like each other, but we will write, +each for his own amusement, setting everything down which may +come into our heads. You will tell me your seraphic visions +and revelations, and I will treat you with my profane adventures; +you again will run into ecstasies upon the dignity of man, yea, +and of woman; I into an ingenuous narrative of my various +profanations; I hoping to make a convert of you, and you of +me.</p> +<p>“Give me an answer should you approve these +conditions.”</p> +<p>I replied, “Yours is not a compact, but a jest. I +was full of good-will towards you. My conscience does not +constrain me to do more than to wish you every happiness both as +regards this and another life.”</p> +<p>Thus ended my secret connexion with that strange man. +But who knows; he was perhaps more exasperated by ill fortune, +delirium, or despair, than really bad at heart.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">once</span> more learnt to value +solitude, and my days tracked each other without any distinction +or mark of change.</p> +<p>The summer was over; it was towards the close of September, +and the heat grew less oppressive; October came. I +congratulated myself now on occupying a chamber well adapted for +winter. One morning, however, the jailer made his +appearance, with an order to change my prison.</p> +<p>“And where am I to go?”</p> +<p>“Only a few steps, into a fresher chamber.”</p> +<p>“But why not think of it when I was dying of +suffocation; when the air was filled with gnats, and my bed with +bugs?”</p> +<p>“The order did not come before.”</p> +<p>“Patience! let us be gone!”</p> +<p>Notwithstanding I had suffered so greatly in this prison, it +gave me pain to leave it; not simply because it would have been +best for the winter season, but for many other reasons. +There I had the ants to attract my attention, which I had fed and +looked upon, I may almost say, with paternal care. Within +the last few days, however, my friend the spider, and my great +ally in my war with the gnats, had, for some reason or other, +chosen to emigrate; at least he did not come as usual. +“Yet perhaps,” said I, “he may remember me, and +come back, but he will find my prison empty, or occupied by some +other guest—no friend perhaps to spiders—and thus +meet with an awkward reception. His fine woven house, and +his gnat-feasts will all be put an end to.”</p> +<p>Again, my gloomy abode had been embellished by the presence of +Angiola, so good, so gentle and compassionate. There she +used to sit, and try every means she could devise to amuse me, +even dropping crumbs of bread for my little visitors, the ants; +and there I heard her sobs, and saw the tears fall thick and +fast, as she spoke of her cruel lover.</p> +<p>The place I was removed to was under the leaden prisons, (<i>I +Piombi</i>) open to the north and west, with two windows, one on +each side; an abode exposed to perpetual cold and even icy chill +during the severest months. The window to the west was the +largest, that to the north was high and narrow, and situated +above my bed.</p> +<p>I first looked out at this last, and found that it commanded a +view of the Palace of the Patriarch. Other prisons were +near mine, in a narrow wing to the right, and in a projection of +the building right opposite. Here were two prisons, one +above the other. The lower had an enormous window, through +which I could see a man, very richly drest, pacing to and +fro. It was the Signor Caporale di Cesena. He +perceived me, made a signal, and we pronounced each other’s +names.</p> +<p>I next looked out at my other window. I put the little +table upon my bed, and a chair upon my table; I climbed up and +found myself on a level with part of the palace roof; and beyond +this was to be seen a fine view of the city and the lake.</p> +<p>I paused to admire it; and though I heard some one open the +door, I did not move. It was the jailer; and perceiving +that I had clambered up, he got it into his head I was making an +attempt to escape, forgetting, in his alarm, that I was not a +mouse to creep through all those narrow bars. In a moment +he sprung upon the bed, spite of a violent sciatica which had +nearly bent him double, and catching me by the legs, he began to +call out, “thieves and murder!”</p> +<p>“But don’t you see,” I exclaimed, “you +thoughtless man, that I cannot conjure myself through these +horrible bars? Surely you know I got up here out of mere +curiosity.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I see, I apprehend, sir; but quick, sir, jump +down, sir; these are all temptations of the devil to make you +think of it! come down, sir, pray.”</p> +<p>I lost no time in my descent, and laughed.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the windows of the side prisons +I recognised six other prisoners, all there on account of +politics. Just then, as I was composing my mind to perfect +solitude, I found myself comparatively in a little world of human +beings around me. The change was, at first, irksome to me, +such complete seclusion having rendered me almost unsociable, add +to which, the disagreeable termination of my correspondence with +Julian. Still, the little conversation I was enabled to +carry on, partly by signs, with my new fellow-prisoners, was of +advantage by diverting my attention. I breathed not a word +respecting my correspondence with Julian; it was a point of +honour between us, and in bringing it forward here, I was fully +aware that in the immense number of unhappy men with which these +prisons were thronged, it would be impossible to ascertain who +was the assumed Julian.</p> +<p>To the interest derived from seeing my fellow-captives was +added another of a yet more delightful kind. I could +perceive from my large window, beyond the projection of prisons, +situated right before me, a surface of roofs; decorated with +cupolas, <i>campanili</i>, towers, and chimneys, which gradually +faded in a distant view of sea and sky. In the house +nearest to me, a wing of the Patriarchal palace, lived an +excellent family, who had a claim to my gratitude, for +expressing, by their salutations, the interest which they took in +my fate. A sign, a word of kindness to the unhappy, is +really charity of no trivial kind. From one of the windows +I saw a little boy, nine or ten years old, stretching out his +hands towards me, and I heard him call out, “Mamma, mamma, +they have placed somebody up there in the Piombi. Oh, you +poor prisoner, who are you?”</p> +<p>“I am Silvio Pellico,” was the reply.</p> +<p>Another older boy now ran to the same window, and cried out, +“Are you Silvio Pellico?”</p> +<p>“Yes; and tell me your names, dear boys.”</p> +<p>“My name is Antonio S—, and my brother’s is +Joseph.”</p> +<p>He then turned round, and, speaking to some one within, +“What else ought I to ask him?” A lady, whom I +conjecture to have been their mother, then half concealed, +suggested some pretty words to them, which they repeated, and for +which I thanked them with all my heart. These sort of +communications were a small matter, yet it required to be +cautious how we indulged in them, lest we should attract the +notice of the jailer. Morning, noon, and night, they were a +source of the greatest consolation; the little boys were +constantly in the habit of bidding me good night, before the +windows were closed, and the lights brought in, “Good +night, Silvio,” and often it was repeated by the good lady, +in a more subdued voice, “Good night, Silvio, have +courage!”</p> +<p>When engaged at their meals they would say, “How we wish +we could give you any of this good coffee and milk. Pray +remember, the first day they let you out, to come and see +us. Mamma and we will give you plenty of good things, <a +name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17" +class="citation">[17]</a> and as many kisses as you +like.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> month of October brought round +one of the most disagreeable anniversaries in my life. I +was arrested on the 13th of that month in the preceding +year. Other recollections of the same period, also pained +me. That day two years, a highly valued and excellent man +whom I truly honoured, was drowned in the Ticino. Three +years before, a young person, Odoardo Briche, <a +name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18" +class="citation">[18]</a> whom I loved as if he had been my own +son, had accidentally killed himself with a musket. Earlier +in my youth another severe affliction had befallen me in the same +month.</p> +<p>Though not superstitious, the remembrance of so many unhappy +occurrences at the same period of the year, inspired a feeling of +extreme sorrow. While conversing at the window with the +children, and with my fellow prisoners, I assumed an air of +mirth, but hardly had I re-entered my cave than an irresistible +feeling of melancholy weighed down every faculty of my +mind. In vain I attempted to engage in some literary +composition; I was involuntarily impelled to write upon other +topics. I thought of my family, and wrote letters after +letters, in which I poured forth all my burdened spirit, all I +had felt and enjoyed of home, in far happier days, surrounded by +brothers, sisters, and friends who had always loved me. The +desire of seeing them, and long compulsory separation, led me to +speak on a variety of little things, and reveal a thousand +thoughts of gratitude and tenderness, which would not otherwise +have occurred to my mind.</p> +<p>In the same way I took a review of my former life, diverting +my attention by recalling past incidents, and dwelling upon those +happier periods now for ever fled. Often, when the picture +I had thus drawn, and sat contemplating for hours, suddenly +vanished from my sight, and left me conscious only of the fearful +present, and more threatening future, the pen fell from my hand; +I recoiled with horror; the contrast was more than I could +bear. These were terrific moments; I had already felt them, +but never with such intense susceptibility as then. It was +agony. This I attributed to extreme excitement of the +passions, occasioned by expressing them in the form of letters, +addressed to persons to whom I was so tenderly attached.</p> +<p>I turned to other subjects, I determined to change the form of +expressing my ideas, but could not. In whatever way I +began, it always ended in a letter teeming with affection and +with grief.</p> +<p>“What,” I exclaimed, “am I no more master of +my own will? Is this strange necessity of doing that which +I object to, a distortion of my brain? At first I could +have accounted for it; but after being inured to this solitude, +reconciled, and supported by religious reflections; how have I +become the slave of these blind impulses, these wanderings of +heart and mind? let me apply to other matters!” I +then endeavoured to pray; or to weary my attention by hard study +of the German. Alas! I commenced and found myself +actually engaged in writing a letter!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Such</span> a state of mind was a real +disease, or I know not if it may be called a kind of +somnambulism. Without doubt it was the effect of extreme +lassitude, occasioned by continual thought and watchfulness.</p> +<p>It gained upon me. I grew feverish and sleepless. +I left off coffee, but the disease was not removed. It +appeared to me as if I were two persons, one of them eagerly bent +upon writing letters, the other upon doing something else. +“At least,” said I, “you shall write them in +German if you do; and we shall learn a little of the +language.” Methought <i>he</i> then set to work, and +wrote volumes of bad German, and he certainly brought me rapidly +forward in the study of it. Towards morning, my mind being +wholly exhausted, I fell into a heavy stupor, during which all +those most dear to me haunted my dreams. I thought that my +father and mother were weeping over me; I heard their +lamentations, and suddenly I started out of my sleep sobbing and +affrighted. Sometimes, during short, disturbed slumbers, I +heard my mother’s voice, as if consoling others, with whom +she came into my prison, and she addressed me in the most +affectionate language upon the duty of resignation, and then, +when I was rejoiced to see her courage, and that of others, +suddenly she appeared to burst into tears, and all wept. I +can convey no idea of the species of agony which I at these times +felt.</p> +<p>To escape from this misery, I no longer went to bed. I +sat down to read by the light of my lamp, but I could comprehend +nothing, and soon I found that I was even unable to think. +I next tried to copy something, but still copied something +different from what I was writing, always recurring to the +subject of my afflictions. If I retired to rest, it was +worse; I could lie in no position; I became convulsed, and was +constrained to rise. In case I slept, the same visions +reappeared, and made me suffer much more than I did by keeping +awake. My prayers, too, were feeble and ineffectual; and, +at length, I could simply invoke the name of the Deity; of the +Being who had assumed a human form, and was acquainted with +grief. I was afraid to sleep; my prayers seemed to bring me +no relief; my imagination became excited, and, even when awake, I +heard strange noises close to me, sometimes sighs and groans, at +others mingled with sounds of stifled laughter. I was never +superstitious, but these apparently real and unaccountable sights +and sounds led me to doubt, and I then firmly believed that I was +the victim of some unknown and malignant beings. Frequently +I took my light, and made a search for those mockers and +persecutors of my waking and sleeping hours. At last they +began to pull me by my clothes, threw my books upon the ground, +blew out my lamp, and even, as it seemed, conveyed me into +another dungeon. I would then start to my feet, look and +examine all round me, and ask myself if I were really mad. +The actual world, and that of my imagination, were no longer +distinguishable, I knew not whether what I saw and felt was a +delusion or truth. In this horrible state I could only +repeat one prayer, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken +me?”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> morning early, I threw myself +upon my pallet, having first placed my handkerchief, as usual, +under my pillow. Shortly after, falling asleep, I suddenly +woke, and found myself in a state of suffocation; my persecutors +were strangling me, and, on putting my hand to my throat, I +actually found my own handkerchief, all knotted, tied round my +neck. I could have sworn I had never made those knots; yet +I must have done this in my delirium; but as it was then +impossible to believe it, I lived in continual expectation of +being strangled. The recollection is still horrible. +They left me at dawn of day; and, resuming my courage, I no +longer felt the least apprehension, and even imagined it would be +impossible they should again return. Yet no sooner did the +night set in, than I was again haunted by them in all their +horrors; being made sensible of their gradual approach by cold +shiverings, the loss of all power, with a species of fascination +which riveted both the eye and the mind. In fact, the more +weak and wretched I felt, at night, the greater were my efforts +during the day to appear cheerful in conversing with my +companions, with the two boys at the palace, and with my +jailers. No one to hear my jokes, would have imagined it +possible that I was suffering under the disease I did. I +thought to encourage myself by this forced merriment, but the +spectral visions which I laughed at by day became fearful +realities in the hours of darkness.</p> +<p>Had I dared, I should have petitioned the commission to change +my apartment, but the fear of ridicule, in case I should be asked +my reasons, restrained me. No reasonings, no studies, or +pursuits, and even no prayers, were longer of avail, and the idea +of being wholly abandoned by heaven, took possession of my +mind.</p> +<p>All those wicked sophisms against a just Providence, which, +while in possession of reason, had appeared to me so vain and +impious, now recurred with redoubled power, in the form of +irresistible arguments. I struggled mightily against this +last and greatest evil I had yet borne, and in the lapse of a few +days the temptation fled. Still I refused to acknowledge +the truth and beauty of religion; I quoted the assertions of the +most violent atheists, and those which Julian had so recently +dwelt upon: “Religion serves only to enfeeble the +mind,” was one of these, and I actually presumed that by +renouncing my God I should acquire greater fortitude. +Insane idea! I denied God, yet knew not how to deny those +invisible malevolent beings, that appeared to encompass me, and +feast upon my sufferings.</p> +<p>What shall I call this martyrdom? is it enough to say that it +was a disease? or was it a divine chastisement for my pride, to +teach me that without a special illumination I might become as +great an unbeliever as Julian, and still more absurd. +However this may be, it pleased God to deliver me from such evil, +when I least expected it. One morning, after taking my +coffee, I was seized with violent sickness, attended with +colic. I imagined that I had been poisoned. After +excessive vomiting, I burst into a strong perspiration and +retired to bed. About mid-day I fell asleep, and continued +in a quiet slumber till evening. I awoke in great surprise +at this unexpected repose, and, thinking I should not sleep +again, I got up. On rising I said, “I shall now have +more fortitude to resist my accustomed terrors.” But +they returned no more. I was in ecstasies; I threw myself +upon my knees in the fulness of my heart, and again prayed to my +God in spirit and in truth, beseeching pardon for having denied, +during many days, His holy name. It was almost too much for +my newly reviving strength, and while even yet upon my knees, +supporting my head against a chair, I fell into a profound sleep +in that very position.</p> +<p>Some hours afterwards, as I conjectured, I seemed in part to +awake, but no sooner had I stretched my weary limbs upon my rude +couch than I slept till the dawn of day. The same +disposition to somnolency continued through the day, and the next +night, I rested as soundly as before. What was the sort of +crisis that had thus taken place? I know not; but I was +perfectly restored.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> sickness of the stomach which I +had so long laboured under now ceased, the pains of the head also +left me, and I felt an extraordinary appetite. My digestion +was good, and I gained strength. Wonderful providence! that +deprived me of my health to humble my mind, and again restored it +when the moment was at hand that I should require it all, that I +might not sink under the weight of my sentence.</p> +<p>On the 24th of November, one of our companions, Dr. Foresti, +was taken from the <i>Piombi</i>, and transported no one knew +whither. The jailer, his wife, and the assistants, were +alike alarmed, and not one of them ventured to throw the least +light upon this mysterious affair.</p> +<p>“And why should you persist,” said Tremerello, +“in wishing to know, when nothing good is to be +heard? I have told you too much—too much +already.”</p> +<p>“Then what is the use of trying to hide it? I know +it too well. He is condemned to death.”</p> +<p>“Who? . . . he . . . Doctor Foresti?”</p> +<p>Tremerello hesitated, but the love of gossip was not the least +of his virtues.</p> +<p>“Don’t say, then,” he resumed, “that I +am a babbler; I never wished to say a word about these matters; +so, remember, it is you who compel me.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, I do compel you; but courage! tell me every +thing you know respecting the poor Doctor?”</p> +<p>“Ah, Sir! they have made him cross the Bridge of Sighs! +he lies in the dungeons of the condemned; sentence of death has +been announced to him and two others.”</p> +<p>“And will it be executed? When? Oh, unhappy +man! and what are the others’ names?”</p> +<p>“I know no more. The sentences have not been +published. It is reported in Venice that they will be +commuted. I trust in God they may, at least, as regards the +good Doctor. Do you know, I am as fond of that noble +fellow, pardon the expression, as if he were my own +brother.”</p> +<p>He seemed moved, and walked away. Imagine the agitation +I suffered throughout the whole of that day, and indeed long +after, as there were no means of ascertaining anything further +respecting the fate of these unfortunate men.</p> +<p>A month elapsed, and at length the sentences connected with +the first trial were published. Nine were condemned to +death, <i>graciously</i> exchanged for hard imprisonment, some +for twenty, and others for fifteen years in the fortress of +Spielberg, near the city of Brunn, in Moravia; while those for +ten years and under were to be sent to the fortress of +Lubiana.</p> +<p>Were we authorised to conclude, from this commutation of +sentence in regard to those first condemned, that the parties +subject to the second trial would likewise be spared? Was +the indulgence to be confined only to the former, on account of +their having been arrested previous to the publication of the +edicts against secret societies; the full vengeance of the law +being reserved for subsequent offenders?</p> +<p>Well, I exclaimed, we shall not long be kept in suspense; I am +at least grateful to Heaven for being allowed time to prepare +myself in a becoming manner for the final scene.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was now my only consideration +how to die like a Christian, and with proper fortitude. I +felt, indeed, a strong temptation to avoid the scaffold by +committing suicide, but overcame it. What merit is there in +refusing to die by the hand of the executioner, and yet to fall +by one’s own? To save one’s honour? But +is it not childish to suppose that there can be more honour in +cheating the executioner, than in not doing this, when it is +clear that we must die. Even had I not been a Christian, +upon serious reflection, suicide would have appeared to me both +ridiculous and useless, if not criminal in a high degree.</p> +<p>“If the term of life be expired,” continued I, +“am I not fortunate in being permitted to collect my +thoughts and purify my conscience with penitence and prayer +becoming a man in affliction. In popular estimation, the +being led to the scaffold is the worst part of death; in the +opinion of the wise, is not this far preferable to the thousand +deaths which daily occur by disease, attended by general +prostration of intellect, without power to raise the thoughts +from the lowest state of physical exhaustion.”</p> +<p>I felt the justice of this reasoning, and lost all feeling of +anxiety or terror at the idea of a public execution. I +reflected deeply on the sacraments calculated to support me under +such an appalling trial, and I felt disposed to receive them in a +right spirit. Should I have been enabled, had I really been +conducted to the scaffold, to preserve the same elevation of +mind, the same forgiveness of my enemies, the same readiness to +lay down my life at the will of God, as I then felt? Alas, +how inconsistent is man! when most firm and pious, how liable is +he to fall suddenly into weakness and crime! Is it likely I +should have died worthily? God only knows; I dare not think +well enough of myself to assert it.</p> +<p>The probable approach of death so riveted my imagination, that +not only did it seem possible but as if marked by an infallible +presentiment. I no longer indulged a hope of avoiding it, +and at every sound of footsteps and keys, or the opening of my +door, I was in the habit of exclaiming: “Courage! +Perhaps I am going to receive sentence. Let me hear it with +calm dignity, and bless the name of the Lord.”</p> +<p>I considered in what terms I should last address my family, +each of my brothers, and each of my sisters, and by revolving in +my mind these sacred and affecting duties, I was often drowned in +tears, without losing my fortitude and resignation.</p> +<p>I was naturally unable to enjoy sound repose; but my +sleeplessness was not of the same alarming character as before; +no visions, spectres, or concealed enemies were ready to deprive +me of life. I spent the night in calm and reviving +prayer. Towards morning I was enabled to sleep for about +two hours, and rose late to breakfast.</p> +<p>One night I had retired to rest earlier than usual; I had +hardly slept a quarter of an hour, when I awoke, and beheld an +immense light upon the wall opposite to me. At first I +imagined that I had been seized with my former illness; but this +was no illusion. The light shone through the north window, +under which I then lay.</p> +<p>I started up, seized my table, placed it on my bed, and a +chair again upon the table, by means of all which I mounted up, +and beheld one of the most terrific spectacles of fire that can +be imagined. It was not more than a musket shot distant +from our prison; it proceeded from the establishment of the +public ovens, and the edifice was entirely consumed.</p> +<p>The night was exceedingly dark, and vast globes of flame +spouted forth on both sides, borne away by a violent wind. +All around, it seemed as if the sky rained sparks of fire. +The adjacent lake reflected the magnificent sight; numbers of +gondolas went and came, but my sympathy was most excited at the +danger and terrors of those who resided nearest to the burning +edifice. I heard the far off voices of men and women +calling to each other. Among others, I caught the name of +Angiola, and of this doubtless there are some thousands in +Venice: yet I could not help fearing it might be the one of whom +the recollection was so sweet to me. Could it be +her?—was she surrounded by the flames? how I longed to fly +to her rescue.</p> +<p>Full of excitement, wonder, and terror, I stood at the window +till the day dawned, I then got down oppressed by a feeling of +deep sorrow, and imagined much greater misfortune than had really +occurred. I was informed by Tremerello that only the ovens +and the adjoining magazine had suffered, the loss consisting +chiefly of corn and sacks of flour.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> effect of this accident upon my +imagination had not yet ceased, when one night, as I was sitting +at my little table reading, and half perished with cold, I heard +a number of voices not far from me. They were those of the +jailer, his wife, and sons, with the assistants, all crying:</p> +<p>“Fire! fire. Oh, blessed Virgin! we are lost, we +are lost!”</p> +<p>I felt no longer cold, I started to my feet in a violent +perspiration, and looked out to discover the quarter from which +the fire proceeded. I could perceive nothing, I was +informed, however, that it arose in the palace itself, from some +public chambers contiguous to the prisons. One of the +assistants called out, “But, sir governor, what shall we do +with these caged birds here, if the fire keeps a +head?” The head jailer replied, “Why, I should +not like to have them roasted alive. Yet I cannot let them +out of their bars without special orders from the +commission. You may run as fast as you can, and get an +order if you can.”</p> +<p>“To be sure I will, but, you know, it will be too late +for the prisoners.”</p> +<p>All this was said in the rude Venetian dialect, but I +understood it too well. And now, where was all my heroic +spirit and resignation, which I had counted upon to meet sudden +death? Why did the idea of being burnt alive throw me into +such a fever? I felt ashamed of this unworthy fear, and +though just on the point of crying out to the jailer to let me +out, I restrained myself, reflecting that there might be as +little pleasure in being strangled as in being burnt. Still +I felt really afraid.</p> +<p>“Here,” said I, “is a specimen of my +courage, should I escape the flames, and be doomed to mount the +scaffold. I will restrain my fear, and hide it from others +as well as I can, though I know I shall tremble. Yet surely +it is courage to behave as if we were not afraid, whatever we may +feel. Is it not generosity to give away that which it costs +us much to part with? It is, also, an act of obedience, +though we obey with great repugnance.”</p> +<p>The tumult in the jailer’s house was so loud and +continued that I concluded the fire was on the increase. +The messenger sent to ask permission for our temporary release +had not returned. At last I thought I heard his voice; no; +I listened, he is not come. Probably the permission will +not be granted; there will be no means of escape; if the jailer +should not humanely take the responsibility upon himself, we +shall be suffocated in our dungeons! Well, but this, I +exclaimed, is not philosophy, and it is not religion. Were +it not better to prepare myself to witness the flames bursting +into my chamber, and about to swallow me up.</p> +<p>Meantime the clamour seemed to diminish; by degrees it died +away; was this any proof that the fire had ceased? Or, +perhaps, all who could had already fled, and left the prisoners +to their fate.</p> +<p>The silence continued, no flames appeared, and I retired to +bed, reproaching myself for the want of fortitude I had +evinced. Indeed, I began to regret that I had not been +burnt alive, instead of being handed over, as a victim, into the +hands of men.</p> +<p>The next morning, I learnt the real cause of the fire from +Tremerello, and laughed at his account of the fear he had +endured, as if my own had not been as great—perhaps, in +fact, much greater of the two.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER L.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the 11th of January, 1822, about +nine in the morning, Tremerello came into my room in no little +agitation, and said,</p> +<p>“Do you know, Sir, that in the island of San Michele, a +little way from Venice, there is a prison containing more than a +hundred Carbonari.”</p> +<p>“You have told me so a hundred times. Well! what +would you have me hear, speak out; are some of them +condemned?”</p> +<p>“Exactly.”</p> +<p>“Who are they?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Is my poor friend Maroncelli among them?”</p> +<p>“Ah, Sir, too many . . . I know not who.” +And he went away in great emotion, casting on me a look of +compassion.</p> +<p>Shortly after came the jailer, attended by the assistants, and +by a man whom I had never before seen. The latter opened +his subject as follows: “The commission, Sir, has given +orders that you come with me!”</p> +<p>“Let us go, then,” I replied; “may I ask who +you are?”</p> +<p>“I am jailer of the San Michele prisons, where I am +going to take you.”</p> +<p>The jailer of the <i>Piombi</i> delivered to the new governor +the money belonging to me which he had in his hands. I +obtained permission to make some little present to the under +jailers; I then put my clothes in order, put my Bible under my +arm, and departed. In descending the immense track of +staircases, Tremerello for a moment took my hand; he pressed it +as much as to say, “Unhappy man! you are lost.”</p> +<p>We came out at a gate which opened upon the lake, and there +stood a gondola with two under jailers belonging to San +Michele.</p> +<p>I entered the boat with feelings of the most contradictory +nature; regret at leaving the prison of the <i>Piombi</i>, where +I had suffered so much, but where I had become attached to some +individuals, and they to me; the pleasure of beholding once more +the sky, the city, and the clear waters, without the intervention +of iron bars. Add to this the recollection of that joyous +gondola, which, in time past, had borne me on the bosom of that +placid lake; the gondolas of the lake of Como, those of Lago +Maggiore, the little barks of the Po, those of the Rodano, and of +the Sonna! Oh, happy vanished years! who, who then so happy +in the world as I?</p> +<p>The son of excellent and affectionate parents, in a rank of +life, perhaps, the happiest for the cultivation of the +affections, being equally removed from riches and from poverty; I +had spent my infancy in the participation of the sweetest +domestic ties; had been the object of the tenderest domestic +cares. I had subsequently gone to Lyons, to my maternal +uncle, an elderly man, extremely wealthy, and deserving of all he +possessed; and at his mansion I partook of all the advantages and +delights of elegance and refined society, which gave an +indescribable charm to those youthful days. Thence +returning into Italy, under the parental roof, I at once devoted +myself with ardour to study, and the enjoyment of society; +everywhere meeting with distinguished friends and the most +encouraging praise. Monti and Foscolo, although at variance +with each other, were kind to me. I became more attached to +the latter, and this irritable man, who, by his asperities, +provoked so many to quarrel with him, was with me full of +gentleness and cordiality. Other distinguished characters +likewise became attached to me, and I returned all their +regard. Neither envy nor calumny had the least influence +over me, or I felt it only from persons who had not the power to +injure me. On the fall of the kingdom of Italy, my father +removed to Turin, with the rest of his family. I had +preferred to remain at Milan, where I spent my time at once so +profitably and so happily as made me unwilling to leave it. +Here I had three friends to whom I was greatly attached—D. +Pietro Borsieri, Lodovico di Breme, and the Count Luigi Porro +Lambertenghi. Subsequently I added to them Count Federigo +Confalonieri. <a name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19" +class="citation">[19]</a> Becoming the preceptor of two +young sons of Count Porro, I was to them as a father, and their +father acted like a brother to me. His mansion was the +resort not only of society the most refined and cultivated of +Italy, but of numbers of celebrated strangers. It was there +I became acquainted with De Stael, Schlegel, Davis, Byron, +Brougham, Hobhouse, and illustrious travellers from all parts of +Europe. How delightful, how noble an incentive to all that +is great and good, is an intercourse with men of first-rate +merit! I was then happy; I would not have exchanged my lot +with a prince; and now, to be hurled, as I had been, from the +summit of all my hopes and projects, into an abyss of +wretchedness, and to be hurried thus from dungeon to dungeon, to +perish doubtless either by a violent death or lingering in +chains.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Absorbed</span> in reflections like these, +I reached San Michele, and was locked up in a room which embraced +a view of the court yard, of the lake, and the beautiful island +of Murano. I inquired respecting Maroncelli from the +jailer, from his wife, and the four assistants; but their visits +were exceedingly brief, very ceremonious, and, in fact, they +would tell me nothing.</p> +<p>Nevertheless where there are five or six persons, it is rarely +you do not find one who possesses a compassionate, as well as a +communicative disposition. I met with such a one, and from +him I learnt what follows:—</p> +<p>Maroncelli, after having been long kept apart, had been placed +with Count Camillo Laderchi. <a name="citation20"></a><a +href="#footnote20" class="citation">[20]</a> The last, +within a few days, had been declared innocent, and discharged +from prison, and the former again remained alone. Some +other of our companions had also been set at liberty; the +Professor Romagnosi, <a name="citation21"></a><a +href="#footnote21" class="citation">[21]</a> and Count Giovanni +Arrivabene. <a name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22" +class="citation">[22]</a> Captain Rezia <a +name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23" +class="citation">[23]</a> and the Signor Canova were +together. Professor Ressi <a name="citation24"></a><a +href="#footnote24" class="citation">[24]</a> was dying at that +time, in a prison next to that of the two before mentioned. +“It follows then,” said I, “that the sentences +of those not set at liberty must have arrived. How are they +to be made known? Perhaps, poor Ressi will die; and will +not be in a state to hear his sentence; is it true?”</p> +<p>“I believe it is.”</p> +<p>Every day I inquired respecting the unhappy man. +“He has lost his voice; he is rather better; he is +delirious; he is nearly gone; he spits blood; he is dying;” +were the usual replies; till at length came the last of all, +“He is dead.”</p> +<p>I shed a tear to his memory, and consoled myself with thinking +that he died ignorant of the sentence which awaited him.</p> +<p>The day following, the 21st of February, 1822, the jailer came +for me about ten o’clock, and conducted me into the Hall of +the Commission. The members were all seated, but they rose; +the President, the Inquisitor, and two assisting +Judges.—The first, with a look of deep commiseration, +acquainted me that my sentence had arrived; that it was a +terrible one; but that the clemency of the Emperor had mitigated +it.</p> +<p>The Inquisitor, fixing his eye on me, then read +it:—“Silvio Pellico, condemned to death; the imperial +decree is, that the sentence be commuted for fifteen years hard +imprisonment in the fortress of Spielberg.”</p> +<p>“The will of God be done!” was my reply.</p> +<p>It was really my intention to bear this horrible blow like a +Christian, and neither to exhibit nor to feel resentment against +any one whatever. The President then commended my state of +mind, warmly recommending me to persevere in it, and that +possibly by affording an edifying example, I might in a year or +two be deemed worthy of receiving further favours from the +imperial clemency.</p> +<p>Instead, however, of one or two, it was many years before the +full sentence was remitted.</p> +<p>The other judges also spoke encouragingly to me. One of +them, indeed, had appeared my enemy on my trial, accosting me in +a courteous but ironical tone, while his look of insulting +triumph seemed to belie his words. I would not make oath it +was so, but my blood was then boiling, and I was trying to +smother my passion. While they were praising me for my +Christian patience, I had not a jot of it left me. +“To-morrow,” continued the Inquisitor, “I am +sorry to say, you must appear and receive your sentence in +public. It is a formality which cannot be dispensed +with.”</p> +<p>“Be it so!” I replied.</p> +<p>“From this time we grant you the company of your +friend,” he added. Then calling the jailer, he +consigned me into his hands, ordering that I should be placed in +the same dungeon with Maroncelli.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a delightful moment, when, +after a separation of three months, and having suffered so +greatly, I met my friend. For some moments we forgot even +the severity of our sentence, conscious only of each +other’s presence.</p> +<p>But I soon turned from my friend to perform a more serious +duty—that of writing to my father. I was desirous +that the first tidings of my sad lot should reach my family from +myself; in order that the grief which I knew they would all feel +might be at least mitigated by hearing my state of mind, and the +sentiments of peace and religion by which I was supported. +The judges had given me a promise to expedite the letter the +moment it was written.</p> +<p>Maroncelli next spoke to me respecting his trial; I acquainted +him with mine, and we mutually described our prison walks and +adventures, complimenting each other on our peripatetic +philosophy. We approached our window, and saluted three of +our friends, whom we beheld standing at theirs. Two of +these were Canova and Rezia, in the same apartment; the first of +whom was condemned to six-years’ hard imprisonment, and the +last to three. The third was Doctor Cesare Armari, who had +been my neighbour some preceding months, in the prisons of the +Piombi. He was not, however, among the condemned, and soon +obtained his liberty.</p> +<p>The power of communicating with one or other of our +fellow-prisoners, at all hours, was a great relief to our +feelings. But when buried in silence and darkness, I was +unable to compose myself to rest; I felt my head burn, and my +heart bleed, as my thoughts reverted to home. Would my aged +parents be enabled to bear up against so heavy a misfortune? +would they find a sufficient resource in their other +children? They were equally attached to all, and I valued +myself least of all in that family of love; but will a father and +a mother ever find in the children that remain to them a +compensation for the one of whom they are deprived.</p> +<p>Had I dwelt only upon my relatives and a few other dear +friends, much as I regretted them, my thoughts would have been +less bitter than they were. But I thought of the insulting +smile of that judge, of the trial, the cause of the respective +sentences, political passions and enmities, and the fate of so +many of my friends . . . It was then I could no longer think with +patience or indulgence of any of my persecutors. God had +subjected me to a severe trial, and it was my duty to have borne +it with courage. Alas! I was neither able nor +willing. The pride and luxury of hatred pleased me better +than the noble spirit of forgiveness; and I passed a night of +horror after receiving sentence.</p> +<p>In the morning I could not pray. The universe appeared +to me, then, to be the work of some power, the enemy of +good. I had previously, indeed, been guilty of calumniating +my Creator; but little did I imagine I should revert to such +ingratitude, and in so brief a time. Julian, in his most +impious moods, could not express himself more impiously than +myself. To gloat over thoughts of hatred, or fierce +revenge, when smarting under the scourge of heaviest calamity, +instead of flying to religion as a refuge, renders a man +criminal, even though his cause be just. If we hate, it is +a proof of rank pride; and where is the wretched mortal that dare +stand up and declare in the face of Heaven, his title to hatred +and revenge against his fellows? to assert that none have a right +to sit in judgment upon him and his actions;—that none can +injure him without a bad intention, or a violation of all +justice? In short, he dares to arraign the decrees of +Heaven itself, if it please Providence to make him suffer in a +manner which he does not himself approve.</p> +<p>Still I was unhappy because I could not pray; for when pride +reigns supreme, it acknowledges no other god than the self-idol +it has created. How I could have wished to recommend to the +Supreme Protector, the care of my bereaved parents, though at +that unhappy moment I felt as if I no more believed in Him.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> nine in the morning Maroncelli +and I were conducted into the gondola which conveyed us into the +city. We alighted at the palace of the Doge, and proceeded +to the prisons. We were placed in the apartment which had +been occupied by Signor Caporali a few days before, but with +whose fate we were not acquainted. Nine or ten sbirri were +placed over us as a guard, and walking about, we awaited the +moment of being brought into the square. There was +considerable delay. The Inquisitor did not make his +appearance till noon, and then informed us that it was time to +go. The physician, also, presented himself, and advised us +to take a small glass of mint-water, which we accepted on account +of the extreme compassion which the good old man expressed for +us. It was Dr. Dosmo. The head bailiff then advanced +and fixed the hand-cuffs upon us. We followed him, +accompanied by the other bailiffs.</p> +<p>We next descended the magnificent staircase of the Giganti, +and we called to mind the old Doge Faliero, who was beheaded +there. We entered through the great gate which opens upon +the small square from the court-yard of the palace, and we then +turned to the left, in the direction of the lake. In the +centre of the small square was raised the scaffold which we were +to ascend. From the staircase of the Giganti, extending to +the scaffold, were two lines of Austrian soldiers, through which +we passed.</p> +<p>After ascending the platform, we looked around us, and saw an +immense assembly of people, apparently struck with terror. +In other directions were seen bands of armed men, to awe the +multitude; and we were told that cannon were loaded in readiness +to be discharged at a moment’s notice. I was now +exactly in the spot where, in September, 1820, just a month +previous to my arrest, a mendicant had observed to me, +“This is a place of misfortune.”</p> +<p>I called to mind the circumstance, and reflected that very +possibly in that immense throng of spectators the same person +might be present, and perhaps even recognise me.</p> +<p>The German Captain now called out to us to turn towards the +palace, and look up; we did so, and beheld, upon the lodge, a +messenger of the Council, with a letter in his hand; it was the +sentence; he began to read it in a loud voice.</p> +<p>It was ushered in by solemn silence, which was continued until +he came to the words, <i>Condemned to death</i>. There was +then heard one general murmur of compassion. This was +followed by a similar silence, in order to hear the rest of the +document. A fresh murmur arose on the announcement of the +following:—condemned to hard imprisonment, Maroncelli for +<i>twenty years</i>, and Pellico for <i>fifteen</i>.</p> +<p>The Captain made a sign for us to descend. We cast one +glance around us, and came down. We re-entered the +court-yard, mounted the great staircase, and were conducted into +the room from which we had been dragged. The manacles were +removed, and we were soon reconducted to San Michele.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LIV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> prisoners who had been +condemned before us had already set out for Lubiana and +Spielberg, accompanied by a commissary of police. He was +now expected back, in order to conduct us to our destination; but +the interval of a month elapsed.</p> +<p>My time was chiefly spent in talking, and listening to the +conversation of others, in order to distract my attention. +Maroncelli read me some of his literary productions, and in turn, +I read him mine. One evening I read from the window my play +of <i>Ester d’Engaddi</i>, to Canova, Rezia, and Armari; +and the following evening, the <i>Iginia d’Asti</i>. +During the night, however, I grew irritable and wretched, and was +unable to sleep. I both desired and feared to learn in what +manner the tidings of my calamity had been received by my +family.</p> +<p>At length I got a letter from my father, and was grieved to +find, from the date, that my last to him had not been sent, as I +had requested of the Inquisitor, immediately! Thus my +unhappy father, while flattering himself that I should be set at +liberty, happening to take up the Milan Gazette, read the horrid +sentence which I had just received upon the scaffold. He +himself acquainted me with this fact, and left me to infer what +his feelings must have been on meeting thus suddenly with the sad +news. I cannot express the contempt and anger I felt on +learning that my letter had been kept back; and how deeply I felt +for all my poor unhappy family. There was doubtless no +malice in this delay, but I looked upon it as a refinement of the +most atrocious barbarity; an eager, infernal desire to see the +iron enter, as it were, the very soul of my beloved and innocent +relatives. I felt, indeed, as if I could have delighted to +shed a sea of blood, could I only punish this flagrant and +premeditated inhumanity.</p> +<p>Now that I judge calmly, I find it very improbable. The +delay, doubtless, was simply owing to inadvertency on the part of +subordinate agents. Enraged as I was, I heard with still +more excited feelings that my companions were about to celebrate +Easter week ere their departure. As for me, I considered it +wholly impossible, inasmuch as I felt not the least disposition +towards forgiveness. Should I be guilty of such a +scandal!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> length the German commissioner +arrived, and came to acquaint us that within two days we were to +set out. “I have the pleasure,” he added, +“to give you some consoling tidings. On my return +from Spielberg, I saw his majesty the Emperor at Vienna, who +acquainted me that the penal days appointed you will not extend +to twenty-four hours, but only to twelve. By this +expression it is intended to signify that the pain will be +divided, or half the punishment remitted.” This +division was never notified to us in an official form, but there +is no reason to suppose that the commissioner would state an +untruth; the less so as he made no secret of the information, +which was known to the whole commission. Nevertheless, I +could not congratulate myself upon it. To my feelings, +seven years and a half had little more horrible in them (to be +spent in chains and solitude) than fifteen; for I conceived it to +be impossible to survive so long a period. My health had +recently again become wretched! I suffered from severe +pains of the chest, attended with cough, and thought my lungs +were affected. I ate little, and that little I could not +digest. Our departure took place on the night of the 25th +of March. We were permitted to take leave of our friend, +Cesare Armari. A sbirro chained us in a transverse manner, +namely, the right hand and the left foot, so as to render it +impossible for us to escape.</p> +<p>We went into a gondola, and the guards rowed us towards +Fusina. On our arrival we found two boats in readiness for +us. Rezia and Canova were placed in one, and Maroncelli and +myself in the other. The commissary was also with two of +the prisoners, and an under-commissary with the others. Six +or seven guards of police completed our convoy; they were armed +with swords and muskets; some of them at hand in the boats, +others in the box of the Vetturino.</p> +<p>To be compelled by misfortune to leave one’s country is +always sufficiently painful; but to be torn from it in chains, +doomed to exile in a horrible climate, to linger days, and hours, +and years, in solitary dungeons, is a fate so appalling as to +defy language to convey the remotest idea of it.</p> +<p>Ere we had traversed the Alps, I felt that my country was +becoming doubly dear to me; the sympathy we awakened on every +side, from all ranks, formed an irresistible appeal to my +affection and gratitude. In every city, in every village, +in every group of meanest houses, the news of our condemnation +had been known for some weeks, and we were expected. In +several places the commissioners and the guards had difficulty in +dispersing the crowd which surrounded us. It was +astonishing to witness the benevolent and humane feeling +generally manifested in our behalf.</p> +<p>In Udine we met with a singular and touching incident. +On arriving at the inn, the commissary caused the door of the +court-yard to be closed, in order to keep back the people. +A room was assigned us, and he ordered the waiters to bring +supper, and make such accommodation as we required for +repose. In a few moments three men entered with mattresses +upon their shoulders. What was our surprise to see that +only one of them was a servant of the inn; the other two were our +acquaintance. We pretended to assist them in placing the +beds, and had time to recognise and give each other the hand of +fellowship and sympathy. It was too much; the tears started +to our eyes. Ah! how trying was it to us all, not to be +allowed the sad satisfaction even of shedding them in a last +embrace.</p> +<p>The commissaries were not aware of the circumstance; but I had +reason to think that one of the guards saw into the affair, just +as the good Dario grasped me by the hand. He was a +Venetian; he fixed his eyes upon us both; he turned pale; +appeared in the act of making an alarm, then turned away his +eyes, as if pretending not to see us. If he felt not +assured that they were indeed our friends, he must have believed +them to be some waiters with whom we were acquainted.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning we left Udine by +dawn of day. The affectionate Dario was already in the +street, wrapped in his mantle; he beckoned to us and followed us +a long way. A coach also continued at some little distance +from us for several miles. Some one waved a handkerchief +from it, till it turned back; who could it have been? We +had our own conjectures on the subject. May Heaven protect +those generous spirits that thus cease not to love, and express +their love for the unfortunate. I had the more reason to +prize them from the fact of having met with cowards, who, not +content with denying me, thought to benefit themselves by +calumniating their once fortunate <i>friend</i>. These +cases, however, were rare, while those of the former, to the +honour of the human character, were numerous.</p> +<p>I had supposed that the warm sympathy expressed for us in +Italy would cease when we entered on a foreign soil. But I +was deceived; the good man is ever the fellow-countryman of the +unhappy! When traversing Illyrian and German ground, it was +the same as in our own country. There was the same general +lamentation at our fate; “Arme herren!” poor +gentlemen, was on the lips of all.</p> +<p>Sometimes, on entering another district, our escort was +compelled to stop in order to decide in what part to take up our +quarters. The people would then gather round us, and we +heard exclamations, and other expressions of commiseration, which +evidently came from the heart. These proofs of popular +feeling were still more gratifying to me, than such as I had met +with from my own countrymen. The consolation which was thus +afforded me, helped to soothe the bitter indignation I then felt +against those whom I esteemed my enemies. Yet, possibly, I +reflected, if we were brought more nearly acquainted, if I could +see into their real motives, and I could explain my own feelings, +I might be constrained to admit that they are not impelled by the +malignant spirit I suppose, while they would find there was as +little of bad in me. Nay, they might perhaps be induced not +only to pity, but to admire and love us!</p> +<p>It is true, indeed, that men too often hate each other, merely +because they are strangers to each other’s real views and +feelings; and the simple interchange of a few words would make +them acknowledge their error, and give the hand of brotherhood to +each other.</p> +<p>We remained a day at Lubiana; and there Canova and Rezia were +separated from us, being forthwith conducted into the +castle. It is easy to guess our feelings upon this painful +occasion.</p> +<p>On the evening of our arrival at Lubiana and the day +following, a gentleman came and joined us, who, if I remember +rightly, announced himself as the municipal secretary. His +manners were gentle and humane, and he spoke of religion in a +tone at once elevated and impressive. I conjectured he must +be a priest, the priests in Germany being accustomed to dress +exactly in the same style as laymen. His countenance was +calculated to excite esteem. I regretted that I was not +enabled further to cultivate his acquaintance, and I blame myself +for my inadvertency in not having taken down his name.</p> +<p>It irks me, too, that I cannot at this time recall the name of +another gentle being, a young girl of Styria, who followed us +through the crowd, and when our coach stopped for a few minutes, +moved towards us with both hands, and afterwards, turned weeping +away, supported by a young man, whose light hair proclaimed him +of German extraction. But most probably he had been in +Italy, where he had fallen in love with our fair countrywoman, +and felt touched for our country. Yes! what pleasure it +would have given me to record the names of those venerable +fathers and mothers of families, who, in different districts, +accosted us on our road, inquiring if we had parents and friends; +and on hearing that we had, would grow pale, and exclaim, +“Alas! may it please God to restore you soon to those +wretched, bereaved ones whom you have left behind.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the 10th of April we arrived at +our place of destination. The city of Brünn is the +capital of Moravia, where the governor of the two provinces of +Moravia and Silesia is accustomed to reside. Situated in a +pleasant valley, it presents a rich and noble aspect. At +one time it was a great manufactory of cloth, but its prosperous +days were now passed, and its population did not exceed thirty +thousand.</p> +<p>Contiguous to the walls on the western side rises a mount, and +on this is placed the dreaded fortress of Spielberg, once the +royal seat of the lords of Moravia, and now the most terrific +prison under the Austrian monarchy. It was a well-guarded +citadel, but was bombarded and taken by the French after the +celebrated battle of Austerlitz, a village at a little distance +from it. It was not generally repaired, with the exception +of a portion of the outworks, which had been wholly +demolished. Within it are imprisoned some three hundred +wretches, for the most part robbers and assassins, some condemned +to the <i>carcere dare</i>, others to that called +<i>durissimo</i>, the severest of all. This <span +class="GutSmall">HARD IMPRISONMENT</span> comprehends compulsory, +daily labour, to wear chains on the legs, to sleep upon bare +boards, and to eat the worst imaginable food. The +<i>durissimo</i>, or hardest, signifies being chained in a more +horrible manner, one part of the iron being fixed in the wall, +united to a hoop round the body of the prisoner, so as to prevent +his moving further than the board which serves for his +couch. We, as state prisoners, were condemned to the +<i>carcere duro</i>. The food, however, is the same, though +in the words of the law it is prescribed to be bread and +water.</p> +<p>While mounting the acclivity we turned our eyes as if to take +a last look of the world we were leaving, doubting if ever the +portals of that living grave would be again unclosed to us. +I was calm, but rage and indignation consumed my heart. It +was in vain I had recourse to philosophy; it had no arguments to +quiet or to support me.</p> +<p>I was in poor health on leaving Venice, and the journey had +fatigued me exceedingly. I had a fever, and felt severe +pains, both in my head and my limbs. Illness increased my +irritation, and very probably the last had an equally ill effect +upon my frame.</p> +<p>We were consigned over to the superintendent of Spielberg, and +our names were registered in the same list as that of the +robbers. The imperial commissary shook our hands upon +taking leave, and was evidently affected. +“Farewell,” he said, “and let me recommend to +you calmness and submission: for I assure you the least +infraction of discipline will be punished by the governor in the +severest manner.”</p> +<p>The consignment being made out, my friend and myself were +conducted into a subterranean gallery, where two dismal-looking +dungeons were unlocked, at a distance from each other. In +one of these I was entombed alive, and poor Maroncelli in the +other.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">How</span> bitter is it, after having bid +adieu to so many beloved objects, and there remains only a single +one between yourself and utter solitude, the solitude of chains +and a living death, to be separated even from that one! +Maroncelli, on leaving me, ill and dejected, shed tears over me +as one whom, it was most probable, he would never more +behold. In him, too, I lamented a noble-minded man, cut off +in the splendour of his intellect, and the vigour of his days, +snatched from society, all its duties and its pleasures, and even +from “the common air, the earth, the sky.” Yet +he survived the unheard of afflictions heaped upon him, but in +what a state did he leave his living tomb!</p> +<p>When I found myself alone in that horrid cavern, heard the +closing of the iron doors, the rattling of chains, and by the +gloomy light of a high window, saw the wooden bench destined for +my couch, with an enormous chain fixed in the wall, I sat down, +in sullen rage, on my hard resting-place, and taking up the +chain, measured its length, in the belief that it was destined +for me.</p> +<p>In half an hour I caught the sound of locks and keys; the door +opened, and the head-jailer handed me a jug of water.</p> +<p>“Here is something to drink,” he said in a rough +tone, “and you will have your loaf to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, my good man.”</p> +<p>“I am not good,” was the reply.</p> +<p>“The worse for you,” I answered, rather +sharply. “And this great chain,” I added, +“is it for me?”</p> +<p>“It is, Sir; if you don’t happen to be quiet; if +you get into a rage, or say impertinent things. But if you +are reasonable, we shall only chain you by the feet. The +blacksmith is getting all ready.”</p> +<p>He then walked sullenly up and down, shaking that horrid ring +of enormous keys, while with angry eye I measured his gigantic, +lean, and aged figure. His features, though not decidedly +vulgar, bore the most repulsive expression of brutal severity +which I ever beheld!</p> +<p>How unjust are mankind when they presume to judge by +appearances, and in deference to their vain, arrogant +prejudices. The man whom I upbraided in my heart for +shaking as it were in triumph those horrible keys, to make me +more keenly sensible of his power, whom I set down as an +insignificant tyrant, inured to practices of cruelty, was then +revolving thoughts of compassion, and assuredly had spoken in +that harsh tone only to conceal his real feelings. Perhaps +he was afraid to trust himself, or that I should prove unworthy +gentler treatment; doubtful whether I might not be yet more +criminal than unhappy, though willing to afford me relief.</p> +<p>Annoyed by his presence, and the sort of lordly air he +assumed, I determined to try to humble him, and called out as if +speaking to a servant, “Give me something to +drink!” He looked at me, as much as to say, +“Arrogant man! this is no place for you to show the airs of +a master.” Still he was silent, bent his long back, +took up the jug, and gave it to me. I perceived, as I took +it from him, that he trembled, and believing it to proceed from +age, I felt a mingled emotion of reverence and compassion. +“How old are you?” I inquired in a kinder tone.</p> +<p>“Seventy-four, Sir; I have lived to see great +calamities, both as regards others and myself.”</p> +<p>The tremulous emotion I had observed increased as he said +this, and again took the jug from my hand. I now thought it +might be owing to some nobler feeling than the effect of age, and +the aversion I had conceived instantaneously left me.</p> +<p>“And what is your name?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“It pleased fortune, Sir, to make a fool of me, by +giving me the name of a great man. My name is +Schiller.” He then told me in a few words, some +particulars as to his native place, his family, the campaigns in +which he had served, and the wounds he had received.</p> +<p>He was a Switzer, the son of peasants, had been in the wars +against the Turks, under Marshal Laudon, in the reign of Maria +Theresa and Joseph II. He had subsequently served in the +Austrian campaigns against France, up to the period of +Napoleon’s exile.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LIX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> we begin to form a better +opinion of one against whom we had conceived a strong prejudice, +we seem to discover in every feature, in his voice, and manner, +fresh marks of a good disposition, to which we were before +strangers. Is this real, or is it not rather founded upon +illusion? Shortly before, we interpreted the very same +expressions in another way. Our judgment of moral qualities +has undergone a change, and soon, the conclusions drawn from our +knowledge of physiognomy are equally different. How many +portraits of celebrated men inspire us only with respect or +admiration because we know their characters; portraits which we +should have pronounced worthless and unattractive had they +represented the ordinary race of mortals. And thus it is, +if we reason <i>vice versa</i>. I once laughed, I remember, +at a lady, who on beholding a likeness of Catiline mistook it for +that of Collatinus, and remarked upon the sublime expression of +grief in the features of Collatinus for the loss of his +Lucretia. These sort of illusions are not uncommon. I +would not maintain that the features of good men do not bear the +impression of their character, like irreclaimable villains that +of their depravity; but that there are many which have at least a +doubtful cast. In short, I won a little upon old Schiller; +I looked at him more attentively, and he no longer appeared +forbidding. To say the truth, there was something in his +language which, spite of its rough tone, showed the genuine +traits of a noble mind. And spite of our first looks of +mutual distrust and defiance, we seemed to feel a certain respect +for each other; he spoke boldly what he thought, and so did +I.</p> +<p>“Captain as I am,” he observed, “I have +fallen,—to take my rest, into this wretched post of jailer; +and God knows it is far more disagreeable for me to maintain it, +than it was to risk my life in battle.”</p> +<p>I was now sorry I had asked him so haughtily to give me +drink. “My dear Schiller,” I said, grasping his +hand, “it is in vain you deny it, I know you are a good +fellow; and as I have fallen into this calamity, I thank heaven +which has given me you for a guardian!”</p> +<p>He listened to me, shook his head, and then rubbing his +forehead, like a man in some perplexity or trouble.</p> +<p>“No, Sir, I am bad—rank bad. They made me +take an oath, which I must, and will keep. I am bound to +treat all the prisoners, without distinction, with equal +severity; no indulgence, no permission to relent, to soften the +sternest orders, in particular as regards prisoners of +state.”</p> +<p>“You are a noble fellow; I respect you for making your +duty a point of conscience. You may err, humanly speaking, +but your motives are pure in the eyes of God.”</p> +<p>“Poor gentleman, have patience, and pity me. I +shall be hard as steel in my duty, but my heart bleeds to be +unable to relieve the unfortunate. This is all I really +wished to say.” We were both affected.</p> +<p>He then entreated that I would preserve my calmness, and not +give way to passion, as is too frequent with solitary prisoners, +and calls for restraint, and even for severer punishment.</p> +<p>He afterwards resumed his gruff, affected tone as if to +conceal the compassion he felt for me, observing that it was high +time for him to go.</p> +<p>He came back, however, and inquired how long a time I had been +afflicted with that horrible cough, reflecting sharply upon the +physician for not coming to see me that very evening. +“You are ill of a horse fever,” he added, “I +know it well; you will stand in need of a straw bed, but we +cannot give you one till the doctor has ordered it.”</p> +<p>He retired, locked the door, and I threw myself upon the hard +boards, with considerable fever and pain in my chest, but less +irritable, less at enmity with mankind, and less alienated from +God.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the evening came the +superintendent, attended by Schiller, another captain, and two +soldiers, to make the usual search. Three of these +inquisitions were ordered each day, at morning, noon, and +midnight. Every corner of the prison was examined, and each +article of the most trivial kind. The inferior officers +then left, and the superintendent remained a little time to +converse with me.</p> +<p>The first time I saw this troop of jailers approach, a strange +thought came into my head. Being unacquainted with their +habits of search, and half delirious with fever, it struck me +that they were come to take my life, and seizing my great chain I +resolved to sell it dearly by knocking the first upon the head +that offered to molest me.</p> +<p>“What mean you?” exclaimed the superintendent; +“we are not going to hurt you. It is merely a formal +visit to ascertain that all is in proper order in the +prisons.”</p> +<p>I hesitated, but when I saw Schiller advance and stretch forth +his hand with a kind, paternal look, I dropped the chain and took +his proffered hand. “Lord! how it burns,” he +said, turning towards the superintendent; “he ought at +least to have a straw bed;” and he said this in so truly +compassionate a tone as quite to win my heart. The +superintendent then felt my pulse, and spoke some consolatory +words: he was a man of gentlemanly manners, but dared not for his +life express any opinion upon the subject.</p> +<p>“It is all a reign of terror here,” said he, +“even as regards myself. Should I not execute my +orders to the rigour of the letter, you would no longer see me +here.” Schiller made a long face, and I could have +wagered he said within himself, “But if I were at the head, +like you, I would not carry my apprehensions so very far; for to +give an opinion on a matter of such evident necessity, and so +innocuous to government, would never be esteemed a mighty +fault.”</p> +<p>When left alone, I felt my heart, so long incapable of any +deep sense of religion, stirred within me, and knelt down to +pray. I besought a blessing upon the head of old Schiller, +and appealing to God, asked that he would so move the hearts of +those around me, as to permit me to become attached to them, and +no longer suffer me to hate my fellow-beings, humbly accepting +all that was to be inflicted upon me from His hand.</p> +<p>About midnight I heard people passing along the gallery. +Keys were sounding, and soon the door opened; it was the captain +and his guards on search.</p> +<p>“Where is my old Schiller?” inquired I. He +had stopped outside in the gallery.</p> +<p>“I am here—I am here!” was the answer. +He came towards the table, and, feeling my pulse, hung over me as +a father would over his child with anxious and inquiring +look. “Now I remember,” said he, +“to-morrow is Thursday.”</p> +<p>“And what of that?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“Why! it is just one of the days when the doctor does +not attend, he comes only on a Monday, Wednesday, and +Friday. Plague on him.”</p> +<p>“Give yourself no uneasiness about that!”</p> +<p>“No uneasiness, no uneasiness!” he muttered, +“but I do; you are ill, I see; nothing is talked of in the +whole town but the arrival of yourself and friends; the doctor +must have heard of it; and why the devil could he not make the +extraordinary exertion of coming once out of his time?”</p> +<p>“Who knows!” said I, “he may perhaps be here +to-morrow,—Thursday though it will be?”</p> +<p>The old man said no more, he gave me a squeeze of the hand, +enough to break every bone in my fingers, as a mark of his +approbation of my courage and resignation. I was a little +angry with him, however, much as a young lover, if the girl of +his heart happen in dancing to press her foot upon his; he laughs +and esteems himself highly favoured, instead of crying out with +the pain.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXI.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">awoke</span> on Thursday morning, after +a horrible night, weak, aching in all my bones, from the hard +boards, and in a profuse perspiration. The visit hour came, +but the superintendent was absent; and he only followed at a more +convenient time. I said to Schiller, “Just see how +terribly I perspire; but it is now growing cold upon me; what a +treat it would be to change my shirt.”</p> +<p>“You cannot do it,” he said, in a brutal +tone. At the same time he winked, and moved his hand. +The captain and guards withdrew, and Schiller made me another +sign as he closed the door. He soon opened it again, and +brought one of his own shirts, long enough to cover me from head +to feet, even if doubled.</p> +<p>“It is perhaps a little too long, but I have no others +here.”</p> +<p>“I thank you, friend, but as I brought with me a whole +trunk full of linen, I do hope I may be permitted the use of +it. Have the kindness to ask the superintendent to let me +have one of my shirts.”</p> +<p>“You will not be permitted, Sir, to use any of your +linen here. Each week you will have a shirt given you from +the house like the other prisoners.”</p> +<p>“You see, good man, in what a condition I am. I +shall never go out of here alive. I shall never be able to +reward you.”</p> +<p>“For shame, Sir! for shame!” said the old +man. “Talk of reward to one who can do you no good! +to one who dare hardly give a dry shirt to a sick fellow creature +in a sweat!” He then helped me on with his long +shirt, grumbling all the while, and slammed the door to with +violence on going out, as if he had been in a great rage.</p> +<p>About two hours after, he brought me a piece of black +bread. “This,” he said, “is your two +days’ fare!” he then began to walk about in a sulky +mood.</p> +<p>“What is the matter?” I inquired; “are you +vexed at me? You know I took the shirt.”</p> +<p>“I am enraged at that doctor; though it be Thursday he +might show his ugly face here.”</p> +<p>“Patience!” said I; but though I said it, I knew +not for the life of me how to get the least rest, without a +pillow, upon those hard boards. Every bone in my body +suffered. At eleven I was treated to the prison +dinner—two little iron pots, one of soup, the other of +herbs, mixed in such a way as to turn your stomach with the +smell. I tried to swallow a few spoonfuls, but did not +succeed. Schiller encouraged me: “Never +despair,” said he; “try again; you will get used to +it in time. If you don’t, you will be like many +others before you, unable to eat anything but bread, and die of +mere inanition.”</p> +<p>Friday morning came, and with it came Dr. Bayer at last. +He found me very feverish, ordered me a straw bed, and insisted I +should be removed from the caverns into one of the abodes +above. It could not be done; there was no room. An +appeal was made to the Governor of Moravia and Silesia, residing +at Brünn, who commanded, on the urgency of the case, that +the medical advice should be followed.</p> +<p>There was a little light in the room to which I was +removed. I crawled towards the bars of the narrow window, +and had the delight of seeing the valley that lay +below,—part of the city of Brünn,—a suburb with +gardens,—the churchyard,—the little lake of +Certosa,—and the woody hills which lay between us and the +famous plains of Austerlitz. I was enchanted, and oh, what +double pleasure, thought I, would be mine, were I enabled to +share it with my poor friend Maroncelli!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Meanwhile</span>, our prison dresses were +making for us, and five days afterwards mine was brought to +me. It consisted of a pair of pantaloons made of rough +cloth, of which the right side was grey, the left of a dark +colour. The waistcoat was likewise of two colours equally +divided, as well as the jacket, but with the same colours placed +on the contrary sides. The stockings were of the coarsest +wool; the shirt of linen tow full of sharp points—a true +hair-cloth garment; and round the neck was a piece of the same +kind. Our legs were enveloped in leather buskins, untanned, +and we wore a coarse white hat.</p> +<p>This costume was not complete without the addition of chains +to the feet, that is, extending from one leg to the other, the +joints being fastened with nails, which were riveted upon an +anvil. The blacksmith employed upon my legs, in this +operation, observed to one of the guards, thinking I knew nothing +of German, “So ill as he is, one would think they might +spare him this sort of fun; ere two months be over, the angel of +death will loosen these rivets of mine.”</p> +<p>“<i>Möchte es seyn</i>! may it be so!” was my +reply, as I touched him upon the shoulder. The poor fellow +started, and seemed quite confused; he then said; “I hope I +may be a false prophet; and I wish you may be set free by another +kind of angel.”</p> +<p>“Yet, rather than live thus, think you not, it would be +welcome even from the angel of death?” He nodded his +head, and went away, with a look of deep compassion for me.</p> +<p>I would truly have been willing to die, but I felt no +disposition towards suicide. I felt confident that the +disease of my lungs would be enough, ere long, to give me +freedom. Such was not the will of God. The fatigue of +my journey had made me much worse, but rest seemed again to +restore my powers.</p> +<p>A few minutes after the blacksmith left me, I heard the hammer +sounding upon the anvil in one of the caverns below. +Schiller was then in my room. “Do you hear those +blows?” I said; “they are certainly fixing the irons +on poor Maroncelli.” The idea for the moment was so +overwhelming, that if the old man had not caught me, I should +have fallen. For more than half an hour, I continued in a +kind of swoon, and yet I was sensible. I could not speak, +my pulse scarcely beat at all; a cold sweat bathed me from head +to foot. Still I could hear all that Schiller said, and had +a keen perception, both of what had passed and was passing.</p> +<p>By command of the superintendent and the activity of the +guards, the whole of the adjacent prisons had been kept in a +state of profound silence. Three or four times I had caught +snatches of some Italian song, but they were quickly stifled by +the calls of the sentinels on duty. Several of these were +stationed upon the ground-floor, under our windows, and one in +the gallery close by, who was continually engaged in listening at +the doors and looking through the bars to forbid every kind of +noise.</p> +<p>Once, towards evening (I feel the same sort of emotion +whenever I recur to it), it happened that the sentinels were less +on the alert; and I heard in a low but clear voice some one +singing in a prison adjoining my own. What joy, what +agitation I felt at the sound. I rose from my bed of straw, +I bent my ear; and when it ceased—I burst into tears. +“Who art thou, unhappy one?” I cried, “who art +thou? tell me thy name! I am Silvio Pellico.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Silvio!” cried my neighbour, “I know +you not by person, but I have long loved you. Get up to +your window, and let us speak to each other, in spite of the +jailers.”</p> +<p>I crawled up as well as I could; he told me his name, and we +exchanged few words of kindness. It was the Count Antonio +Oroboni, a native of Fratta, near Rovigo, and only twenty-nine +years of age. Alas! we were soon interrupted by the +ferocious cries of the sentinels. He in the gallery knocked +as loud as he could with the butt-end of his musket, both at the +Count’s door and at mine. We would not, and we could +not obey; but the noise, the oaths, and threats of the guards +were such as to drown our voices, and after arranging that we +would resume our communications, upon a change of guards, we +ceased to converse.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> were in hopes (and so in fact it +happened) that by speaking in a lower tone, and perhaps +occasionally having guards whose humanity might prompt them to +pay no attention to us, we might renew our conversation. By +dint of practice we learnt to hear each other in so low a key +that the sounds were almost sure to escape the notice of the +sentinels. If, as it rarely happened, we forgot ourselves, +and talked aloud, there came down upon us a torrent of cries, and +knocks at our doors, accompanied with threats and curses of every +kind, to say nothing of poor Schiller’s vexation, and that +of the superintendent.</p> +<p>By degrees, however, we brought our system to perfection; +spoke only at the precise minutes, quarters, and half hours when +it was safe, or when such and such guards were upon duty. +At length, with moderate caution, we were enabled every day to +converse almost as much as we pleased, without drawing on us the +attention or anger of any of the superior officers.</p> +<p>It was thus we contracted an intimate friendship. The +Count told me his adventures, and in turn I related mine. +We sympathised in everything we heard, and in all each +other’s joys or griefs. It was of infinite advantage +to us, as well as pleasure; for often, after passing a sleepless +night, one or the other would hasten to the window and salute his +friend. How these mutual welcomes and conversations helped +to encourage us, and to soothe the horrors of our continued +solitude! We felt that we were useful to each other; and +the sense of this roused a gentle emulation in all our thoughts, +and gave a satisfaction which man receives, even in misery, when +he knows he can serve a fellow-creature. Each conversation +gave rise to new ones; it was necessary to continue them, and to +explain as we went on. It was an unceasing stimulus to our +ideas to our reason, our memory, our imagination, and our +hearts.</p> +<p>At first, indeed, calling to mind Julian, I was doubtful as to +the fidelity of this new friend. I reflected that hitherto +we had not been at variance; but some day I feared something +unpleasant might occur, and that I should then be sent back to my +solitude. But this suspicion was soon removed. Our +opinions harmonised upon all essential points. To a noble +mind, full of ardour and generous sentiment, undaunted by +misfortune, he added the most clear and perfect faith in +Christianity, while in me this had become vacillating and at +times apparently extinct.</p> +<p>He met my doubts with most just and admirable reflections; and +with equal affection, I felt that he had reason on his side: I +admitted it, yet still my doubts returned. It is thus, I +believe, with all who have not the Gospel at heart, and who hate, +or indulge resentments of any kind. The mind catches +glimpses, as it were, of the truth, but as it is unpleasing, it +is disbelieved the moment after, and the attention directed +elsewhere.</p> +<p>Oroboni was indefatigable in turning <i>my</i> attention to +the motives which man has to show kindness to his enemies. +I never spoke of any one I abhorred but he began in a most +dexterous manner to defend him, and not less by his words than by +his example. Many men had injured him; it grieved him, yet +he forgave all, and had the magnanimity to relate some laudable +trait or other belonging to each, and seemed to do it with +pleasure.</p> +<p>The irritation which had obtained such a mastery over me, and +rendered me so irreligious after my condemnation, continued +several weeks, and then wholly ceased. The noble virtue of +Oroboni delighted me. Struggling as well as I could to +reach him, I at least trod in the same track, and I was then +enabled to pray with sincerity; to forgive, to hate no one, and +dissipate every remaining doubt and gloom.</p> +<p><i>Ubi charitas et amor</i>, <i>Deus ibi est</i>. <a +name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25" +class="citation">[25]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> say truth, if our punishment was +excessively severe, and calculated to irritate the mind, we had +still the rare fortune of meeting only with individuals of real +worth. They could not, indeed, alleviate our situation, +except by kindness and respect, but so much was freely +granted. If there were something rude and uncouth in old +Schiller, it was amply compensated by his noble spirit. +Even the wretched Kunda (the convict who brought us our dinner, +and water three times a day) was anxious to show his compassion +for us. He swept our rooms regularly twice in the +week. One morning, while thus engaged, as Schiller turned a +few steps from the door, poor Kunda offered me a piece of white +bread. I refused it, but squeezed him cordially by the +hand. He was moved, and told me, in bad German, that he was +a Pole. “Good sir,” he added, “they give +us so little to eat here, that I am sure you must be +hungry.” I assured him I was not, but he was very +hard of belief.</p> +<p>The physician, perceiving that we were none of us enabled to +swallow the kind of food prepared for us on our first arrival, +put us all upon what is considered the hospital diet. This +consisted of three very small plates of soup in the day, the +least slice of roast lamb, hardly a mouthful, and about three +ounces of white bread.</p> +<p>As my health continued to improve, my appetite grew better, +and that “fourth portion,” as they termed it, was +really too little, and I began to feel the justice of poor +Kunda’s remarks. I tried a return to the sound diet, +but do what I would to conquer my aversion, it was all labour +lost. I was compelled to live upon the fourth part of +ordinary meals: and for a whole year I knew by experience the +tortures of hunger. It was still more severely felt by many +of my fellow-prisoners, who, being far stouter, had been +accustomed to a full and generous diet. I learnt that many +of them were glad to accept pieces of bread from Schiller and +some of the guards, and even from the poor hungry Kunda.</p> +<p>“It is reported in the city,” said the barber, a +young practitioner of our surgery, one day to me, “it is +reported that they do not give you gentlemen here enough to +eat.”</p> +<p>“And it is very true,” replied I, with perfect +sincerity.</p> +<p>The next Sunday (he came always on that day) he brought me an +immense white loaf, and Schiller pretended not to see him give it +me. Had I listened to my stomach I should have accepted it, +but I would not, lest he should repeat the gift and bring himself +into some trouble. For the same reason I refused +Schiller’s offers. He would often bring me boiled +meat, entreating me to partake of it, and protesting it cost him +nothing; besides, he knew not what to do with it, and must give +it away to somebody. I could have devoured it, but would he +not then be tempted to offer me something or other every day, and +what would it end in? Twice only I partook of some cherries +and some pears; they were quite irresistible. I was +punished as I expected, for from that time forth the old man +never ceased bringing me fruit of some kind or other.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was arranged, on our arrival, +that each of us should be permitted to walk an hour twice in the +week. In the sequel, this relief was one day granted us and +another refused; and the hour was always later during +festivals.</p> +<p>We went, each separately, between two guards, with loaded +muskets on their shoulders. In passing from my prison, at +the head of the gallery, I went by the whole of the Italian +prisoners, with the exception of Maroncelli—the only one +condemned to linger in the caverns below. “A pleasant +walk!” whispered they all, as they saw me pass; but I was +not allowed to exchange a single word.</p> +<p>I was led down a staircase which opened into a spacious court, +where we walked upon a terrace, with a south aspect, and a view +of the city of Brünn and the surrounding country. In +this courtyard we saw numbers of the common criminals, coming +from, or going to, their labour, or passing along conversing in +groups. Among them were several Italian robbers, who +saluted me with great respect. “He is no rogue, like +us; yet you see his punishment is more severe”; and it was +true, they had a larger share of freedom than I.</p> +<p>Upon hearing expressions like these, I turned and saluted them +with a good-natured look. One of them observed, “It +does me good to see you, sir, when you notice me. Possibly +you may see something in my look not so very wicked. An +unhappy passion instigated me to commit a crime, but believe me, +sir, I am no villain!”</p> +<p>Saying this he burst into tears. I gave him my hand, but +he was unable to return the pressure. At that moment, my +guard, according to their instructions, drove him away, declaring +that they must permit no one to approach me. The +observations subsequently addressed to me were pretended to be +spoken among each other; and if my two attendants became aware of +it, they quickly interposed silence.</p> +<p>Prisoners of various ranks, and visitors of the +superintendent, the chaplain, the sergeant, or some of the +captains, were likewise to be seen there. “That is an +Italian, that is an Italian!” they often whispered each +other. They stopped to look at me, and they would say in +German, supposing I should not understand them, “That poor +gentleman will not live to be old; he has death in his +countenance.”</p> +<p>In fact, after recovering some degree of strength, I again +fell ill for want of nourishment, and fever again attacked +me. I attempted to drag myself, as far as my chain would +permit, along the walk, and throwing myself upon the turf, I +rested there until the expiration of my hour. The guards +would then sit down near me, and begin to converse with each +other. One of them, a Bohemian, named Kral, had, though +very poor, received some sort of an education, which he had +himself improved by reflection. He was fond of reading, had +studied Klopstock, Wieland, Goethe, Schiller, and many other +distinguished German writers. He knew a good deal by +memory, and repeated many passages with feeling and +correctness. The other guard was a Pole, by name Kubitzky, +wholly untaught, but kind and respectful. Their society was +a great relief to me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> one end of the terrace was +situated the apartments of the superintendent, at the other was +the residence of a captain, with his wife and son. When I +saw any one appear from these buildings, I was in the habit of +approaching near, and was invariably received with marks of +courtesy and compassion.</p> +<p>The wife of the captain had been long ill, and appeared to be +in a decline. She was sometimes carried into the open air, +and it was astonishing to see the sympathy she expressed for our +sufferings. She had the sweetest look I ever saw; and +though evidently timid, would at times fix her eye upon me with +an inquiring, confiding glance, when appealed to by name. +One day I observed to her with a smile, “Do you know, +signora, I find a resemblance between you and one who was very +dear to me.” She blushed, and replied with charming +simplicity, “Do not then forget me when I shall be no more; +pray for my unhappy soul, and for the little ones I leave behind +me!” I never saw her after that day; she was unable +to rise from her bed, and in a few months I heard of her +death.</p> +<p>She left three sons, all beautiful as cherubs, and one still +an infant at the breast. I had often seen the poor mother +embrace them when I was by, and say, with tears in her eyes, +“Who will be their mother when I am gone? Ah, whoever +she may be, may it please the Father of all to inspire her with +love, even for children not her own.”</p> +<p>Often, when she was no more, did I embrace those fair +children, shed a tear over them, and invoke their mother’s +blessing on them, in the same words. Thoughts of my own +mother, and of the prayers she so often offered up for <i>her</i> +lost son, would then come over me, and I added, with broken words +and sighs, “Oh, happier mother than mine, you left, indeed, +these innocent ones, so young and fair, but my dear mother +devoted long years of care and tenderness to me, and saw them +all, with the object of them, snatched from her at a +blow!”</p> +<p>These children were intrusted to the care of two elderly and +excellent women; one of them the mother, the other the aunt of +the superintendent. They wished to hear the whole of my +history, and I gave it them as briefly as I could. +“How greatly we regret,” they observed, with warm +sympathy, “to be unable to help you in any way. Be +assured, however, we offer up constant prayers for you, and if +ever the day come that brings you liberty, it will be celebrated +by all our family, like one of the happiest festivals.”</p> +<p>The first-mentioned of these ladies had a remarkably sweet and +soothing voice, united to an eloquence rarely to be heard from +the lips of woman. I listened to her religious exhortations +with a feeling of filial gratitude, and they sunk deep into my +heart. Though her observations were not new to me, they +were always applicable, and most valuable to me, as will appear +from what follows:</p> +<p>“Misfortune cannot degrade a man, unless he be +intrinsically mean; it rather elevates +him.”—“If we could penetrate the judgments of +God, we should find that frequently the objects most to be pitied +were the conquerors, not the conquered; the joyous rather than +the sorrowful; the wealthy rather than those who are despoiled of +all.”—“The particular kindness shown by the +Saviour of mankind to the unfortunate is a striking +fact.”—“That man ought to feel honoured in +bearing the cross, when he considers that it was borne up the +mount of our redemption by the Divinity himself in human +form.”</p> +<p>Such were among the excellent sentiments she inculcated; but +it was my lot, as usual, to lose these delightful friends when I +had become most attached to them. They removed from the +castle, and the sweet children no longer made their appearance +upon the terrace. I felt this double deprivation more than +I can express.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> inconvenience I experienced +from the chain upon my legs, which prevented me from sleeping, +destroyed my health. Schiller wished me to petition, +declaring that it was the duty of the physician to order it to be +taken off. For some time I refused to listen to him, I then +yielded, and informed the doctor that, in order to obtain a +little sleep, I should be thankful to have the chain removed, if +only for a few days. He answered that my fever was not yet +so bad as to require it; and that it was necessary I should +become accustomed to the chain. I felt indignant at this +reply, and more so at myself for having asked the favour. +“See what I have got by following your advice,” said +I to Schiller; and I said it in a very sharp tone, not a little +offensive to the old man.</p> +<p>“You are vexed,” he exclaimed, “because you +met with a denial; and I am as much so with your arrogance! +Could I help it?” He then began a long sermon. +“The proud value themselves mightily in never exposing +themselves to a refusal, in never accepting an offer, in being +ashamed at a thousand little matters. <i>Alle eselen</i>, +asses as they all are. Vain grandeur, want of true dignity, +which consists in being ashamed only of bad actions!” +He went off, and made the door ring with a tremendous noise.</p> +<p>I was dismayed; yet his rough sincerity scarcely displeased +me. Had he not spoken the truth? to how many weaknesses had +I not given the name of dignity! the result of nothing but +pride.</p> +<p>At the dinner hour Schiller left my fare to the convict Kunda, +who brought me some water, while Schiller stood outside. I +called him. “I have no time,” he replied, very +drily.</p> +<p>I rose, and going to him, said, “If you wish my dinner +to agree with me, pray don’t look so horribly sour; it is +worse than vinegar.”</p> +<p>“And how ought I to look?” he asked, rather more +appeased.</p> +<p>“Cheerful, and like a friend,” was my reply.</p> +<p>“Let us be merry, then! <i>Viva +l’allegria</i>!” cried the old man. “And +if it will make your dinner agree with you, I will dance you a +hornpipe into the bargain.” And, assuming a broad +grin, he set to work with his long, lean, spindle shanks, which +he worked about like two huge stilts, till I thought I should +have died with laughing. I laughed and almost cried at the +same time.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXVIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> evening Count Oroboni and I +were standing at our windows complaining of the low diet to which +we were subjected. Animated by the subject, we talked a +little too loud, and the sentinels began to upbraid us. The +superintendent, indeed, called in a loud voice to Schiller, as he +happened to be passing, inquiring in a threatening voice why he +did not keep a better watch, and teach us to be silent? +Schiller came in a great rage to complain of me, and ordered me +never more to think of speaking from the window. He wished +me to promise that I would not.</p> +<p>“No!” replied I; “I shall do no such +thing.”</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>der Teufel</i>; <i>der Teufel</i>!” <a +name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26" +class="citation">[26]</a> exclaimed the old man; “do you +say that to me? Have I not had a horrible strapping on your +account?”</p> +<p>“I am sorry, dear Schiller, if you have suffered on my +account. But I cannot promise what I do not mean to +perform.”</p> +<p>“And why not perform it?”</p> +<p>“Because I cannot; because this continual solitude is +such a torment to me. No! I will speak as long as I +have breath, and invite my neighbour to talk to me. If he +refuse I will talk to my window-bars, I will talk to the hills +before me, I will talk to the birds as they fly about. I +will talk!”</p> +<p>“<i>Der Teufel</i>! you will! You had better +promise!”</p> +<p>“No, no, no! never!” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>He threw down his huge bunch of keys, and ran about, crying, +“<i>Der Teufel</i>! <i>der Teufel</i>!” Then, +all at once, he threw his long bony arms about my neck: “By +—, and you shall talk! Am I to cease to be a man +because of this vile mob of keys? You are a gentleman, and +I like your spirit! I know you will not promise. I +would do the same in your place.”</p> +<p>I picked up his keys and presented them to him. +“These keys,” said I, “are not so bad after +all; they cannot turn an honest soldier, like you, into a +villainous <i>sgherro</i>.”</p> +<p>“Why, if I thought they could, I would hand them back to +my superiors, and say, ‘If you will give me no bread but +the wages of a hangman, I will go and beg alms from door to +door.’”</p> +<p>He took out his handkerchief, dried his eyes, and then, +raising them, seemed to pray inwardly for some time. I, +too, offered up my secret prayers for this good old man. He +saw it, and took my hand with a look of grateful respect.</p> +<p>Upon leaving me he said, in a low voice, “When you speak +with Count Oroboni, speak as I do now. You will do me a +double kindness: I shall hear no more cruel threats of my lord +superintendent, and by not allowing any remarks of yours to be +repeated in his ear, you will avoid giving fresh irritation to +<i>one</i> who knows how to punish.”</p> +<p>I assured him that not a word should come from either of our +lips which could possibly give cause of offence. In fact, +we required no further instructions to be cautious. Two +prisoners desirous of communication are skilful enough to invent +a language of their own, without the least danger of its being +interpreted by any listener.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIX.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">had</span> just been taking my +morning’s walk; it was the 7th of August. +Oroboni’s dungeon door was standing open; Schiller was in +it, and he was not sensible of my approach. My guards +pressed forward in order to close my friend’s door, but I +was too quick for them; I darted into the room, and the next +moment found myself in the arms of Count Oroboni.</p> +<p>Schiller was in dismay, and cried out “<i>Der +Teufel</i>! <i>der Teufel</i>!” most vigorously, at the +same time raising his finger in a threatening attitude. It +was in vain, for his eyes filled with tears, and he cried out, +sobbing, “Oh, my God! take pity on these poor young men and +me; on all the unhappy like them, my God, who knows what it is to +be so very unhappy upon earth!” The guards, also, +both wept; the sentinel on duty in the gallery ran to the spot, +and even he caught the infection.</p> +<p>“Silvio! Silvio!” exclaimed the Count, “this +is the most delightful day of my life!” I know not +how I answered him; I was nearly distracted with joy and +affection.</p> +<p>When Schiller at length beseeched us to separate, and it was +necessary we should obey, Oroboni burst into a flood of +tears. “Are we never to see each other again upon +earth?” he exclaimed, in a wild, prophetic tone.</p> +<p>Alas! I never saw him more! A very few months +after this parting, his dungeon was empty, and Oroboni lay at +rest in the cemetery, on which I looked out from my window!</p> +<p>From the moment we had met, it seemed as if the tie which +bound us were drawn closer round our hearts; and we were become +still more necessary to each other.</p> +<p>He was a fine young man, with a noble countenance, but pale, +and in poor health. Still, his eyes retained all their +lustre. My affection for him was increased by a knowledge +of his extreme weakness and sufferings. He felt for me in +the same manner; we saw by how frail a tenure hung the lives of +both, and that one must speedily be the survivor.</p> +<p>In a few days he became worse; I could only grieve and pray +for him. After several feverish attacks, he recovered a +little, and was even enabled to resume our conversations. +What ineffable pleasure I experienced on hearing once more the +sound of his voice! “You seem glad,” he said, +“but do not deceive yourself; it is but for a short +time. Have the courage to prepare for my departure, and +your virtuous resolution will inspire me also with +courage!”</p> +<p>At this period the walls of our prison were about to be +whitewashed, and meantime we were to take up our abode in the +caverns below. Unfortunately they placed us in dungeons +apart from each other. But Schiller told me that the Count +was well; though I had my doubts, and dreaded lest his health +should receive a last blow from the effects of his subterranean +abode. If I had only had the good fortune, thought I, to be +near my friend Maroncelli; I could distinguish his voice, +however, as he sung. We spoke to each other, spite of the +shouts and conversation of the guards. At the same period, +the head physician of Brünn paid us a visit. He was +sent in consequence of the report made by the superintendent in +regard to the extreme ill health of the prisoners from the scanty +allowance of food. A scorbutic epidemic was already fast +emptying the dungeons. Not aware of the cause of his visit, +I imagined that he came to see Oroboni, and my anxiety was +inexpressible; I was bowed down with sorrow, and I too wished to +die. The thought of suicide again tormented me. I +struggled, indeed; but I felt like the weary traveller, who +though compelled to press forward, feels an almost irresistible +desire to throw himself upon the ground and rest.</p> +<p>I had been just informed that in one of those subterranean +dens an aged Bohemian gentleman had recently destroyed himself by +beating his head against the walls. I wish I had not heard +it; for I could not, do what I would, banish the temptation to +imitate him. It was a sort of delirium, and would most +probably have ended in suicide, had not a violent gush of blood +from my chest, which made me think that death was close at hand, +relieved me. I was thankful to God that it should happen in +this manner, and spare me an act of desperation, which my reason +so strongly condemned. But Providence ordered it otherwise; +I found myself considerably better after the discharge of blood +from my lungs. Meantime, I was removed to the prison above, +and the additional light, with the vicinity of my friend Oroboni, +reconciled me to life.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXX.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">first</span> informed the Count of the +terrific melancholy I had endured when separated from him; and he +declared he had been haunted with a similar temptation to +suicide. “Let us take advantage,” he said, +“of the little time that remains for us, by mutually +consoling each other. We will speak of God; emulate each +other in loving him, and inculcate upon each other that he only +is Justice, Wisdom, Goodness, Beauty—is all which is most +worthy to be reverenced and adored. I tell you, friend, of +a truth, that death is not far from me. I shall be +eternally grateful, Silvio, if you will help me, in these my last +moments, to become as religious as I ought to have been during my +whole life.”</p> +<p>We now, therefore, confined our conversation wholly to +religious subjects, especially to drawing parallels between the +Christian philosophy and that of mere worldly founders of the +Epicurean schools. We were both delighted to discover so +strict an union between Christianity and reason; and both, on a +comparison of the different evangelical communions, fully agreed +that the catholic was the only one which could successfully +resist the test of criticism,—which consisted of the purest +doctrines and the purest morality—not of those wretched +extremes, the product of human ignorance.</p> +<p>“And if by any unexpected accident,” observed +Oroboni, “we should be restored to society, should we be so +mean-spirited as to shrink from confessing our faith in the +Gospel? Should we stand firm if accused of having changed +our sentiments in consequence of prison discipline?”</p> +<p>“Your question, my dear Oroboni,” I replied, +“acquaints me with the nature of your reply; it is also +mine. The vilest servility is that of being subjected to +the opinions of others, when we feel a persuasion at the same +time that they are false. I cannot believe that either you +or I could be guilty of so much meanness.” During +these confidential communications of our sentiments, I committed +one fault. I had pledged my honour to Julian never to +reveal, by mention of his real name, the correspondence which had +passed between us. I informed poor Oroboni of it all, +observing that “it never should escape my lips in any other +place; but here we are immured as in a tomb; and even should you +get free, I know I can confide in you as in myself.”</p> +<p>My excellent friend returned no answer. “Why are +you silent?” I enquired. He then seriously upbraided +me for having broken my word and betrayed my friend’s +secret. His reproach was just; no friendship, however +intimate, however fortified by virtue, can authorise such a +violation of confidence, guaranteed, as it had been, by a sacred +vow.</p> +<p>Since, however, it was done, Oroboni was desirous of turning +my fault to a good account. He was acquainted with Julian, +and related several traits of character, highly honourable to +him. “Indeed,” he added, “he has so often +acted like a true Christian, that he will never carry his enmity +to such a religion to the grave with him. Let us hope so; +let us not cease to hope. And you, Silvio, try to pardon +his ill-humour from your heart; and pray for him!” +His words were held sacred by me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> conversations of which I speak, +sometimes with Oroboni, and sometimes with Schiller, occupied but +a small portion of the twenty-four hours daily upon my +hands. It was not always, moreover, that I could converse +with Oroboni. How was I to pass the solitary hours? I +was accustomed to rise at dawn, and mounting upon the top of my +table, I grasped the bars of my window, and there said my +prayers. The Count was already at his window, or speedily +followed my example. We saluted each other, and continued +for a time in secret prayer. Horrible as our dungeons were, +they made us more truly sensible of the beauty of the world +without, and the landscape that spread around us. The sky, +the plains, the far off noise and motions of animals in the +valley, the voices of the village maidens, the laugh, the song, +had a charm for us it is difficult to express, and made us more +dearly sensible of the presence of him who is so magnificent in +his goodness, and of whom we ever stand in so much need.</p> +<p>The morning visit of the guards was devoted to an examination +of my dungeon, to see that all was in order. They felt at +my chain, link by link, to be sure that no conspiracy was at +work, or rather in obedience to the laws of discipline which +bound them. If it were the day for the doctor’s +visit, Schiller was accustomed to ask us if we wished to see him, +and to make a note to that effect.</p> +<p>The search being over, Schiller made his appearance, +accompanied by Kunda, whose care it was to clean our rooms. +Shortly after he brought our breakfast—a little pot of +hogwash, and three small slices of coarse bread. The bread +I was able to eat, but could not contrive to drink the swill.</p> +<p>It was next my business to apply to study. Maroncelli +had brought a number of books from Italy, as well as some other +of our fellow-prisoners—some more, and some less, but +altogether they formed a pretty good library. This, too, we +hoped to enlarge by some purchases; but awaited an answer from +the Emperor, as to whether we might be permitted to read them and +buy others. Meantime the governor gave us permission, +<i>provisionally</i>, to have each two books at a time, and to +exchange them when we pleased. About nine came the +superintendent, and if the doctor had been summoned, he +accompanied him.</p> +<p>I was allowed another interval for study between this and the +dinner hour at eleven. We had then no further visits till +sunset, and I returned to my studies. Schiller and Kunda +then appeared with a change of water, and a moment afterwards, +the superintendent with the guards to make their evening +inspection, never forgetting my chain. Either before or +after dinner, as best pleased the guards, we were permitted in +turn to take our hour’s walk. The evening search +being over, Oroboni and I began our conversation,—always +more extended than at any other hour. The other periods +were, as related in the morning, or directly after +dinner—but our words were then generally very brief. +At times the sentinels were so kind as to say to us: “A +little lower key, gentlemen, or otherwise the punishment will +fall upon us.” Not unfrequently they would pretend +not to see us, and if the sergeant appeared, begged us to stop +till he were past, when they told us we might talk +again—“But as low as you possibly can, gentlemen, if +you please!”</p> +<p>Nay, it happened that they would quietly accost us themselves; +answer our questions, and give us some information respecting +Italy.</p> +<p>Touching upon some topics, they entreated of us to be silent, +refusing to give any answer. We were naturally doubtful +whether these voluntary conversations, on their part, were really +sincere, or the result of an artful attempt to pry into our +secret opinions.</p> +<p>I am, however, inclined to think that they meant it all in +good part, and spoke to us in perfect kindness and frankness of +heart.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> evening the sentinels were more +than usually kind and forbearing, and poor Oroboni and I +conversed without in the least suppressing our voices. +Maroncelli, in his subterraneous abode, caught the sound, and +climbing up to the window, listened and distinguished my +voice. He could not restrain his joy; but sung out my name, +with a hearty welcome. He then asked me how I was, and +expressed his regret that he had not yet been permitted to share +the same dungeon. This favour I had, in fact, already +petitioned for, but neither the superintendent nor the governor +had the power of granting it. Our united wishes upon the +same point had been represented to the Emperor, but no answer had +hitherto been received by the governor of Brünn. +Besides the instance in which we saluted each other in song, when +in our subterraneous abodes, I had since heard the songs of the +heroic Maroncelli, by fits and starts, in my dungeon above. +He now raised his voice; he was no longer interrupted, and I +caught all he said. I replied, and we continued the +dialogue about a quarter of an hour. Finally, they changed +the sentinels upon the terrace, and the successors were not +“of gentle mood.” Often did we recommence the +song, and as often were interrupted by furious cries, and curses, +and threats, which we were compelled to obey.</p> +<p>Alas! my fancy often pictured to me the form of my friend, +languishing in that dismal abode so much worse than my own; I +thought of the bitter grief that must oppress him, and the effect +upon his health, and bemoaned his fate in silence. Tears +brought me no relief; the pains in my head returned, with acute +fever. I could no longer stand, and took to my straw +bed. Convulsions came on; the spasms in my breast were +terrible. Of a truth, I believed that that night was my +last.</p> +<p>The following day the fever ceased, my chest was relieved, but +the inflammation seemed to have seized my brain, and I could not +move my head without the most excruciating pain. I informed +Oroboni of my condition; and he too was even worse than +usual. “My dear friend,” said he, “the +day is near when one or other of us will no longer be able to +reach the window. Each time we welcome one another may be +the last. Let us hold ourselves in readiness, then, to +die—yes to die! or to survive a friend.”</p> +<p>His voice trembled with emotion; I could not speak a word in +reply. There was a pause, and he then resumed, “How +fortunate you are in knowing the German language! You can +at least have the advantage of a priest; I cannot obtain one +acquainted with the Italian. But God is conscious of my +wishes; I made confession at Venice—and in truth, it does +not seem that I have met with anything since that loads my +conscience.”</p> +<p>“I, on the contrary, confessed at Venice,” said I, +“with my heart full of rancour, much worse than if I had +wholly refused the sacrament. But if I could find a priest, +I would now confess myself with all my heart, and pardon +everybody, I can assure you.”</p> +<p>“God bless you, Silvio!” he exclaimed, “you +give me the greatest consolation I can receive. Yes, yes; +dear friend! let us both do all in our power to merit a joyful +meeting where we shall no more be separated, where we shall be +united in happiness, as now we are in these last trying hours of +our calamity.”</p> +<p>The next day I expected him as usual at the window. But +he came not, and I learnt from Schiller that he was grievously +ill. In eight or ten days he recovered, and reappeared at +his accustomed station. I complained to him bitterly, but +he consoled me. A few months passed in this strange +alternation of suffering; sometimes it was he, at others I, who +was unable even to reach our window.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIII.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">was</span> enabled to keep up until the +11th of January, 1823. On that morning, I rose with a +slight pain in my head, and a strong tendency to fainting. +My legs trembled, and I could scarcely draw my breath.</p> +<p>Poor Oroboni, also, had been unable to rise from his straw for +several days past. They brought me some soup, I took a +spoonful, and then fell back in a swoon. Some time +afterwards the sentinel in the gallery, happening to look through +the pane of my door, saw me lying senseless on the ground, with +the pot of soup at my side; and believing me to be dead, he +called Schiller, who hastened, as well as the superintendent, to +the spot.</p> +<p>The doctor was soon in attendance, and they put me on my +bed. I was restored with great difficulty. Perceiving +I was in danger, the physician ordered my irons to be taken +off. He then gave me some kind of cordial, but it would not +stay on my stomach, while the pain in my head was horrible. +A report was forthwith sent to the governor, who despatched a +courier to Vienna, to ascertain in what manner I was to be +treated. The answer received, was, that I should not be +placed in the infirmary, but was to receive the same attendance +in my dungeon as was customary in the former place. The +superintendent was further authorised to supply me with soup from +his own kitchen so long as I should continue unwell.</p> +<p>The last provision of the order received was wholly useless, +as neither food nor beverage would stay on my stomach. I +grew worse during a whole week, and was delirious without +intermission, both day and night.</p> +<p>Kral and Kubitzky were appointed to take care of me, and both +were exceedingly attentive. Whenever I showed the least +return of reason, Kral was accustomed to say, “There! have +faith in God; God alone is good.”</p> +<p>“Pray for me,” I stammered out, when a lucid +interval first appeared; “pray for me not to live, but that +he will accept my misfortunes and my death as an +expiation.” He suggested that I should take the +sacrament.</p> +<p>“If I asked it not, attribute it to my poor head; it +would be a great consolation to me.”</p> +<p>Kral reported my words to the superintendent, and the chaplain +of the prisons came to me. I made my confession, received +the communion, and took the holy oil. The priest’s +name was Sturm, and I was satisfied with him. The +reflections he made upon the justice of God, upon the injustice +of man, upon the duty of forgiveness, and upon the vanity of all +earthly things, were not out of place. They bore moreover +the stamp of a dignified and well-cultivated mind as well as an +ardent feeling of true love towards God and our neighbour.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> exertion I made to receive the +sacrament exhausted my remaining strength; but it was of use, as +I fell into a deep sleep, which continued several I hours.</p> +<p>On awaking I felt somewhat refreshed, and observing Schiller +and Kral near me, I took them by the hand, and thanked them for +their care. Schiller fixed his eyes on me.</p> +<p>“I am accustomed,” he said, “to see persons +at the last, and I would lay a wager that you will not +die.”</p> +<p>“Are you not giving me a bad prognostic?” said +I.</p> +<p>“No;” he replied, “the miseries of life are +great it is true; but he who supports them with dignity and with +humility must always gain something by living.” He +then added, “If you live, I hope you will some day meet +with consolation you had not expected. You were petitioning +to see your friend Signor Maroncelli.”</p> +<p>“So many times, that I no longer hope for it.”</p> +<p>“Hope, hope, sir; and repeat your request.”</p> +<p>I did so that very day. The superintendent also gave me +hopes; and added, that probably I should not only be permitted to +see him, but that he would attend on me, and most likely become +my undivided companion.</p> +<p>It appeared, that as all the state prisoners had fallen ill, +the governor had requested permission from Vienna to have them +placed two and two, in order that one might assist the other in +case of extreme need.</p> +<p>I had also solicited the favour of writing to my family for +the last time.</p> +<p>Towards the end of the second week, my attack reached its +crisis, and the danger was over. I had begun to sit up, +when one morning my door opened, and the superintendent, +Schiller, and the doctor, all apparently rejoicing, came into my +apartment. The first ran towards me, exclaiming,</p> +<p>“We have got permission for Maroncelli to bear you +company; and you may write to your parents.”</p> +<p>Joy deprived me both of breath and speech, and the +superintendent, who in his kindness had not been quite prudent, +believed that he had killed me. On recovering my senses, +and recollecting the good news, I entreated not to have it +delayed. The physician consented, and my friend Maroncelli +was conducted to my bedside. Oh! what a moment was +that.</p> +<p>“Are you alive?” each of us exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Oh, my friend, my brother—what a happy day have +we lived to see! God’s name be ever blessed for +it.” But our joy was mingled with as deep +compassion. Maroncelli was less surprised upon seeing me, +reduced as I was, for he knew that I had been very ill, but +though aware how <span class="GutSmall">HE</span> must have +suffered, I could not have imagined he would be so extremely +changed. He was hardly to be recognised; his once noble and +handsome features were wholly consumed, as it were, by grief, by +continual hunger, and by the bad air of his dark, subterranean +dungeon.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, to see, to hear, and to be near each other was a +great comfort. How much had we to communicate—to +recollect—and to talk over! What delight in our +mutual compassion, what sympathy in all our ideas! Then we +were equally agreed upon subjects of religion; to hate only +ignorance and barbarism, but not man, not individuals, and on the +other hand to commiserate the ignorant and the barbarous, and to +pray for their improvement.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXV.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">was</span> now presented with a sheet of +paper and ink, in order that I might write to my parents.</p> +<p>As in point of strictness the permission was only given to a +dying man, desirous of bidding a last adieu to his family, I was +apprehensive that the letter being now of different tenour, it +would no longer be sent upon its destination. I confined +myself to the simple duty of beseeching my parents, my brothers, +and my sisters, to resign themselves without a murmur to bear the +lot appointed me, even as I myself was resigned to the will of +God.</p> +<p>This letter was, nevertheless, forwarded, as I subsequently +learnt. It was, in fact, the only one which, during so long +protracted a captivity, was received by my family; the rest were +all detained at Vienna. My companions in misfortune were +equally cut off from all communication with their friends and +families.</p> +<p>We repeatedly solicited that we might be allowed the use of +pen and paper for purposes of study, and that we might purchase +books with our own money. Neither of these petitions was +granted.</p> +<p>The governor, meanwhile, permitted us to read our own books +among each other. We were indebted also to his goodness for +an improvement in our diet; but it did not continue. He had +consented that we should be supplied from the kitchen of the +superintendent instead of that of the contractor; and some fund +had been put apart for that purpose. The order, however, +was not confirmed; but in the brief interval it was in force my +health had greatly improved. It was the same with +Maroncelli; but for the unhappy Oroboni it came too late. +He had received for his companion the advocate Solera, and +afterwards the priest, Dr. Fortini.</p> +<p>We were no sooner distributed through the different prisons +than the prohibition to appear or to converse at our windows was +renewed, with threats that, if detected, the offenders would be +consigned to utter solitude. We often, it is true, broke +through this prison-law, and saluted each other from our windows, +but no longer engaged in long conversations as we had before +done.</p> +<p>In point of disposition, Maroncelli and I were admirably +suited to each other. The courage of the one sustained the +other; if one became violent the other soothed him; if buried in +grief or gloom, he sought to rouse him; and one friendly smile +was often enough to mitigate the severity of our sufferings, and +reconcile each other to life.</p> +<p>So long as we had books, we found them a delightful relief, +not only by reading, but by committing them to memory. We +also examined, compared, criticised, and collated, &c. +We read and we reflected great part of the day in silence, and +reserved the feast of conversation for the hours of dinner, for +our walks, and the evenings.</p> +<p>While in his subterranean abode, Maroncelli had composed a +variety of poems of high merit. He recited them and +produced others. Many of these I committed to memory. +It is astonishing with what facility I was enabled, by this +exercise, to repeat very extensive compositions, to give them +additional polish, and bring them to the highest possible +perfection of which they were susceptible, even had I written +them down with the utmost care. Maroncelli did the same, +and, by degrees, retained by heart many thousand lyric verses, +and epics of different kinds. It was thus, too, I composed +the tragedy of <i>Leoniero da Dertona</i>, and various other +works.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Count Oroboni</span>, after lingering +through a wretched winter and the ensuing spring, found himself +much worse during the summer. He was seized with a spitting +of blood, and a dropsy ensued. Imagine our affliction on +learning that he was dying so near us, without a possibility of +our rendering him the last sad offices, separated only as we were +by a dungeon-wall.</p> +<p>Schiller brought us tidings of him. The unfortunate +young Count, he said, was in the greatest agonies, yet he +retained his admirable firmness of mind. He received the +spiritual consolations of the chaplain, who was fortunately +acquainted with the French language. He died on the 13th of +June, 1823. A few hours before he expired, he spoke of his +aged father, eighty years of age, was much affected, and shed +tears. Then resuming his serenity, he said, “But why +thus lament the destiny of the most fortunate of all those so +dear to me; for <i>he</i> is on the eve of rejoining me in the +realms of eternal peace?” The last words he uttered, +were, “I forgive all my enemies; I do it from my +heart!” His eyes were closed by his friend, Dr. +Fortini, a most religious and amiable man, who had been intimate +with him from his childhood. Poor Oroboni! how bitterly we +felt his death when the first sad tidings reached us! Ah! +we heard the voices and the steps of those who came to remove his +body! We watched from our window the hearse, which, slow +and solemnly, bore him to that cemetery within our view. It +was drawn thither by two of the common convicts, and followed by +four of the guards. We kept our eyes fixed upon the +sorrowful spectacle, without speaking a word, till it entered the +churchyard. It passed through, and stopped at last in a +corner, near a new-made grave. The ceremony was brief; +almost immediately the hearse, the convicts, and the guards were +observed to return. One of the last was Kubitzky. He +said to me, “I have marked the exact spot where he is +buried, in order that some relation or friend may be enabled some +day to remove his poor bones, and lay them in his own +country.” It was a noble thought, and surprised me in +a man so wholly uneducated; but I could not speak. How +often had the unhappy Count gazed from his window upon that +dreary looking cemetery, as he observed, “I must try to get +accustomed to the idea of being carried thither; yet I confess +that such an idea makes me shiver. It is strange, but I +cannot help thinking that we shall not rest so well in these +foreign parts as in our own beloved land.” He would +then laugh, and exclaim, “What childishness is this! when a +garment as worn out, and done with, does it signify where we +throw it aside?” At other times, he would say, +“I am continually preparing for death, but I should die +more willingly upon one condition—just to enter my +father’s house once more, embrace his knees, hear his voice +blessing me, and die!” He then sighed and added, +“But if this cup, my God, cannot pass from me, may thy will +be done.” Upon the morning of his death he also said, +as he pressed a crucifix, which Kral brought him, to his lips; +“Thou, Lord, who wert Divine, hadst also a horror of death, +and didst say, <i>If it be possible</i>, <i>let this cup pass +free me</i>, oh, pardon if I too say it; but I will repeat also +with Thee, Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou willest +it!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">After</span> the death of Oroboni, I was +again taken ill. I expected very soon to rejoin him, and I +ardently desired it. Still, I could not have parted with +Maroncelli without regret. Often, while seated on his +straw-bed, he read or recited poetry to withdraw my mind, as well +as his own, from reflecting upon our misfortunes, I gazed on him, +and thought with pain, When I am gone, when you see them bearing +me hence, when you gaze at the cemetery, you will look more +sorrowful than now. I would then offer a secret prayer that +another companion might be given him, as capable of appreciating +all his worth.</p> +<p>I shall not mention how many different attacks I suffered, and +with how much difficulty I recovered from them. The +assistance I received from my friend Maroncelli, was like that of +an attached brother. When it became too great an effort for +me to speak, he was silent; he saw the exact moment when his +conversation would soothe or enliven me, he dwelt upon subjects +most congenial to my feelings, and he continued or varied them as +he judged most agreeable to me. Never did I meet with a +nobler spirit; he had few equals, none, whom I knew, superior to +him. Strictly just, tolerant, truly religious, with a +remarkable confidence in human virtue, he added to these +qualities an admirable taste for the beautiful, whether in art or +nature, and a fertile imagination teeming with poetry; in short, +all those engaging dispositions of mind and heart best calculated +to endear him to me.</p> +<p>Still, I could not help grieving over the fate of Oroboni +while, at the same time, I indulged the soothing reflection that +he was freed from all his sufferings, that they were rewarded +with a better world, and that in the midst of the enjoyments he +had won, he must have that of beholding me with a friend no less +attached to me than he had been himself. I felt a secret +assurance that he was no longer in a place of expiation, though I +ceased not to pray for him. I often saw him in my dreams, +and he seemed to pray for me; I tried to think that they were not +mere dreams; that they were manifestations of his blessed spirit, +permitted by God for my consolation. I should not be +believed were I to describe the excessive vividness of such +dreams, if such they were, and the delicious serenity which they +left in my mind for many days after. These, and the +religious sentiments entertained by Maroncelli, with his tried +friendship, greatly alleviated my afflictions. The sole +idea which tormented me was the possibility of this excellent +friend also being snatched from me; his health having been much +broken, so as to threaten his dissolution ere my own sufferings +drew to a close. Every time he was taken ill, I trembled; +and when he felt better, it was a day of rejoicing for me. +Strange, that there should be a fearful sort of pleasure, anxious +yet intense, in these alternations of hope and dread, regarding +the existence of the only object left you on earth. Our lot +was one of the most painful; yet to esteem, to love each other as +we did, was to us a little paradise, the one green spot in the +desert of our lives; it was all we had left, and we bowed our +heads in thankfulness to the Giver of all good, while awaiting +the hour of his summons.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was now my favourite wish that +the chaplain who had attended me in my first illness, might be +allowed to visit us as our confessor. But instead of +complying with our request, the governor sent us an Augustine +friar, called Father Battista, who was to confess us until an +order came from Vienna, either to confirm the choice, or to +nominate another in his place.</p> +<p>I was afraid we might suffer by the change, but was +deceived. Father Battista was an excellent man, highly +educated, of polished manners, and capable of reasoning +admirably, even profoundly, upon the duties of man. We +entreated him to visit us frequently; he came once a month, and +oftener when in his power to do so; he always brought us some +book or other with the governor’s permission, and informed +us from the abbot that the entire library of the convent was at +our service. This was a great event for us; and we availed +ourselves of the offer during several months.</p> +<p>After confession, he was accustomed to converse with us and +gave evidence of an upright and elevated mind, capable of +estimating the intrinsic dignity and sanctity of the human +mind. We had the advantage of his enlightened views, of his +affection, and his friendship for us during the space of a +year. At first I confess that I distrusted him, and +imagined that we should soon discover him putting out his feelers +to induce us to make imprudent disclosures. In a prisoner +of state this sort of diffidence is but too natural; but how +great the satisfaction we experience when it disappears, and when +we acknowledge in the interpreter of God no other zeal than that +inspired by the cause of God and of humanity.</p> +<p>He had a most efficacious method of administering +consolation. For instance, I accused myself of flying into +a rage at the rigours imposed upon me by the prison +discipline. He discoursed upon the virtue of suffering with +resignation, and pardoning our enemies; and depicted in lively +colours the miseries of life—in ranks and conditions +opposite to my own. He had seen much of life, both in +cities and the country, known men of all grades, and deeply +reflected upon human oppression and injustice. He painted +the operation of the passions, and the habits of various social +classes. He described them to me throughout as the strong +and the weak, the oppressors and the oppressed: and the necessity +we were under, either of hating our fellow-man or loving him by a +generous effort of compassion.</p> +<p>The examples he gave to show me the prevailing character of +misfortune in the mass of human beings, and the good which was to +be hence derived, had nothing singular in them; in fact they were +obvious to view; but he recounted them in language so just and +forcible, that I could not but admit the deductions he wished to +draw from them.</p> +<p>The oftener he repeated his friendly reproaches, and has noble +exhortations, the more was I incited to the love of virtue; I no +longer felt capable of resentment—I could have laid down my +life, with the permission of God, for the least of my +fellow-creatures, and I yet blest His holy name for having +created me—<span class="smcap">Man</span>!</p> +<p>Wretch that he is who remains ignorant of the sublime duty of +confession! Still more wretched who, to shun the common +herd, as he believes, feels himself called upon to regard it with +scorn! Is it not a truth that even when we know what is +required of us to be good, that self-knowledge is a dead letter +to us? reading and reflection are insufficient to impel us to it; +it is only the living speech of a man gifted with power which can +here be of avail. The soul is shaken to its centre, the +impressions it receives are more profound and lasting. In +the brother who speaks to you, there is a life, and a living and +breathing spirit—one which you can always consult, and +which you will vainly seek for, either in books or in your own +thoughts.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the beginning of 1824 the +superintendent who had his office at one end of our gallery, +removed elsewhere, and the chambers, along with others, were +converted into additional prisons. By this, alas, we were +given to understand that other prisoners of state were expected +from Italy.</p> +<p>They arrived in fact very shortly—a third special +commission was at hand—and they were all in the circle of +my friends or my acquaintance. What was my grief when I was +told their names! Borsieri was one of my oldest +friends. To Confalonieri I had been attached a less time +indeed, but not the less ardently. Had it been in my power, +by taking upon myself the <i>carcere durissimo</i>, or any other +imaginable torment, how willingly would I have purchased their +liberation. Not only would I have laid down my life for +them,—for what is it to give one’s life? I would have +continued to suffer for them.</p> +<p>It was then I wished to obtain the consolations of Father +Battista; but they would not permit him to come near me.</p> +<p>New orders to maintain the severest discipline were received +from Vienna. The terrace on which we walked was hedged in +by stockades, and in such a way that no one, even with the use of +a telescope, could perceive our movements. We could no +longer catch the beautiful prospect of the surrounding hills, and +part of the city of Brünn which lay below. Yet this +was not enough. To reach the terrace, we were obliged, as +before stated, to traverse the courtyard, and a number of persons +could perceive us. That we might be concealed from every +human eye, we were prohibited from crossing it, and we were +confined in our walk to a small passage close to our gallery, +with a north aspect similar to that of our dungeons.</p> +<p>To us such a change was a real misfortune, and it grieved +us. There were innumerable little advantages and +refreshments to our worn and wasted spirits in the walk of which +we were deprived. The sight of the superintendent’s +children; their smiles and caresses; the scene where I had taken +leave of their mother; the occasional chit-chat with the old +smith, who had his forge there; the joyous songs of one of the +captains accompanied by his guitar; and last not least, the +innocent badinage of a young Hungarian fruiteress—the +corporal’s wife, who flirted with my companions—were +among what we had lost. She had, in fact, taken a great +fancy for Maroncelli.</p> +<p>Previous to his becoming my companion, he had made a little of +her acquaintance; but was so sincere, so dignified, and so simple +in his intentions as to be quite insensible of the impression he +had produced. I informed him of it, and he would not +believe I was serious, though he declared that he would take care +to preserve a greater distance. Unluckily the more he was +reserved, the more did the lady’s fancy for him seemed to +increase.</p> +<p>It so happened that her window was scarcely above a yard +higher than the level of the terrace; and in an instant she was +at our side with the apparent intention of putting out some linen +to dry, or to perform some other household offices; but in fact +to gaze at my friend, and, if possible, enter into conversation +with him.</p> +<p>Our poor guards, half wearied to death for want of sleep, had, +meantime, eagerly caught at an opportunity of throwing themselves +on the grass, just in this corner, where they were no longer +under the eye of their superiors. They fell asleep; and +meanwhile Maroncelli was not a little perplexed what to do, such +was the resolute affection borne him by the fair Hungarian. +I was no less puzzled; for an affair of the kind, which, +elsewhere, might have supplied matter for some merriment, was +here very serious, and might lead to some very unpleasant +result. The unhappy cause of all this had one of those +countenances which tell you at once their character—the +habit of being virtuous, and the necessity of being +esteemed. She was not beautiful, but had a remarkable +expression of elegance in her whole manner and deportment; her +features, though not regular, fascinated when she smiled, and +with every change of sentiment.</p> +<p>Were it my purpose to dwell upon love affairs, I should have +no little to relate respecting this virtuous but unfortunate +woman—now deceased. Enough that I have alluded to one +of the few adventures which marked my prison-hours.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> increasing rigour of our prison +discipline rendered our lives one unvaried scene. The whole +of 1824, of 1825, of 1826, of 1827, presented the same dull, dark +aspect; and how we lived through years like these is +wonderful. We were forbidden the use of books. The +prison was one immense tomb, though without the peace and +unconsciousness of death. The director of police came every +month to institute the most strict and minute search, assisted by +a lieutenant and guards. They made us strip to the skin, +examined the seams of our garments, and ripped up the straw +bundles called our beds in pursuit of—nothing. It was +a secret affair, intended to take us by surprise, and had +something about it which always irritated me exceedingly, and +left me in a violent fever.</p> +<p>The preceding years had appeared to me very unhappy, yet I now +remembered them with regret. The hours were fled when I +could read my Bible, and Homer, from whom I had imbibed such a +passionate admiration of his glorious language. Oh, how it +irked me to be unable to prosecute my study of him! And +there were Dante, Petrarch, Shakespeare, Byron, Walter Scott, +Schiller, Goethe, &c.—how many friends, how many +innocent and true delights were withheld from me. Among +these I included a number of works, also, upon Christian +knowledge; those of Bourdaloue, Pascal, “The Imitation of +Christ,” “The Filotea,” &c., books usually +read with narrow, illiberal views by those who exult in every +little defect of taste, and at every common-place thought which +impels the reader to throw them for ever aside; but which, when +perused in a true spirit free from scandalous or malignant +construction, discover a mine of deep philosophy, and vigorous +nutriment both for the intellect and the heart. A few of +certain religious books, indeed, were sent us, as a present, by +the Emperor, but with an absolute prohibition to receive works of +any other kind adapted for literary occupation.</p> +<p>This imperial gift of ascetic productions arrived in 1825 by a +Dalmatian Confessor, Father Stefano Paulowich, afterwards Bishop +of Cattaro, who was purposely sent from Vienna. We were +indebted to him for performing mass, which had been before +refused us, on the plea that they could not convey us into the +church and keep us separated into two and two as the imperial law +prescribed. To avoid such infraction we now went to mass in +three groups; one being placed upon the tribune of the organ, +another under the tribune, so as not to be visible, and the third +in a small oratory, from which was a view into the church through +a grating. On this occasion Maroncelli and I had for +companions six convicts, who had received sentence before we +came, but no two were allowed to speak to any other two in the +group. Two of them, I found, had been my neighbours in the +Piombi at Venice.</p> +<p>We were conducted by the guards to the post assigned us, and +then brought back after mass in the same manner, each couple into +their former dungeon. A Capuchin friar came to celebrate +mass; the good man ended every rite with a “let us +pray” for “liberation from chains,” and +“to set the prisoner free,” in a voice which trembled +with emotion.</p> +<p>On leaving the altar he cast a pitying look on each of the +three groups, and bowed his head sorrowfully in secret +prayer.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> 1825 Schiller was pronounced +past his service from infirmity and old age; though put in guard +over some other prisoners, not thought to require equal vigilance +and care. It was a trying thing to part from him, and he +felt it as well as we. Kral, a man not inferior to him in +good disposition, was at first his successor. But he too +was removed, and we had a jailer of a very harsh and distant +manner, wholly devoid of emotion, though not intrinsically +bad.</p> +<p>I felt grieved; Schiller, Kral, and Kubitzky, but in +particular the two former, had attended us in our extreme +sufferings with the affection of a father or a brother. +Though incapable of violating their trust, they knew how to do +their duty without harshness of any kind. If there were +something hard in the forms, they took the sting out of them as +much as possible by various ingenious traits and turns of a +benevolent mind. I was sometimes angry at them, but they +took all I said in good part. They wished us to feel that +they had become attached to us; and they rejoiced when we +expressed as much, and approved of anything they did.</p> +<p>From the time Schiller left us, he was frequently ill; and we +inquired after him with a sort of filial anxiety. When he +sufficiently recovered, he was in the habit of coming to walk +under our windows; we hailed him, and he would look up with a +melancholy smile, at the same time addressing the sentinels in a +voice we could overhear: “<i>Da sind meine Sohne</i>! there +are my sons.”</p> +<p>Poor old man! how sorry I was to see him almost staggering +along, with the weight of increasing infirmities, so near us, and +without being enabled to offer him even my arm.</p> +<p>Sometimes he would sit down upon the grass, and read. +They were the same books he had often lent me. To please +me, he would repeat the titles to the sentinels, or recite some +extract from them, and then look up at me, and nod. After +several attacks of apoplexy, he was conveyed to the military +hospital, where in a brief period he died. He left some +hundreds of florins, the fruit of long savings. These he +had already lent, indeed, to such of his old military comrades as +most required them; and when he found his end approaching, he +called them all to his bedside, and said: “I have no +relations left; I wish each of you to keep what I have lent you, +for my sake. I only ask that you will pray for +me.”</p> +<p>One of these friends had a daughter of about eighteen, and who +was Schiller’s god-daughter. A few hours before his +death, the good old man sent for her. He could not speak +distinctly, but he took a silver ring from his finger, and placed +it upon hers. He then kissed her, and shed tears over +her. The poor girl sobbed as if her heart would break, for +she was tenderly attached to him. He took a handkerchief, +and, as if trying to soothe her, he dried her eyes. Lastly, +he took hold of her hands, and placed them upon his eyes; and +those eyes were closed for ever.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> human consolations were one by +one fast deserting us, and our sufferings still increased. +I resigned myself to the will of God, but my spirit +groaned. It seemed as if my mind, instead of becoming +inured to evil, grew more keenly susceptible of pain. One +day there was secretly brought to me a page of the Augsburgh +Gazette, in which I found the strangest assertions respecting +myself on occasion of mention being made of one of my sisters +retiring into a nunnery. It stated as +follows:—“The Signora Maria Angiola Pellico, +daughter, &c., took the veil (on such a day) in the monastery +of the Visitazione at Turin, &c. This lady is sister to +the author of <i>Francesca da Rimini</i>, Silvio Pellico, who was +recently liberated from the fortress of Spielberg, being pardoned +by his Majesty, the emperor—a trait of clemency worthy of +so magnanimous a sovereign, and a subject of gratulation to the +whole of Italy, inasmuch as,” &c., &c.</p> +<p>And here followed some eulogiums which I omit. I could +not conceive for what reason the hoax relating to the gracious +pardon had been invented. It seemed hardly probable it +could be a mere freak of the editor’s; and was it then +intended as some stroke of oblique German policy? Who +knows! However this may be, the names of Maria Angiola were +precisely those of my younger sister, and doubtless they must +have been copied from the Turin Gazette into other papers. +Had that excellent girl, then, really become a nun? Had she +taken this step in consequence of the loss of her parents? +Poor Maria! she would not permit me alone to suffer the +deprivations of a prison; she too would seclude herself from the +world. May God grant her patience and self-denial, far +beyond what I have evinced; for often I know will that angel, in +her solitary cell, turn her thoughts and her prayers towards +me. Alas, it may be, she will impose on herself some rigid +penance, in the hope that God may alleviate the sufferings of her +brother! These reflections agitated me greatly, and my +heart bled. Most likely my own misfortunes had helped to +shorten the days both of my father and my mother; for, were they +living, it would be hardly possible that my Marietta would have +deserted our parental roof. At length the idea oppressed me +with the weight of absolute certainty, and I fell into a wretched +and agonised state of mind. Maroncelli was no less affected +than myself. The next day he composed a beautiful elegy +upon “the sister of the prisoner.” When he had +completed it, he read it to me. How grateful was I for such +a proof of his affection for me! Among the infinite number +of poems which had been written upon similar subjects, not one, +probably, had been composed in prison, for the brother of the +nun, and by his companion in captivity and chains. What a +field for pathetic and religious ideas was here, and Maroncelli +filled his lyre with wild and pathetic tones, which drew +delicious tears from my eyes.</p> +<p>It was thus friendship sweetened all my woes. Seldom +from that day did I forget to turn my thoughts long and fondly to +some sacred asylum of virgin hearts, and that one beloved form +did not rise before my fancy, dressed in all that human piety and +love can picture in a brother’s heart. Often did I +beseech Heaven to throw a charm round her religious solitude, and +not permit that her imagination should paint in too horrible +colours the sufferings of the sick and weary captive.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> reader must not suppose from +the circumstance of my seeing the Gazette, that I was in the +habit of hearing news, or could obtain any. No! though all +the agents employed around me were kind, the system was such as +to inspire the utmost terror. If there occurred the least +clandestine proceeding, it was only when the danger was not +felt—when not the least risk appeared. The extreme +rareness of any such occurrences may be gathered from what has +been stated respecting the ordinary and extraordinary searches +which took place, morning, noon, and night, through every corner +of our dungeons.</p> +<p>I had never a single opportunity of receiving any notice, +however slight, regarding my family, even by secret means, beyond +the allusions in the Gazette to my sister and myself. The +fears I entertained lest my dear parents no longer survived were +greatly augmented, soon after, by the manner in which the police +director came to inform me that my relatives were well.</p> +<p>“His Majesty the Emperor,” he said, +“commands me to communicate to you good tidings of your +relations at Turin.”</p> +<p>I could not express my pleasure and my surprise at this +unexpected circumstance; but I soon put a variety of questions to +him as to their health: “Left you my parents, brothers, and +sisters, at Turin? are they alive? if you have any letter from +them pray let me have it.”</p> +<p>“I can show you nothing. You must be +satisfied. It is a mark of the Emperor’s clemency to +let you know even so much. The same favour is not shown to +every one.”</p> +<p>“I grant it is a proof of the Emperor’s kindness; +but you will allow it to be impossible for me to derive the least +consolation from information like this. Which of my +relations are well? have I lost no one?”</p> +<p>“I am sorry, sir, that I cannot state more than I have +been directed.” And he retired.</p> +<p>It must assuredly have been intended to console me by this +indefinite allusion to my family. I felt persuaded that the +Emperor had yielded to the earnest petition of some of my +relatives to permit me to hear tidings of them, and that I was +permitted to receive no letter in order to remain in the dark as +to which of my dear family were now no more. I was the more +confirmed in this supposition from the fact of receiving a +similar communication a few months subsequently; but there was no +letter, no further news.</p> +<p>It was soon perceived that so far from having been productive +of satisfaction to me, such meagre tidings had thrown me into +still deeper affliction, and I heard no more of my beloved +family. The continual suspense, the distracting idea that +my parents were dead, that my brothers also might be no more, +that my sister Giuseppina was gone, and that Marietta was the +sole survivor, and that in the agony of her sorrow she had thrown +herself into a convent, there to close her unhappy days, still +haunted my imagination, and completely alienated me from +life.</p> +<p>Not unfrequently I had fresh attacks of the terrible disorders +under which I had before suffered, with those of a still more +painful kind, such as violent spasms of the stomach, exactly like +<i>cholera morbus</i>, from the effects of which I hourly +expected to die. Yes! and I fervently hoped and prayed that +all might soon be over.</p> +<p>At the same time, nevertheless, whenever I cast a pitying +glance at my no less weak and unfortunate companion—such is +the strange contradiction of our nature—I felt my heart +inly bleed at the idea of leaving him, a solitary prisoner, in +such an abode; and again I wished to live.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Thrice</span>, during my incarceration at +Spielberg, there arrived persons of high rank to inspect the +dungeons, and ascertain that there was no abuse of +discipline. The first visitor was the Baron Von Münch, +who, struck with compassion on seeing us so sadly deprived of +light and air, declared that he would petition in our favour, to +have a lantern placed over the outside of the pane in our dungeon +doors, through which the sentinels could at any moment perceive +us. His visit took place in 1825, and a year afterwards his +humane suggestion was put in force. By this sepulchral +light we could just catch a view of the walls, and prevent our +knocking our heads in trying to walk. The second visit was +that of the Baron Von Vogel. He found me in a lamentable +state of health; and learning that the physician had declared +that coffee would be very good for me, and that I could not +obtain it, as being too great a luxury, he interested himself for +me, and my old, delightful beverage, was ordered to be brought +me. The third visit was from a lord of the court, with +whose name I am not acquainted, between fifty and sixty years of +age, and who, by his manners as well as his words, testified the +sincerest compassion for us; at the same time lamenting that he +could do nothing for us. Still, the expression of his +sympathy—for he was really affected—was something, +and we were grateful for it.</p> +<p>How strange, how irresistible, is the desire of the solitary +prisoner to behold some one of his own species! It amounts +almost to a sort of instinct, as if in order to avoid insanity, +and its usual consequence, the tendency to +self-destruction. The Christian religion, so abounding in +views of humanity, forgets not to enumerate amongst its works of +mercy the visiting of the prisoner. The mere aspect of man, +his look of commiseration, and his willingness, as it were, to +share with you, and bear a part of your heavy burden, even when +you know he cannot relieve you, has something that sweetens your +bitter cup.</p> +<p>Perfect solitude is doubtless of advantage to some minds, but +far more so if not carried to an extreme, and relieved by some +little intercourse with society. Such at least is my +constitution. If I do not behold my fellow-men, my +affections become restricted to too confined a circle, and I +begin to dislike all others; while, if I continue in +communication with an ordinary number, I learn to regard the +whole of mankind with affection.</p> +<p>Innumerable times, I am sorry to confess, I have been so +exclusively occupied with a few, and so averse to the many, as to +be almost terrified at the feelings I experienced. I would +then approach the window, desirous of catching some new features, +and thought myself happy when the sentinel passed not too closely +to the wall, if I got a single glance of him, or if he lifted up +his head upon hearing me cough—more especially if he had a +good-natured countenance; when he showed the least feeling of +pity, I felt a singular emotion of pleasure, as if that unknown +soldier had been one of my intimate friends.</p> +<p>If, the next time, he passed by in a manner that prevented my +seeing him, or took no notice of me, I felt as much mortified as +some poor lover, when he finds that the beloved object wholly +neglects him.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the adjoining prison, once +occupied by Oroboni, D. Marco Fortini and Antonio Villa were now +confined. The latter, once as strong as Hercules, was +nearly famished the first year, and when a better allowance was +granted he had wholly lost the power of digestion. He +lingered a long time, and when reduced almost to the last +extremity, he was removed into a somewhat more airy prison. +The pestilential atmosphere of these narrow receptacles, so much +resembling real tombs, was doubtless very injurious to others as +well as to him. But the remedy sought for was too late or +insufficient to remove the cause of his sufferings. He had +scarcely been a month in this spacious prison, when, in +consequence of bursting several blood-vessels, and his previously +broken health, he died.</p> +<p>He was attended by his fellow-prisoner, D. Fortini, and by the +Abate Paulowich, who hastened from Vienna upon hearing that he +was dying. Although I had not been on the same intimate +terms with him as with Count Oroboni, his death a good deal +affected me. He had parents and a wife, all most tenderly +attached to him. <i>He</i>, indeed, was more to be envied +than regretted; but, alas, for the unhappy survivors to whom he +was everything! He had, moreover, been my neighbour when +under the <i>Piombi</i>. Tremerello had brought me several +of his poetical pieces, and had conveyed to him some lines from +me in return. There was sometimes a depth of sentiment and +pathos in his poems which interested me. I seemed to become +still more attached to him after he was gone; learning, as I did +from the guards, how dreadfully he had suffered. It was +with difficulty, though truly religious, that he could resign +himself to die. He experienced to the utmost the horror of +that final step, while he blessed the name of the Lord, and +called upon His name with tears streaming from his eyes. +“Alas,” he said, “I cannot conform my will unto +thine, yet how willingly would I do it; do thou work this happy +change in me!” He did not possess the same courage as +Oroboni, but followed his example in forgiving all his +enemies.</p> +<p>At the close of the year (1826) we one evening heard a +suppressed noise in the gallery, as if persons were stealing +along. Our hearing had become amazingly acute in +distinguishing different kinds of noises. A door was +opened; and we knew it to be that of the advocate Solera. +Another! it was that of Fortini! There followed a +whispering, but we could tell the voice of the police director, +suppressed as it was. What could it be? a search at so late +an hour! and for what reason?</p> +<p>In a brief space, we heard steps again in the gallery; and ah! +more plainly we recognised the voice of our excellent Fortini: +“Unfortunate as I am! excuse it? go out! I have +forgotten a volume of my breviary!” And we then heard +him run back to fetch the book mentioned, and rejoin the +police. The door of the staircase opened, and we heard them +go down. In the midst of our alarm we learnt that our two +good friends had just received a pardon; and although we +regretted we could not follow them, we rejoiced in their +unexpected good fortune.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> liberation of our two +companions brought no alteration in the discipline observed +towards us. Why, we asked ourselves, were they set at +liberty, condemned as they had been, like us, the one to twenty, +the other to fifteen years’ imprisonment, while no sort of +favour was shown to the rest?</p> +<p>Were the suspicions against those who were still consigned to +captivity more strong, or did the disposition to pardon the +whole, at brief intervals of time, and two together, really +exist? We continued in suspense for some time. +Upwards of three months elapsed, and we heard of no fresh +instances of pardon. Towards the end of 1827, we considered +that December might be fixed on as the anniversary of some new +liberations; but the month expired, and nothing of the kind +occurred.</p> +<p>Still we indulged the expectation until the summer of 1828, +when I had gone through seven years and a half of my +punishment—equivalent, according to the Emperor’s +declaration, to the fifteen, if the infliction of it were to be +dated from the term of my arrest. If, on the other hand, it +were to be calculated, not from the period of my trial, as was +most probable, but from that of the publication of my sentence, +the seven years and a half would only be completed in 1829.</p> +<p>Yet all these periods passed over, and there was no appearance +of a remittance of punishment. Meantime, even before the +liberation of Solera and Fortini, Maroncelli was ill with a bad +tumour upon his knee. At first the pain was not great, and +he only limped as he walked. It then grew very irksome to +him to bear his irons, and he rarely went out to walk. One +autumnal morning he was desirous of breathing the fresh air; +there was a fall of snow, and unfortunately in walking his leg +failed him, and he came to the ground. This accident was +followed by acute pain in his knee. He was carried to his +bed; for he was no longer able to remain in an upright +position. When the physician came, he ordered his irons to +be taken off; but the swelling increased to an enormous size, and +became more painful every day. Such at length were the +sufferings of my unhappy friend, that he could obtain no rest +either in bed or out of it. When compelled to move about, +to rise or to lie down, it was necessary to take hold of the bad +leg and carry it as he went with the utmost care; and the most +trifling motion brought on the most severe pangs. Leaches, +baths, caustics, and fomentations of different kinds, were all +found ineffectual, and seemed only to aggravate his +torments. After the use of caustics, suppuration followed; +the tumour broke out into wounds, but even these failed to bring +relief to the suffering patient.</p> +<p>Maroncelli was thus far more unfortunate than myself, although +my sympathy for him caused me real pain and suffering, I was +glad, however, to be near him, to attend to all his wants, and to +perform all the duties of a brother and a friend. It soon +became evident that his leg would never heal: he considered his +death as near at hand, and yet he lost nothing of his admirable +calmness or his courage. The sight of his sufferings at +last was almost more than I could bear.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Still</span>, in this deplorable +condition, he continued to compose verses, he sang, and he +conversed; and all this he did to encourage me, by disguising +from me a part of what he suffered. He lost his powers of +digestion, he could not sleep, was reduced to a skeleton, and +very frequently swooned away. Yet the moment he was +restored he rallied his spirits, and, smiling, bade me be not +afraid. It is indescribable what he suffered during many +months. At length a consultation was to be held; the head +physician was called in, approved of all his colleague had done, +and, without expressing a decisive opinion, took his leave. +A few minutes after, the superintendent entered, and addressing +Maroncelli,</p> +<p>“The head physician did not venture to express his real +opinion in your presence; he feared you would not have fortitude +to bear so terrible an announcement. I have assured him, +however, that you are possessed of courage.”</p> +<p>“I hope,” replied Maroncelli, “that I have +given some proof of it in bearing this dreadful torture without +howling out. Is there anything he would propose?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, the amputation of the limb: only perceiving +how much your constitution is broken down, he hesitates to advise +you. Weak as you are, could you support the operation? will +you run the risk—”</p> +<p>“Of dying? and shall I not equally die if I go on, +without ending this diabolical torture?”</p> +<p>“We will send off an account, then, direct to Vienna, +soliciting permission, and the moment it comes you shall have +your leg cut off.”</p> +<p>“What! does it require a <i>permit</i> for +this?”</p> +<p>“Assuredly, sir,” was the reply.</p> +<p>In about a week a courier arrived from Vienna with the +expected news.</p> +<p>My sick friend was carried from his dungeon into a larger +room, for permission to have his leg cut off had just +arrived. He begged me to follow him: “I may die under +the knife, and I should wish, in that case, to expire in your +arms.” I promised, and was permitted to accompany +him. The sacrament was first administered to the unhappy +prisoner, and we then quietly awaited the arrival of the +surgeons. Maroncelli filled up the interval by singing a +hymn. At length they came; one was an able surgeon, to +superintend the operation, from Vienna; but it was the privilege +of our ordinary prison apothecary, and he would not yield to the +man of science, who must be contented to look on. The +patient was placed on the side of a couch; with his leg down, +while I supported him in my arms. It was to be cut above +the knee; first, an incision was made, the depth of an +inch—then through the muscles—and the blood flowed in +torrents: the arteries were next taken up with ligatures, one by +one. Next came the saw. This lasted some time, but +Maroncelli never uttered a cry. When he saw them carrying +his leg away, he cast on it one melancholy look, then turning +towards the surgeon, he said, “You have freed me from an +enemy, and I have no money to give you.” He saw a +rose, in a glass, placed in a window: “May I beg of you to +bring me hither that flower?” I brought it to him; +and he then offered it to the surgeon with an indescribable air +of good-nature: “See, I have nothing else to give you in +token of my gratitude.” He took it as it was meant, +and even wiped away a tear.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> surgeons had supposed that the +hospital of Spielberg would provide all that was requisite except +the instruments, which they brought with them. But after +the amputation, it was found that a number of things were +wanting; such as linen, ice, bandages, &c. My poor +friend was thus compelled to wait two hours before these articles +were brought from the city. At length he was laid upon his +bed, and the ice applied to the trunk of the bleeding +thigh. Next day it was dressed; but the patient was allowed +to take no nourishment beyond a little broth, with an egg. +When the risk of fever was over, he was permitted the use of +restoratives; and an order from the Emperor directed that he +should be supplied from the table of the superintendent till he +was better.</p> +<p>The cure was completed in about forty days, after which we +were conducted into our dungeon. This had been enlarged for +us; that is, an opening was made in the wall so as to unite our +old den to that once occupied by Oroboni, and subsequently by +Villa. I placed my bed exactly in the same spot where +Oroboni had died, and derived a mournful pleasure from thus +approaching my friend, as it were, as nearly as possible. +It appeared as if his spirit still hovered round me, and consoled +me with manifestations of more than earthly love.</p> +<p>The horrible sight of Maroncelli’s sufferings, both +before and subsequently to the amputation of his leg, had done +much to strengthen my mind. During the whole period, my +health had enabled me to attend upon him, and I was grateful to +God; but from the moment my friend assumed his crutches, and +could supply his own wants, I began daily to decline. I +suffered extremely from glandular swellings, and those were +followed by pains of the chest, more oppressive than I had before +experienced, attended with dizziness and spasmodic +dysentery. “It is my turn now,” thought I; +“shall I show less patience than my companion?”</p> +<p>Every condition of life has its duties; and those of the sick +consist of patience, courage, and continual efforts to appear not +unamiable to the persons who surround them. Maroncelli, on +his crutches, no longer possessed the same activity, and was +fearful of not doing everything for me of which I stood in +need. It was in fact the case, but I did all to prevent his +being made sensible of it. Even when he had recovered his +strength he laboured under many inconveniences. He +complained, like most others after a similar operation, of acute +pains in the nerves, and imagined that the part removed was still +with him. Sometimes it was the toe, sometimes the leg, and +at others the knee of the amputated limb which caused him to cry +out. The bone, moreover, had been badly sawed, and pushed +through the newly-formed flesh, producing frequent wounds. +It required more than a year to bring the stump to a good state, +when at length it hardened and broke out no more.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">New</span> evils, however, soon assailed +my unhappy friend. One of the arteries, beginning at the +joints of the hand, began to pain him, extending to other parts +of his body; and then turned into a scorbutic sore. His +whole person became covered with livid spots, presenting a +frightful spectacle. I tried to reconcile myself to it, by +considering that since it appeared we were to die here, it was +better that one of us should be seized with the scurvy; it is a +contagious disease, and must carry us off either together, or at +a short interval from each other. We both prepared +ourselves for death, and were perfectly tranquil. Nine +years’ imprisonment, and the grievous sufferings we had +undergone, had at length familiarised us to the idea of the +dissolution of two bodies so totally broken and in need of +peace. It was time the scene should close, and we confided +in the goodness of God, that we should be reunited in a place +where the passions of men should cease, and where, we prayed, in +spirit and in truth, that those who <span class="GutSmall">DID +NOT LOVE US</span> might meet us in peace, in a kingdom where +only one Master, the supreme King of kings, reigned for +evermore.</p> +<p>This malignant distemper had destroyed numbers of prisoners +during the preceding years. The governor, upon learning +that Maroncelli had been attacked by it, agreed with the +physician, that the sole hope of remedy was in the fresh +air. They were afraid of its spreading; and Maroncelli was +ordered to be as little as possible within his dungeon. +Being his companion, and also unwell, I was permitted the same +privilege. We were permitted to be in the open air the +whole time the other prisoners were absent from the walk, during +two hours early in the morning, during the dinner, if we +preferred it, and three hours in the evening, even after +sunset.</p> +<p>There was one other unhappy patient, about seventy years of +age, and in extremely bad health, who was permitted to bear us +company. His name was Constantino Munari; he was of an +amiable disposition, greatly attached to literature and +philosophy, and agreeable in conversation.</p> +<p>Calculating my imprisonment, not from my arrest, but from the +period of receiving my sentence, I had been seven years and a +half (in the year 1829), according to the imperial decree, in +different dungeons; and about nine from the day of my +arrest. But this term, like the other, passed over, and +there was no sign of remitting my punishment.</p> +<p>Up to the half of the whole term, my friend Maroncelli, +Munari, and I had indulged the idea of a possibility of seeing +once more our native land and our relations; and we frequently +conversed with the warmest hopes and feelings upon the +subject. August, September, and the whole of that year +elapsed, and then we began to despair; nothing remained to +relieve our destiny but our unaltered attachment for each other, +and the support of religion, to enable us to close our latter +prison hours with becoming dignity and resignation. It was +then we felt the full value of friendship and religion, which +threw a charm even over the darkness of our lot. Human +hopes and promises had failed us; but God never forsakes the +mourners and the captives who truly love and fear Him.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XC.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">After</span> the death of Villa, the Abate +Wrba was appointed our confessor, on occasion of the Abate +Paulowich receiving a bishopric. He was a Moravian, +professor of the gospel at Brünn, and an able pupil of the +Sublime Institute of Vienna. This was founded by the +celebrated Frinl, then chaplain to the court. The members +of the congregation are all priests, who, though already masters +of theology, prosecute their studies under the Institution with +the severest discipline. The views of the founder were +admirable, being directed to the continual and general +dissemination of true and profound science, among the Catholic +clergy of Germany. His plans were for the most part +successful, and are yet in extensive operation.</p> +<p>Being resident at Brünn, Wrba could devote more of his +time to our society than Paulowich. He was a second father +Battista, with the exception that he was not permitted to lend us +any books. We held long discussions, from which I reaped +great advantage, and real consolation. He was taken ill in +1829, and being subsequently called to other duties, he was +unable to visit us more. We were much hurt, but we obtained +as his successor the Abate Ziak, another learned and worthy +divine. Indeed, among the whole German ecclesiastics we met +with, not one showed the least disposition to pry into our +political sentiments; not one but was worthy of the holy task he +had undertaken, and imbued at once with the most edifying faith +and enlarged wisdom.</p> +<p>They were all highly respectable, and inspired us with respect +for the general Catholic clergy.</p> +<p>The Abate Ziak, both by precept and example, taught me to +support my sufferings with calmness and resignation. He was +afflicted with continual defluxions in his teeth, his throat, and +his ears, and was, nevertheless, always calm and cheerful.</p> +<p>Maroncelli derived great benefit from exercise and open air; +the eruptions, by degrees, disappeared; and both Munari and +myself experienced equal advantage.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the first of August, +1830. Ten years had elapsed since I was deprived of my +liberty: for eight years and a half I had been subjected to hard +imprisonment. It was Sunday, and, as on other holidays, we +went to our accustomed station, whence we had a view from the +wall of the valley and the cemetery below, where Oroboni and +Villa now reposed. We conversed upon the subject, and the +probability of our soon sharing their untroubled sleep. We +had seated ourselves upon our accustomed bench, and watched the +unhappy prisoners as they came forth and passed to hear mass, +which was performed before our own. They were women, and +were conducted into the same little chapel to which we resorted +at the second mass.</p> +<p>It is customary with the Germans to sing hymns aloud during +the celebration of mass. As the Austrian empire is composed +partly of Germans and partly of Sclavonians, and the greater part +of the prisoners at Spielberg consist of one or other of these +people, the hymns are alternately sung in the German and the +Sclavonian languages. Every festival, two sermons are +preached, and the same division observed. It was truly +delightful to us to hear the singing of the hymns, and the music +of the organ which accompanied it. The voices of some of +these women touched us to the heart. Unhappy ones! some of +them were very young; whom love, or jealousy, or bad example, had +betrayed into crime. I often think I can still hear their +fervidly devotional hymn of the sanctus—<i>Heilig</i>! +<i>heilig</i>! <i>heilig</i>!—Holy of holies; and the tears +would start into my eyes. At ten o’clock the women +used to withdraw, and we entered to hear mass. There I saw +those of my companions in misfortune, who listened to the service +from the tribune of the organ, and from whom we were separated +only by a single grate, whose pale features and emaciated bodies, +scarcely capable of dragging their irons, bore witness to their +woes.</p> +<p>After mass we were conveyed back to our dungeons. About +a quarter of an hour afterwards we partook of dinner. We +were preparing our table, which consisted in putting a thin board +upon a wooden target, and taking up our wooden spoons, when +Signor Wagrath, the superintendent, entered our prison. +“I am sorry to disturb you at dinner; but have the goodness +to follow me; the Director of Police is waiting for +us.” As he was accustomed to come near us only for +purposes of examination and search, we accompanied the +superintendent to the audience room in no very good humour. +There we found the Director of Police and the superintendent, the +first of whom moved to us with rather more politeness than +usual. He took out a letter, and stated in a hesitating, +slow tone of voice, as if afraid of surprising us too greatly: +“Gentlemen, . . . I have . . . the pleasure . . . the +honour, I mean . . . of . . . of acquainting you that his +Majesty the Emperor has granted you a further +favour.” Still he hesitated to inform us what this +favour was; and we conjectured it must be some slight +alleviation, some exemption from irksome labour,—to have a +book, or, perhaps, less disagreeable diet. +“Don’t you understand?” he inquired. +“No, sir!” was our reply; “have the goodness, +if permitted, to explain yourself more fully.”</p> +<p>“Then hear it! it is liberty for your two selves, and a +third, who will shortly bear you company.”</p> +<p>One would imagine that such an announcement would have thrown +us into ecstasies of joy. We were so soon to see our +parents, of whom we had not heard for so long a period; but the +doubt that they were no longer in existence, was sufficient not +only to moderate—it did not permit us to hail, the joys of +liberty as we should have done.</p> +<p>“Are you dumb?” asked the director; “I +thought to see you exulting at the news.”</p> +<p>“May I beg you,” replied I, “to make known +to the Emperor our sentiments of gratitude; but if we are not +favoured with some account of our families, it is impossible not +to indulge in the greatest fear and anxiety. It is this +consciousness which destroys the zest of all our joy.”</p> +<p>He then gave Maroncelli a letter from his brother, which +greatly consoled him. But he told me there was no account +of my family, which made me the more fear that some calamity had +befallen them.</p> +<p>“Now, retire to your apartments, and I will send you a +third companion, who has received pardon.”</p> +<p>We went, and awaited his arrival anxiously; wishing that all +had alike been admitted to the same act of grace, instead of that +single one. Was it poor old Munari? was it such, or such a +one? Thus we went on guessing at every one we knew; when +suddenly the door opened, and Signor Andrea Torrelli, of Brescia, +made his appearance. We embraced him; and we could eat no +more dinner that day. We conversed till towards evening, +chiefly regretting the lot of the unhappy friends whom we were +leaving behind us.</p> +<p>After sunset, the Director of Police returned to escort us +from our wretched prison house. Our hearts, however, bled +within us, as we were passing by the dungeons of so many of our +countrymen whom we loved, and yet, alas, not to have them to +share our liberty! Heaven knows how long they would be left +to linger here! to become the gradual, but certain, prey of +death.</p> +<p>We were each of us enveloped in a military great-coat, with a +cap; and then, dressed as we were in our jail costume, but freed +from our chains, we descended the funereal mount, and were +conducted through the city into the police prisons.</p> +<p>It was a beautiful moonlight night. The roads, the +houses, the people whom we met—every object appeared so +strange, and yet so delightful, after the many years during which +I had been debarred from beholding any similar spectacle!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> remained at the police prisons, +awaiting the arrival of the imperial commissioner from Vienna, +who was to accompany us to the confines of Italy. Meantime, +we were engaged in providing ourselves with linen and trunks, our +own having all been sold, and defraying our prison expenses.</p> +<p>Five days afterwards, the commissary was announced, and the +director consigned us over to him, delivering, at the same time, +the money which we had brought with us to Spielberg, and the +amount derived from the sale of our trunks and books, both which +were restored to us on reaching our destination.</p> +<p>The expense of our journey was defrayed by the Emperor, and in +a liberal manner. The commissary was Herr Von Noe, a +gentleman employed in the office of the minister of police. +The charge could not have been intrusted to a person every way +more competent, as well from education as from habit; and he +treated us with the greatest respect.</p> +<p>I left Brünn, labouring under extreme difficulty of +breathing; and the motion of the carriage increased it to such a +degree, that it was expected I should hardly survive during the +evening. I was in a high fever the whole of the night; and +the commissary was doubtful whether I should be able to continue +my journey even as far as Vienna. I begged to go on; and we +did so, but my sufferings were excessive. I could neither +eat, drink, nor sleep.</p> +<p>I reached Vienna more dead than alive. We were well +accommodated at the general directory of police. I was +placed in bed, a physician called in, and after being bled, I +found myself sensibly relieved. By means of strict diet, +and the use of digitalis, I recovered in about eight days. +My physician’s name was Singer; and he devoted the most +friendly attentions to me.</p> +<p>I had become extremely anxious to set out; the more so from an +account of the <i>three days</i> having arrived from Paris. +The Emperor had fixed the day of our liberation exactly on that +when the revolution burst forth; and surely he would not now +revoke it. Yet the thing was not improbable; a critical +period appeared to be at hand, popular commotions were +apprehended in Italy, and though we could not imagine we should +be remanded to Spielberg, should we be permitted to return to our +native country?</p> +<p>I affected to be stronger than I really was, and entreated we +might be allowed to resume our journey. It was my wish, +meantime, to be presented to his Excellency the Count Pralormo, +envoy from Turin to the Austrian Court, to whom I was aware how +much I had been indebted. He had left no means untried to +procure my liberation; but the rule that we were to hold no +communication with any one admitted of no exception. When +sufficiently convalescent, a carriage was politely ordered for +me, in which I might take an airing in the city; but accompanied +by the commissary, and no other company. We went to see the +noble church of St. Stephen, the delightful walks in the +environs, the neighbouring Villa Lichtenstein, and lastly the +imperial residence of Schoenbrunn.</p> +<p>While proceeding through the magnificent walks in the gardens, +the Emperor approached, and the commissary hastily made us +retire, lest the sight of our emaciated persons should give him +pain.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> at length took our departure +from Vienna, and I was enabled to reach Bruck. There my +asthma returned with redoubled violence. A physician was +called—Herr Jüdmann, a man of pleasing manners. +He bled me, ordered me to keep my bed, and to continue the +digitalis. At the end of two days I renewed my +solicitations to continue our journey.</p> +<p>We proceeded through Austria and Stiria, and entered Carinthia +without any accident; but on our arrival at the village of +Feldkirchen, a little way from Klagenfurt, we were overtaken by a +counter order from Vienna. We were to stop till we received +farther directions. I leave the reader to imagine what our +feelings must have been on this occasion. I had, moreover, +the pain to reflect, that it would be owing to my illness if my +two friends should now be prevented from reaching their native +land. We remained five days at Feldkirchen, where the +commissary did all in his power to keep up our spirits. He +took us to the theatre to see a comedy, and permitted us one day +to enjoy the chase. Our host and several young men of the +country, along with the proprietor of a fine forest, were the +hunters, and we were brought into a station favourable for +commanding a view of the sports.</p> +<p>At length there arrived a courier from Vienna, with a fresh +order for the commissary to resume his journey with us to the +place first appointed. We congratulated each other, but my +anxiety was still great, as I approached the hour when my hopes +or fears respecting my family would be verified. How many +of my relatives and friends might have disappeared during my ten +years’ absence!</p> +<p>The entrance into Italy on that side is not pleasing to the +eye; you descend from the noble mountains of Germany into the +Italian plains, through a long and sterile district, insomuch +that travellers who have formed a magnificent idea of our +country, begin to laugh, and imagine they have been purposely +deluded with previous accounts of <i>La Bella Italia</i>.</p> +<p>The dismal view of that rude district served to make me more +sorrowful. To see my native sky, to meet human features no +more belonging to the north, to hear my native tongue from every +lip affected me exceedingly; and I felt more inclined to tears +than to exultation. I threw myself back in the carriage, +pretending to sleep; but covered my face and wept. That +night I scarcely closed my eyes; my fever was high, my whole soul +seemed absorbed in offering up vows for my sweet Italy, and +grateful prayers to Providence for having restored to her her +captive son. Then I thought of my speedy separation from a +companion with whom I had so long suffered, and who had given me +so many proofs of more than fraternal affection, and I tortured +my imagination with the idea of a thousand disasters which might +have befallen my family. Not even so many years of +captivity had deadened the energy and susceptibility of my +feelings! but it was a susceptibility only to pain and +sorrow.</p> +<p>I felt, too, on my return, a strange desire to visit Udine, +and the lodging-house, where our two generous friends had assumed +the character of waiters, and secretly stretched out to us the +hand of friendship. But we passed that town to our left, +and passed on our way.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Pordenone</span>, Conegliano, Ospedaletto, +Vicenza, Verona, and Mantua, were all places which interested my +feelings. In the first resided one of my friends, an +excellent young man, who had survived the campaigns of Russia; +Conegliano was the district whither, I was told by the +under-jailers, poor Angiola had been conducted; and in +Ospedaletto there had married and resided a young lady, who had +more of the angel than the woman, and who, though now no more, I +had every reason to remember with the highest respect. The +whole of these places, in short, revived recollections more or +less dear; and Mantua more than any other city. It appeared +only yesterday that I had come with Lodovico in 1815, and paid +another visit with Count Porro in 1820. The same roads, the +same squares, the same palaces, and yet such a change in all +social relations! So many of my connections snatched away +for ever—so many exiled—one generation, I had beheld +when infants, started up into manhood. Yet how painful not +to be allowed to call at a single house, or to accost a single +person we met.</p> +<p>To complete my misery, Mantua was the point of separation +between Maroncelli and myself. We passed the night there, +both filled with forebodings and regret. I felt agitated +like a man on the eve of receiving his sentence.</p> +<p>The next morning I rose, and washed my face, in order to +conceal from my friend how much I had given way to grief during +the preceding night. I looked at myself in the glass, and +tried to assume a quiet and even cheerful air. I then bent +down in prayer, though ill able to command my thoughts; and +hearing Maroncelli already upon his crutches, and speaking to the +servant, I hastened to embrace him. We had both prepared +ourselves, with previous exertions, for this closing interview, +and we spoke to each other firmly, as well as +affectionately. The officer appointed to conduct us to the +borders of Romagna appeared; it was time to set out; we hardly +knew how to speak another word; we grasped each other’s +hands again and again,—we parted; he mounted into his +vehicle, and I felt as if I had been annihilated at a blow. +I returned into my chamber, threw myself upon my knees, and +prayed for my poor mutilated friend, thus separated from me, with +sighs and tears.</p> +<p>I had known several celebrated men, but not one more +affectionately sociable than Maroncelli; not one better educated +in all respects, more free from sudden passion or ill-humour, +more deeply sensible that virtue consists in continued exercises +of tolerance, of generosity, and good sense. Heaven bless +you, my dear companion in so many afflictions, and send you new +friends who may equal me in my affection for you, and surpass me +in true goodness.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCV.</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">set</span> out the same evening for +Brescia. There I took leave of my other fellow-prisoner, +Andrea Torrelli. The unhappy man had just heard that he had +lost his mother, and the bitterness of his grief wrung my heart; +yet, agonised as were my feelings from so many different causes, +I could not help laughing at the following incident.</p> +<p>Upon the table of our lodging-house I found the following +theatrical announcement:—<i>Francesca da Rimini</i>; +<i>Opera da Musica</i>, &c. “Whose work is +this?” I inquired of the waiter.</p> +<p>“Who versified it, and composed the music, I cannot +tell, but it is the <i>Francesca da Rimini</i> which everybody +knows.”</p> +<p>“Everybody! you must be wrong there. I come from +Germany, yet what do I know of your Francescas?” The +waiter was a young man with rather a satirical cast of face, +quite <i>Brescian</i>; and he looked at me with a contemptuous +sort of pity. “What should you know, indeed, of our +Francescas? why, no, sir, it is only <i>one</i> we speak +of—<i>Francesca des Rimini</i>, to be sure, sir; I mean the +tragedy of Signor Silvio Pellico. They have here turned it +into an opera, spoiling it a little, no doubt, but still it is +always Pellico.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Silvio Pellico! I think I have heard his +name. Is it not that same evil-minded conspirator who was +condemned to death, and his sentence was changed to hard +imprisonment, some eight or ten years ago?”</p> +<p>I should never have hazarded such a jest. He looked +round him, fixed his eyes on me, showed a fine set of teeth, with +no amiable intention; and I believe he would have knocked me +down, had he not heard a noise close by us.</p> +<p>He went away muttering: “Ill-minded conspirator, +indeed!” But before I left, he had found me +out. He was half out of his wits; he could neither +question, nor answer, nor write, nor walk, nor wait. He had +his eyes continually upon me, he rubbed his hands, and addressing +himself to every one near him; “<i>Sior si</i>, <i>Sior +si</i>; Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” he kept stammering out, +“coming! coming!”</p> +<p>Two days afterwards, on the 9th of September, I arrived with +the commissary at Milan. On approaching the city, on seeing +the cupola of the cathedral, in repassing the walk by Loretto, so +well known, and so dear, on recognising the corso, the buildings, +churches, and public places of every kind, what were my mingled +feelings of pleasure and regret! I felt an intense desire +to stop, and embrace once more my beloved friends. I +reflected with bitter grief on those, whom, instead of meeting +here, I had left in the horrible abode of Spielberg,—on +those who were wandering in strange lands,—on those who +were no more. I thought, too, with gratitude upon the +affection shown me by the people; their indignation against all +those who had calumniated me, while they had uniformly been the +objects of my benevolence and esteem.</p> +<p>We went to take up our quarters at the <i>Bella +Venezia</i>. It was here I had so often been present at our +social meetings; here I had called upon so many distinguished +foreigners; here a respectable, elderly <i>Signora</i> invited me +in vain to follow her into Tuscany, foreseeing, she said, the +misfortunes that would befall me if I remained at Milan. +What affecting recollections! How rapidly past times came +thronging over my memory, fraught with joy and grief!</p> +<p>The waiters at the hotel soon discovered who I was. The +report spread, and towards evening a number of persons stopped in +the square, and looked up at the windows. One, whose name I +did not know, appeared to recognise me, and raising both his +arms, made a sign of embracing me, as a welcome back to +Italy.</p> +<p>And where were the sons of Porro; I may say my own sons? +Why did I not see them there?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> commissary conducted me to the +police, in order to present me to the director. What were +my sensations upon recognising the house! it was my first +prison. It was then I thought with pain of Melchiorre +Gioja, on the rapid steps with which I had seen him pacing within +those narrow walls, or sitting at his little table, recording his +noble thoughts, or making signals to me; and his last look of +sorrow, when forbidden longer to communicate with me. I +pictured to myself his solitary grave, unknown to all who had so +ardently loved him, and, while invoking peace to his gentle +spirit, I wept.</p> +<p>Here, too, I called to mind the little dumb boy, the pathetic +tones of Maddalene, my strange emotions of compassion for her, my +neighbours the robbers, the assumed Louis XVII., and the poor +prisoner who had carried the fatal letter, and whose cries under +the infliction of the bastinado, had reached me.</p> +<p>These and other recollections appeared with all the vividness +of some horrible dream; but most of all, I felt those two visits +which my father had made me ten years before, when I last saw +him. How the good old man had deceived himself in the +expectation that I should so soon rejoin him at Turin! +Could he then have borne the idea of a son’s ten +years’ captivity, and in such a prison? But when +these flattering hopes vanished, did he, and did my mother bear +up against so unexpected a calamity? was I ever to see them again +in this world? Had one, or which of them, died during the +cruel interval that ensued?</p> +<p>Such was the suspense, the distracting doubt which yet clung +to me. I was about to knock at the door of my home without +knowing if they were in existence, or what other members of my +beloved family were left me.</p> +<p>The director of police received me in a friendly manner. +He permitted me to stay at the <i>Bella Venezia</i> with the +imperial commissary, though I was not permitted to communicate +with any one, and for this reason I determined to resume my +journey the following morning. I obtained an interview, +however, with the Piedmontese consul, to learn if possible some +account of my relatives. I should have waited on him, but +being attacked with fever, and compelled to keep my bed, I sent +to beg the favour of his visiting me. He had the kindness +to come immediately, and I felt truly grateful to him.</p> +<p>He gave me a favourable account of my father, and of my eldest +brother. Respecting my mother, however, my other brother, +and my two sisters, I could learn nothing.</p> +<p>Thus in part comforted, I could have wished to prolong the +conversation with the consul, and he would willingly have +gratified me had not his duties called him away. After he +left me, I was extremely affected, but, as had so often happened, +no tears came to give me relief. The habit of long, +internal grief, seemed yet to prey upon my heart; to weep would +have alleviated the fever which consumed me, and distracted my +head with pain.</p> +<p>I called to Stundberger for something to drink. That +good man was a sergeant of police at Vienna, though now filling +the office of <i>valet-de-chambre</i> to the commissary. +But though not old, I perceived that his hand trembled in giving +me the drink. This circumstance reminded me of Schiller, my +beloved Schiller, when, on the day of my arrival at Spielberg, I +ordered him, in an imperious tone, to hand me the jug of water, +and he obeyed me.</p> +<p>How strange it was! The recollection of this, added to +other feelings of the kind, struck, as it were, the rock of my +heart, and tears began to flow.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> morning of the 10th of +September, I took leave of the excellent commissary, and set +out. We had only been acquainted with each other for about +a month, and yet he was as friendly as if he had known me for +years. His noble and upright mind was above all artifice, +or desire of penetrating the opinions of others, not from any +want of intelligence, but a love of that dignified simplicity +which animates all honest men.</p> +<p>It sometimes happened during our journey that I was accosted +by some one or other when unobserved, in places where we +stopped. “Take care of that <i>angel keeper</i> of +yours; if he did not belong to those <i>neri</i> (blacks), they +would not have put him over you.”</p> +<p>“There you are deceived,” said I; “I have +the greatest reason to believe that you are deceived.”</p> +<p>“The most cunning,” was the reply, “can +always contrive to appear the most simple.”</p> +<p>“If it were so, we ought never to give credit to the +least goodness in any one.”</p> +<p>“Yes, there are certain social stations,” he +replied, “in which men’s manners may appear to great +advantage by means of education; but as to virtue, they have none +of it.”</p> +<p>I could only answer, “You exaggerate, sir, you +exaggerate.”</p> +<p>“I am only consistent,” he insisted. We were +here interrupted, and I called to mind the <i>cave a +censequentariis</i> of Leibnitz.</p> +<p>Too many are inclined to adopt this false and terrible +doctrine. I follow the standard A, that is <span +class="GutSmall">JUSTICE</span>. Another follows standard +B; it must therefore be that of <span +class="GutSmall">INJUSTICE</span>, and, consequently, he must be +a villain!</p> +<p>Give <i>me</i> none of your logical madness; whatever standard +you adopt, do not reason so inhumanly. Consider, that by +assuming what data you please, and proceeding with the most +violent stretch of rigour from one consequence to another, it is +easy for any one to come to the conclusion that, “Beyond we +four, all the rest of the world deserve to be burnt +alive.” And if we are at the pains of investigating a +little further, we shall find each of the four crying out, +“All deserve to be burnt alive together, with the exception +of I myself.”</p> +<p>This vulgar tenet of exclusiveness is in the highest degree +unphilosophical. A moderate degree of suspicion is wise, +but when urged to the extreme, it is the opposite.</p> +<p>After the hint thus thrown out to me respecting that <i>angelo +custode</i>, I turned to study him with greater attention than I +had before done; and each day served to convince me more and more +of his friendly and generous nature.</p> +<p>When an order of society, more or less perfect, has been +established, whether for better or worse, all the social offices, +not pronounced by general consent to be infamous, all that are +adapted to promote the public good, and the confidence of a +respectable number, and which are filled by men acknowledged to +be of upright mind, such offices may undeniably be undertaken by +honest men without incurring any charge of +unconscientiousness.</p> +<p>I have read of a Quaker who had a great horror of +soldiers. He one day saw a soldier throw himself into the +Thames, and save the life of a fellow-being who was +drowning. “I don’t care,” he exclaimed, +“I will still be a Quaker, but there are some good fellows, +even among soldiers.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Stundberger</span> accompanied me to my +vehicle, into which I got with the brigadier of <i>gens +d’armes</i>, to whose care I was entrusted. It was +snowing, and the cold was excessive.</p> +<p>“Wrap yourself well up in your cloak,” said +Stundberger; “cover your head better, and contrive to reach +home as little unwell as you can; remember, that a very little +thing will give you cold just now. I wish it had been in my +power to go on and attend you as far as Turin.” He +said this in a tone of voice so truly cordial and affectionate +that I could not doubt its sincerity.</p> +<p>“From this time you will have no German near you,” +he added; “you will no longer hear our language spoken, and +little, I dare say, will you care for that; the Italians find it +very harsh. Besides, you have suffered so greatly among us, +that most probably you will not like to remember us; yet, though +you will so soon forget my very name, I shall not cease, sir, to +offer up prayers for your safety.”</p> +<p>“I shall do the same for you,” I replied; as I +shook his hand for the last time.</p> +<p>“Guten morgen! guten morgen! gute raise! leben sie +wohl!”—farewell; a pleasant journey! good morning he +continued to repeat; and the sounds were to me as sweat as if +they had been pronounced in my native tongue.</p> +<p>I am passionately attached to my country, but I do not dislike +any other nation. Civilisation, wealth, power, glory, are +differently apportioned among different people; but in all there +are minds obedient to the great vocation of man,—to love, +to pity, and to assist each other.</p> +<p>The brigadier who attended me, informed me that he was one of +those who arrested Confalonieri. He told me how the unhappy +man had tried to make his escape; how he had been baffled, and +how he had been torn from the arms of his distracted wife, while +they both at the same time submitted to the calamity with dignity +and resignation.</p> +<p>The horrible narrative increased my fear; a hand of iron +seemed to be weighing upon my heart. The good man, in his +desire of showing his sociality, and entertaining me with his +remarks, was not aware of the horror he excited in me when I cast +my eye on those hands which had seized the person of my +unfortunate friend.</p> +<p>He ordered luncheon at Buffalora, but I was unable to taste +anything. Many years back, when I was spending my time at +Arluno, with the sons of Count Porro, I was accustomed to walk +thither (to Buffalora), along the banks of the Ticino. I +was rejoiced to see the noble bridge, the materials of which I +had beheld scattered along the Lombard shore, now finished, +notwithstanding the general opinion that the design would be +abandoned. I rejoiced to traverse the river and set my foot +once more on Piedmontese ground. With all my attachment to +other nations, how much I prefer Italy! yet Heaven knows that +however much more delightful to me is the sound of the <i>Italian +name</i>, still sweeter must be that of Piedmont, the land of my +fathers.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Opposite</span> to Buffalora lies San +Martino. Here the Lombard brigadier spoke of the +Piedmontese carabineers, saluted me, and repassed the bridge.</p> +<p>“Let us go to Novara!” I said to the +Vetturino.</p> +<p>“Have the goodness to stay a moment,” said a +carabineer. I found I was not yet free; and was much vexed, +being apprehensive it would retard my arrival at the long-desired +home. After waiting about a quarter of an hour, a gentleman +came forward and requested to be allowed to accompany us as far +as Novara. He had already missed one opportunity; there was +no other conveyance than mine; and he expressed himself +exceedingly happy that I permitted him to avail himself of +it.</p> +<p>This carabineer in disguise was very good-humoured, and kept +me company as far as Novara. Having reached that city, and +feigning we were going to an hotel, he stopt at the barracks of +the carabineers, and I was told there was a bed for me, and that +I must wait the arrival of further orders. Concluding that +I was to set off the next day, I went to bed, and after chatting +some time with my host, I fell fast asleep; and it was long since +I had slept so profoundly.</p> +<p>I awoke towards morning, rose as quickly as possible, and +found the hours hang heavy on my hands. I took my +breakfast, chatted, walked about the apartment and over the +lodge, cast my eye over the host’s books, and +finally,—a visitor was announced. An officer had come +to give me tidings respecting my father, and inform me that there +was a letter from him, lying for me at Novara. I was +exceedingly grateful to him for this act of humane +courtesy. After a few hours, which to me appeared ages, I +received my father’s letter. Oh what joy to behold +that hand-writing once more! what joy to learn that the best of +mothers was spared to me! that my two brothers were alive, and +also my eldest sister. Alas! my young and gentle Marietta, +who had immured herself in the convent of the Visitazione, and of +whom I had received so strange an account while a prisoner, had +been dead upwards of nine months. It was a consolation for +me to believe that I owed my liberty to all those who had never +ceased to love and to pray for me, and more especially to a +beloved sister who had died with every expression of the most +edifying devotion. May the Almighty reward her for the many +sufferings she underwent, and in particular for all the anxiety +she experienced on my account.</p> +<p>Days passed on; yet no permission for me to quit Novara! +On the morning of the 16th of September, the desired order at +length arrived, and all superintendence over me by the +carabineers ceased. It seemed strange! so many years had +now elapsed since I had been permitted to walk unaccompanied by +guards. I recovered some money; I received the +congratulations of some of my father’s friends, and set out +about three in the afternoon. The companions of my journey +were a lady, a merchant, an engraver, and two young painters; one +of whom was both deaf and dumb. These last were coming from +Rome; and I was much pleased by hearing from them that they were +acquainted with the family of my friend Maroncelli, for how +pleasant a thing it is to be enabled to speak of those we love, +with some one not wholly indifferent to them.</p> +<p>We passed the night at Vercelli. The happy day, the 17th +of September, dawned at last. We pursued our journey; and +how slow we appeared to travel! it was evening before we arrived +at Turin.</p> +<p>Who would attempt to describe the consolation I felt, the +nameless feelings of delight, when I found myself in the embraces +of my father, my mother, and my two brothers? My dear +sister Giuseppina was not then with them; she was fulfilling her +duties at Chieri; but on hearing of my felicity, she hastened to +stay for a few days with our family, to make it complete. +Restored to these five long-sighed-for, and beloved objects of my +tenderness,—I was, and I still am, one of the most enviable +of mankind.</p> +<p>Now, therefore, for all my past misfortunes and sufferings, as +well as for all the good or evil yet reserved for me, may the +providence of God be blessed; of God, who renders all men, and +all things, however opposite the intentions of the actors, the +wonderful instruments which He directs to the greatest and best +of purposes.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> Piero Maroncelli da Forli, an +excellent poet, and most amiable man, who had also been +imprisoned from political motives. The author speaks of him +at considerable length, as the companion of his sufferings, in +various parts of his work.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> A bailiff.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3" +class="footnote">[3]</a> A sort of scream peculiar to dumb +children.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4" +class="footnote">[4]</a> Melchiorre Gioja, a native of +Piacenza, was one of the most profound writers of our times, +principally upon subjects of public economy. Being +suspected of carrying on a secret correspondence, he was arrested +in 1820, and imprisoned for a space of nine months. Among +the more celebrated of his works are those entitled, Nuovo +prospetto delle Scienze Economiche, Trattato del Merito e delle +Ricompense, Dell’ Ingiuria e dei Danni, Filosofia della +Statistica, Ideologia e Esercizo Logico, Delle Manifatture, Del +Divorzio, Elementi di Filosofia, Nuovo Galateo, Qual Governo +convenga all’ Italia. This able writer died in the +month of January, 1829.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" +class="footnote">[5]</a> The Count Luigi Porro was one of +the most distinguished men of Milan, and remarkable for the zeal +and liberality with which he promoted the cultivation of +literature and the arts. Having early remarked the +excellent disposition of the youthful Pellico, the Count invited +him to reside in his mansion, and take upon himself the education +of his sons, uniformly considering him, at the same time, more in +the light of a friend than of a dependent. Count Porro +himself subsequently fell under the suspicions of the Austrian +Government, and having betaken himself to flight, was twice +condemned to death (as contumacious), the first time under the +charge of <i>Carbonarism</i>, and the second time for a pretended +conspiracy. The sons of Count Porro are more than once +alluded to by their friend and tutor, as the author designates +himself.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> This excellent tragedy, suggested +by the celebrated episode in the fifth canto of Dante’s +<i>Inferno</i>, was received by the whole of Italy with the most +marked applause. Such a production at once raised the young +author to a high station in the list of Italy’s living +poets.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7" +class="footnote">[7]</a> The Cavalier Giovanni Bodoni was +one of the most distinguished among modern printers. +Becoming admirably skilled in his art, and in the oriental +languages, acquired in the college of the Propaganda at Rome, he +went to the Royal Printing Establishment at Parma, of which he +took the direction in 1813, and in which he continued till the +period of his death. In the list of the numerous works +which he thence gave to the world may be mentioned the <i>Pater +Noster Poligletto</i>, the <i>Iliad</i> in Greek, the +<i>Epithalamia Exoticis</i>, and the <i>Manuale Tipografico</i>, +works which will maintain their reputation to far distant +times.</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8" +class="footnote">[8]</a> The Count Bolza, of the lake of Como, +who has continued for years in the service of the Austrian +Government, showing inexorable zeal in the capacity of a +Commissary of Police.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> The learning of Ugo Foscolo, and +the reputation he acquired by his <i>Hymn upon the Tombs</i>, his +<i>Last Letters of Jecopo Ortis</i>, his <i>Treatises</i> upon +Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, &c, are well-known in this +country, where he spent a considerable portion of his life, and +died in the year 1827.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10" +class="footnote">[10]</a> The Cavalier Vincenzo Monti +stands at the head of the modern poets of Italy. His +stanzas on the <i>Death of Uge Basville</i> obtained for him the +title of <i>Dante Redivivo</i>. His works, both in verse +and prose, are numerous, and generally acknowledged to be noble +models in their several styles. His tragedy of +<i>Aristodemo</i>, takes the lead among the most admirable +specimens of the Italian drama. He died at Milan in the +year 1829.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> Monsignor Lodovico di Breme, son +of the Marquis of the same name, a Piedmontese, an intimate +friend of the celebrated Madame de Staël, of Mons. Sismondi, +&c, and a man of elevated sentiments, brilliant spirit, high +cultivation, and accomplishments.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12" +class="footnote">[12]</a> Don Pietro Borsieri, son of a +judge of the Court of Appeal at Milan, of which, previous to his +receiving sentence of death, he was one of the state +secretaries. He is the author of several little works and +literary essays, all written with singular energy and chasteness +of language.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> La Signora Angiola.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> “Venezianina adolescente +sbirra?”</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15" +class="footnote">[15]</a> Tremerello, or the little +trembler.</p> +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16" +class="footnote">[16]</a> Per capire che le lucciole non +erano lanterne.</p> +<p>“To know that glowworms are not lanterns.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17" +class="footnote">[17]</a> Buzzolai, a kind of small +loaf.</p> +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18" +class="footnote">[18]</a> Odoardo Briche, a young man of +truly animated genius, and the most amiable disposition. He +was the son of Mons. Briche, member of the Constituent Assembly +in France, who for thirty years past, had selected Milan as his +adopted country.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> Respecting Pietro Borsieri, +Lodovico di Breme, and Count Porro, mention has already been +made. The Count Federico Confalonieri, of an illustrious +family of Milan, a man of immense intellect, and the firmest +courage, was also the most zealous promoter of popular +institutions in Lombardy. The Austrian Government, becoming +aware of the aversion entertained by the Count for the foreign +yoke which pressed so heavily upon his country, had him seized +and handed over to the special commissions, which sat in the +years 1822 and 1823. By these he was condemned to the +severest of all punishments—imprisonment for life, in the +fortress of Spielberg, where, during six months of each weary +year, he is compelled by the excess of his sufferings to lie +stretched upon a wretched pallet, more dead than alive.</p> +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20" +class="footnote">[20]</a> The Count Camillo Laderchi, a +member of one of the most distinguished families of Faenza, and +formerly prefect in the ex-kingdom of Italy.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> Gian Domenico Romagnosi, a native +of Piacenza, was for some years Professor of Criminal Law, in the +University of Pavia. He is the author of several +philosophical works, but more especially of the <i>Genesi del +Diritto Penale</i>, which spread his reputation both throughout +and beyond Italy. Though at an advanced age, he was +repeatedly imprisoned and examined on the charge of having +belonged to a lodge of Freemasons; a charge advanced against him +by an ungrateful Tyrolese, who had initiated him into, and +favoured him as a fellow-member of, the same society, and who had +the audacity actually to sit as judge upon his +<i>friend’s</i> trial.</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> The Count Giovanni Arrivabene, of +Mantua, who, being in possession of considerable fortune, made an +excellent use of it, both as regarded private acts of +benevolence, and the maintenance of a school of mutual +instruction. But having more recently fallen under the +displeasure of the Government, he abandoned Italy, and during his +exile employed himself in writing, with rare impartiality, and +admirable judgment, a work which must be considered interesting +to all engaged in alleviating the ills of humanity, both here and +in other countries. It is entitled, <i>Delle Societa di +Publica Beneficenza in Londra</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> The Capitano Rezia, one of the +best artillery officers in the Italian army, son of Professor +Rezia, the celebrated anatomist, whose highly valuable +preparations and specimens are to be seen in the Anatomical +Museum at Pavia.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> The Professor Ressi, who +occupied, during several years, the chair of Political Economy in +the University at Pavia. He is the author of a respectable +work, published under the title of <i>Economica della Specie +Umana</i>. Having unfortunately attracted the suspicions of +the Austrian police, he was seized and committed to a dungeon, in +which he died, about a year from the period of his arrest, and +while the special examinations of the alleged conspirators were +being held.</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> Where charity and love are, God +is present.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26" +class="footnote">[26]</a> The Devil! the Devil!</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY TEN YEARS' IMPRISONMENT***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2792-h.htm or 2792-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/9/2792 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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