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 i Xi
 
 MY PRISONS, 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 SILVIO PELLICO 
 
 OF 
 
 SALUZZO. 
 
 Homo aatuB de muUere, brevi vivena tempore, repletui multis miseriis. 
 
 Job. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 PRINTED BY CHARLES FOLSOM. 
 
 M DCCC XXXVI.
 
 Entered according to the act of Congress in the year 1836, by 
 Andrews Norton, in the Clerk's office of the District Court 
 of the District of Massachusetts.
 
 EDITOR'S NOTE./^ " '"' 
 
 The "Prisons" of Silvio Pellico will hold 
 a permanent place in the literature of the world ; 
 and a faithful translation must be a valuable 
 addition to that of any country. This book 
 was pubhshed in 1832, and has spread rapidly 
 throughout Europe, in many editions of the 
 original and of translations into various lan- 
 guages. It is a precious fragment of mental 
 and moral autobiography, connected with a nar- 
 rative of great interest. Perhaps no writer has 
 ever laid open his heart with less artifice or 
 vanity than its author. It exhibits an individual, 
 gentle, refined, a man of feeling and of genius, 
 made better by severe and long-continued suf- 
 fering, exercising under it the affections and 
 virtues of a Christian, bearing it with religious 
 fortitude and hope, and alleviating it by con- 
 stant intellectual occupations ; so that after ten 
 years of cruel imprisonment, during which he 
 
 13G0155
 
 vi EDITOR'S NOTE. 
 
 was cut off from almost all the common means 
 of improvement, he has returned to the world, 
 to do honor to humanity, strengthened in virtue, 
 with the powers of his mind in full action, and 
 prepared to be a moral teacher of his fellow 
 men. 
 
 The style of thought and language is distin- 
 guished by transparent simplicity, candor, moral 
 purity, quiet self-command, and freedom from 
 angry feeling and from ostentation. One great 
 charm of the work is the reliance of its author 
 upon the artless expression of sincere rehgious 
 sentiments and kind affections, as having power 
 over the hearts of his readers ; a reliance which 
 has been justified by the event ; for the favor 
 with which his book has been received is one 
 of the most gratifying indications of the state 
 of our times. 
 
 Soon after the appearance of the original, the 
 following translation was commenced from in- 
 terest in the work, without a view to publica- 
 tion. When completed, however, it was placed 
 at my disposal ; and it being understood that 
 Signer Maroncelli was desirous of pubHshing
 
 EDITOR'S NOTE. VU 
 
 in this country a translation of Pellico's work 
 in connexion with a translation of his own 
 " Additions," this was offered to and has been 
 accepted by him. 
 
 I have added the few marginal notes in this 
 volume. The short accounts of different in- 
 dividuals mentioned have been taken principally 
 from the notes to a London edition of the 
 original, which appear to be the work of some 
 well-informed writer. 
 
 A. N. 
 
 Cambridge, Januanj, 1836.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Have I ^M-itten these ^Memoirs to grati- 
 fy my vanity by speaking of myself? I 
 hope not. And as far as one may judge 
 in his o^^Ti case, it appears to me that 
 I have had better motives : — that of 
 contributing to the comfort of the unhap- 
 py, by making known the e^ils I have 
 borne, and the consolations I have found at- 
 tainable under the greatest misfortunes ; — 
 that of bearing witness, that, in the midst 
 of my long sufferings, I have not found 
 human nature so degraded, so unworthy 
 of indulgence, so deficient in excellent
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 characters, as it is commonly represent- 
 ed ; — that of inviting noble hearts to love 
 much, to hate no human being, to feel 
 irreconcilable hatred only towards mean 
 deceit, pusillanimity, perfidy, and all moral 
 degradation ; — that of repeating a truth 
 well known, but often forgotten : that both 
 Religion and Philosophy require an ener- 
 getic will and calm judgment ; and that 
 without the union of these qualities there 
 can be neither justice, nor dignity, nor 
 strength of prmciple.
 
 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On Friday the 13th of October, 1820, I was 
 arrested at Milan, and carried to the prison of 
 Santa Margherita. It was three o'clock in the 
 afternoon. I was immediately subjected to a 
 long examination, which was continued through 
 several days. But of this I shall say nothing. 
 Like a lover ill-treated by his mistress, and 
 manfully resolved to keep himself aloof from 
 her, I shall leave politics where they are, and 
 speak of other things. 
 
 At nine in the evening of that miserable Fri- 
 day, the notary consigned me to the gaoler, 
 who conducted me to the room destined for me. 
 He civilly requested me to give up to him (to 
 be restored in due time) my watch, my money, 
 and every tiling else that I had in my pockets, 
 and respectfully wished me a good night. 
 
 " Stop, dear Sir," said I to him, " I have 
 not dined to-day ; let something be brought me." 
 1
 
 2 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " Immediately ; the eating-house is near, and 
 you will find the wine good, Sir." 
 
 " I do not drink wine." 
 
 At this answer, Signor Angiolino looked a- 
 larmed, and hoped that I was jesting. Gaolers 
 who sell wine have a horror of an abstemious 
 prisoner. 
 
 " Indeed, I do not drink it." 
 
 "I am sorry for you ; you will suffer doubly 
 from solitude ..." 
 
 Perceiving that I did not change my deter- 
 mination, he went out, and in less than half an 
 hour I had my dinner. I ate a few mouthfuls, 
 swallowed a glass of water, and was left alone. 
 
 My room was upon the lower floor, and looked 
 out upon the court. There were cells on each 
 side, above, and opposite. I leaned on the win- 
 dow, and listened for some time to the passing 
 and repassing of the gaolers, and to the wild 
 singing of several of the prisoners, 
 
 I reflected : " A century ago, this was a mon- 
 astery ; the holy and penitent virgins who dwelt 
 here never imagined, that at this day their cells 
 would resound no more with the sighs of women 
 and with pious hymns, but with blasphemies and 
 indecent songs, and would contain men of all
 
 MY PRISONS. 3 
 
 kinds, the greater part destined to hard labor, 
 or to the gallows. And a century hence who 
 will breathe in these cells .? Oh ! rapid flight of 
 time ! Oh ! perpetual change of things ! Can 
 he who reflects upon it be distressed, if fortune 
 ceases to smile upon him, if he is buried in 
 prison, and threatened with the gibbet > Yes- 
 terday I was one of the happiest of men ; to- 
 day I no longer possess any of the joys which 
 gladdened my life ; liberty, intercourse with my 
 friends, hope itself is gone. No ; it would be 
 folly to flatter myself I shall go hence only 
 to be thrown into some more horrible den, or 
 to be consigned to the executioner. Well ! the 
 day after my death, it will be the same as if I 
 had expired in a palace, and had been borne to 
 the tomb with the greatest honors." 
 
 These reflections upon the rapid flight of time 
 strengthened my soul. But my thoughts turned 
 to my father, my mother, my two brothers, my 
 two sisters, and another family, which I loved 
 as if it were my own ; and my philosophical 
 reasoning was of no avail, I was overcome, and 
 wept like a child.
 
 MY PRISONS 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Three months before, I had been at Turin, 
 and had seen again, after several years' separa- 
 tion, my dear parents, one of my brothers, and 
 my two sisters. Our whole family loved each 
 other so much ! No child was ever more loaded 
 with benefits by his father and mother than my- 
 self. Oh ! how was I touched by finding my 
 parents more changed by age than I had antici- 
 pated ! How much I then wished never more to 
 leave them, but to devote myself to solacing 
 their old age by my cares ! How it grieved me, 
 during the few days that I remained at Turin, 
 to have other duties which led me from my pa- 
 ternal roof, and to give so small a portion of my 
 time to my beloved relations. My poor mother 
 said with melancholy tenderness, "Ah! our Sil- 
 vio has not come to Turin to see «s ! " The 
 morning that I left them for Milan was most 
 sad. My father got into the carriage with me, 
 and, having accompanied me for a mile, return- 
 ed alone. I looked back to see him ; I wept, 
 kissed a ring which my mother had given me, 
 and never felt such anguish at parting from my
 
 MYPRISONS. 5 
 
 family. Having no great faith in presentiments, 
 I was astonished that I could not overcome my 
 grief, and was forced to say Avith apprehension, 
 "Whence this extraordinary disquietude?" It 
 seemed to me as if I foresaw some great mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 Now, in prison, I remembered that apprehen- 
 sion and anguish. I remembered all the words 
 I had heard from my parents three months 
 before. That lament of my mother, "Ah! our 
 Silvio has not come to Turin to see us ! " fell 
 heavy on my heart. I reproached myself for 
 not having been a thousand times more tender 
 towards them. — I loved them so much, and I 
 had expressed this to them so feebly ! I was 
 never more to see them, and I had satisfied 
 myself so little with the contemplation of their 
 dear countenances, and I had been so sparing 
 in the expressions of my love ! — These thoughts 
 grieved my soul. 
 
 I shut the window, and walked for an hour, 
 believing I should have no rest through the 
 night. But I went to bed, and weariness made 
 mc sleep.
 
 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 To awake during the first night in prison is 
 horrible. " Is it possible ? " (said I, recollecting 
 where I was,) " is it possible ? Am I here ? Is 
 it not a dream ? Was I then arrested yesterday? 
 Was it yesterday that I endured that long ex- 
 amination, which must continue to-morrow, and 
 who knows when it will end ? Was it last even- 
 ing that I wept so much before going to sleep, 
 as I thought of my parents ? " 
 
 The repose, the perfect silence, the short sleep, 
 which had restored my mental strength, seemed 
 to have increased a hundred fold my capacity 
 of suffering. In this total absence of any thing 
 to distract my thoughts, the distress of all my 
 friends, and particularly of my father and mother, 
 when they should hear of my arrest, was pictured 
 in my imagination with incredible force. 
 
 " At this moment," said I, " they are yet 
 sleeping tranquilly, or if awake, are perhaps 
 thinking of me with pleasure, having no appre- 
 hension of the place where I am ! Oh ! happy 
 would it be for them, if God should take them
 
 MYPRISONS. 7 
 
 from the world before the news of my misfortune 
 reaches Turin ! Who will give them strength 
 to sustain this blow ? " 
 
 A voice from within seemed to reply to me : 
 '* He, whom all the afflicted invoke, and love, and 
 feel within them ! He, who gave strength to a 
 mother, to follow her son to Golgotha, and to 
 stand under his cross ! The friend of the un- 
 happy, the friend of mortals ! " 
 
 This was the first moment that religion tri- 
 umphed in my heart ; and I owed this blessing 
 to filial love. 
 
 Hitherto, without being hostile to religion, 
 I had felt its influence but little and imperfect- 
 ly. The common objections, which are brought 
 against it, had not appeared to me of much 
 weight, and yet a thousand sophistical doubts 
 had weakened my faith. These doubts had not 
 for a long time related to the existence of God ; 
 and I had continually repeated to myself, if God 
 exists, it necessarily follows from his justice, 
 that there is another life for man who suffers 
 in a world so unjust ; hence follows the great 
 reasonableness of aspiring to the blessings of 
 that second life ; hence follows a worship con- 
 sisting of love to God and our neighbour, a per-
 
 8 MY PRISONS. 
 
 petual striving to ennoble ourselves by generous 
 sacrifices. I had for a long time gone on re- 
 peating all this, and I had added : " And what 
 is Christianity, but this perpetual aspiration after 
 perfection ? " And Christianity, in its essential 
 character, being so pure, so philosophical, so 
 unimpeachable, I marvelled that an age should 
 have arrived, when philosophy should dare to 
 say, "Henceforth I will fill its place." "And 
 in what manner wouldst thou fill its place? By 
 teaching vice ?" "No, surely." "By teach- 
 ing virtue .'' That will be the love of God and 
 our neighbour. It will be precisely what Chris- 
 tianity teaches." 
 
 Although I had thus felt for several years, 
 I had avoided the conclusion, " Be then con- 
 sistent ! Be a Christian ! Be no longer offended 
 by abuses ! no longer dwell perversely on some 
 difficult doctrine of the church, since the prin- 
 cipal point is this, and it is most plain : Love 
 God and your neighbour." 
 
 In prison I determined at last to embrace this 
 conclusion, and I did embrace it. I hesitated 
 somewhat from the fear, that, if any one should 
 happen to learn that I was more religious than 
 formerly, he might think he had a right to con-
 
 MY PRISONS. 9 
 
 sider me as a bigot, made abject by misfortune. 
 But, knowing that I was neither bigoted nor 
 abject, I felt complacency in disregarding the 
 possible blame I did not deserve ; and I resolved 
 from that time forward to be, and to avow my- 
 self, a Christian.
 
 10 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was some time before this became my set- 
 tled resolution, but I began to meditate upon 
 it, and in some degree to decide upon it, dur- 
 ing the first night after my arrest. Towards 
 morning my agitation was calmed, and I was 
 astonished at the change. I again thought of 
 my parents and of my other beloved friends ; 
 I despaired no longer of their strength of mind, 
 and I was consoled by the recollection of the 
 virtuous sentiments which I had known them to 
 possess. 
 
 Why was I so agitated before, when I thought 
 of their distress ? and now, why had I so much 
 confidence in their fortitude ? Was this happy 
 change a miracle ? or was it a natural effect of 
 my renewed trust in God ? And of what con- 
 sequence is it whether we call the real, sublime 
 benefits of religion miracles or not ? 
 
 At midnight two secondini (under-gaolers are 
 so called) had been to visit me, and had found me 
 in very bad humor. At dawn they returned, 
 and found me serene and unaffectedly cheerful.
 
 MY PRISONS. 11 
 
 <' Last night, Signore, you had the look of a 
 basilisk," said Tirola ; "now it is quite differ- 
 ent, and I am glad of it ; it is a sign you are not 
 (pardon the expression) a rogue ; because rogues 
 (I am old in the business and my observations 
 have some Aveight), rogues are more enraged 
 the second day than the first. Do you take 
 snuff ? " 
 
 " I am not in the habit of taking it, but I will 
 not refuse your kindness. As to your observa- 
 tion, excuse me, but it is not worthy of so sa- 
 gacious a person as you appear to be. If I 
 have not still the look of a basilisk this morn- 
 ing, may not the change be a proof of folly, 
 of readiness to deceive myself, and to dream 
 that my freedom is at hand ? " 
 
 " I might suspect that, Signore, if you were 
 in prison for any other cause; but, as to affairs 
 of state, it is not possible in these days to sup- 
 pose that they will end so speedily, and you are 
 not fool enough to imagine it. Pardon me, Sir ; 
 will you take another pinch ^ " 
 
 " Thank you. But how can you have so mer- 
 ry a face, always living as you do among the 
 nnhappy ? " 
 
 " You will think it is from indifference to the
 
 12 MY PRISONS. 
 
 sufferings of others. To say the truth, I do not 
 myself well know how it is ; but I assure you, 
 that it often gives me pain to see them weep ; 
 and sometimes I pretend to be merry, that the 
 poor prisoners may smile too." 
 
 " A thought occurs to me, my good man, which 
 I never had before ; — that one may be a gaoler, 
 and yet be made of very good materials." 
 
 *' One's profession is nothing, Signore. Be- 
 yond that arch which you see across the court, 
 there is another court and other prisons, all for 
 women. They are, if I must say so, women of 
 bad character. Well, Signore, there are an- 
 gels among them as to the heart. And, if you 
 were a secondino ..." 
 
 " I ? " (and I burst into a laugh.) 
 
 Tirola was disconcerted by my laugh, and did 
 not go on. Perhaps he intended to say, that if 
 I had been a secondino, it would have been dif- 
 ficult for me not to attach myself to some one 
 of those unfortunate beings. 
 
 He asked me what I would have for break- 
 fast. He went out, and a few minutes afterwards 
 brought me some coffee. 
 
 I looked steadily in his face, with a significant 
 smile, which meant, " Will you carry a letter
 
 MY PRISONS. 13 
 
 for me to another unhappy man, to my friend 
 Piero ? " * And he answered me with another 
 smile, which seemed to say, " No, Signore ; and 
 if you address yourself to any one of my com- 
 panions, who says yes to you, be sure he will 
 betray you." 
 
 I am not certain that he understood me, or 
 that I understood him ; but I know, that I was 
 ten times upon the point of asking him for a 
 piece of paper and a pencil, and dared not, be- 
 cause there was something in his eyes which 
 seemed to tell me not to confide in any one, 
 and less in others than in him. 
 
 • Piero Maroncelli.
 
 14 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 If Tirola, with his expression of good humor, 
 had not also had something knavish in his looks, 
 if he had had a more ingenuous physiognomy, I 
 should have yielded to the temptation of making 
 him my ambassador ; and perhaps, if my letter 
 had reached my friend in time, it might have 
 enabled him to repair some mistake, and thus, 
 perhaps, have saved, not himself, poor fellow, 
 for too much was already discovered respecting 
 him, but several others and myself. 
 
 Patience ! it was destined that things should 
 be as they were. 
 
 I was summoned again to the examination ; 
 and this lasted all that day, and several others, 
 with no interval except that of dinner. 
 
 While the examination continued, the days 
 flew rapidly by, so great was the mental exer- 
 cise in the interminable replies to such various 
 queries, and in collecting my thoughts at the 
 dinner hour and in the evening, in order to 
 reflect upon all that I had been asked, and what
 
 MY PRISONS. 15 
 
 I had answered, and upon all the subjects, about 
 which I should probably yet be interrogated. 
 
 At the end of the first week, a painful cir- 
 cumstance occurred. My poor friend Piero, as 
 desirous as I was, that we should have some 
 communication, sent me a letter, and made use, 
 not of one of the secondini, but of an unfortu- 
 nate prisoner, who came into our rooms with 
 them to perform some menial services. He was 
 a man between sixty and seventy years old, con- 
 demned to I know not how many months of 
 imprisonment. 
 
 With a pin, which I had, I pricked my fin- 
 ger, wrote a few lines in reply with my blood, 
 and gave it to the messenger. He had the ill 
 fortune to be discovered and searched ; my letter 
 was found upon him, and, if I mistake not, he 
 was beaten. I heard loud cries, which seemed 
 to me to come from the miserable old man, and 
 I saw liim no more. 
 
 When I was called to the examination, I shud- 
 dered at the sight of my letter scrawled with 
 blood, which, thanks to Heaven, contained no- 
 thing that could injure any one, and had the 
 appearance of being a simple salutation. I was 
 asked, with what I had drawn blood, the pin was
 
 16 MY PRISONSv 
 
 taken from me, and we were laughed at as out- 
 witted. Ah ! I did not laugh ; I could not re- 
 move from before my eyes the image of the old 
 messenger. I would willingly have suffered any 
 punishment, provided they would have pardoned 
 him ; and when those cries reached me, which 
 I supposed to be his, my heart was filled with 
 anguish. 
 
 In vain I repeatedly asked the gaoler and the 
 secondini about him. They shook their heads 
 and said, " He has paid dear for it ; he will 
 never do so again ; he enjoys a little more rest." 
 They would not explain themselves further. 
 
 Did they mean that the unhappy man was 
 closely imprisoned, or did they speak thus be- 
 cause he had died under the beating, or in con- 
 sequence of it ? 
 
 One day I thought I saw him on the other 
 side of the court under the portico, with a fag- 
 got of wood upon his shoulders. My heart beat, 
 as if I had seen a brother.
 
 MY PRISONS. 17 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When I was no longer tormented by the 
 
 examination, and had no longer any thing to 
 
 occupy my days, I bitterly felt the weight of 
 
 solitude. 
 
 I was indeed permitted to have a Bible and 
 
 Dante, and the library of the gaoler was placed 
 at my disposal, consisting of some romances of 
 Scuderi, Piazzi, and others still worse ; but my 
 mind was too much agitated to be able to ap- 
 ply itself to any reading whatever. Every day 
 I learnt a canto of Dante by heart ; but this 
 exercise was so mechanical, that, while I was 
 performing it, I thought less of the verses than 
 of my misfortunes. The same was the case 
 whatever I read, excepting occasionally some 
 passages in the Bible. This divine book, which 
 I had always loved much, even when I thought 
 myself an unbeliever, I now studied with more 
 respect than ever. Nevertheless, in spite of my 
 will, I often read it with my thoughts wander- 
 ing, and witliout receiving its meaning. But by 
 degrees I became nble to meditate npoii it more 
 intently, and with constantly increasing interest. 
 2
 
 18 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Such reading never produced in me the small- 
 est tendency to bigotry ; I mean to that igno- 
 rant devotion, which renders one pusillanimous 
 or fanatical. But it taught me to love God 
 and man, to desire more and more earnestly 
 the reign of justice, and to abhor sin, while I 
 pardoned the sinner. Christianity, instead of 
 destroying any good dispositions, which philoso- 
 phy had formed in me, confirmed and animated 
 them by more elevated and more powerful mo- 
 tives. 
 
 One day, having read that we ought to pray 
 continually, and that true prayer is not the mut- 
 tering over of many words, after the manner of 
 the heathen, but consists in adoring God with 
 sincerity, both in words and in actions, and in 
 so living as to make them the fulfilment of his 
 holy will, I proposed to myself to begin in earn- 
 est this unceasing prayer ; that is, never to 
 indulge a thought not inspired by the desire of 
 conforming myself to the laws of God. 
 
 The forms of prayer I used in adoration were 
 always few ; not because I undervalue forms, 
 (on the contrary I believe them to be very use- 
 ful, to some more, to others less so, in fixing 
 the attention in worship,) but because I feel my-
 
 MY PRISONS. 19 
 
 self so constituted as to be unable to repeat 
 many, without having my thoughts distracted, 
 and forgetting the duty in which I am engaged. 
 
 This purpose of always considering myself as 
 in the presence of God, instead of being a fa- 
 tiguing effort of mind, and exciting my fears, 
 was delightful to me. By remembering that God 
 is always near us, that He is in us, or rather 
 that we are in Him, solitude became daily less 
 terrible to me. " Have I not the most excel- 
 lent society ? " I used to say. And I became 
 cheerful ; I sung and whistled with pleasure 
 and tender emotion. 
 
 " Well ! " thought I, " might not a fever have 
 seized me, and carried me to the tomb .'' All 
 my de;ii' friends, who would have given them- 
 selves up to grief for my loss, would yet have 
 gradually become resigned to seeing me no 
 more. Instead of a tomb, a prison swallows 
 me up ; ought I not to believe that God will 
 afford them equal strength ? " 
 
 My heart offered the most fervent prayers for 
 them, sometimes accompanied with tears ; but 
 even my tears were mingled witii agreeable feel- 
 ings. 1 had full faith that God would sustain 
 both tliem and inc. I did not deceive myself
 
 20 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It is much more agreeable to be at liber- 
 ty than to be in prison. Who can doubt it ? 
 Yet, even in the miseries of a prison, life may 
 pass not without enjoyment, when we think that 
 God is present with us, that the pleasures of 
 the world are fleeting, and that true good is to 
 be found in the conscience, not in outward ob- 
 jects. In less than a month, I had settled my 
 course of action, I will not say entirely, but in 
 a good degree. I perceived, that as I did not 
 choose to purchase impunity by the ruin of oth- 
 ers, my fate must be the gibbet, or a long im- 
 prisonment. It was necessary that I should re- 
 concile myself to it. " I shall breathe," said 
 I, " as long as I am permitted, and when my 
 breath is taken from me, it will be with me as 
 with all who labor under disease, when their 
 last moment arrives ; I shall die." 
 
 I endeavoured to complain of nothing, and to 
 give my soul every enjoyment in my power. 
 My most common pleasure was, to renew the 
 remembrance of the blessings which had glad-
 
 MY PRISONS. 21 
 
 dened my days ; the best of fathers, the best 
 of mothers, excellent brothers and sisters, my 
 various friends, a good education, the love of 
 letters, &c. To whom had more happiness been 
 granted than to me ? Why should I not thank 
 God for it, although it was now tempered with 
 misfortune ? Sometimes, when I made this enu- 
 meration, my heart was softened, and I wept for 
 a moment ; but my courage and cheerfulness 
 soon returned. 
 
 I had very early acquired a friend. It was 
 not the gaoler, nor one of the secondinij nor 
 any of my examiners. Yet I speak of a hu- 
 man being. Who was it ? A boy five or six 
 years old, who was deaf and dumb. His father 
 and mother were thieves, and had suffered the 
 penalty of the law. The wretched orphan was 
 maintained by the police, with several other chil- 
 dren in similar circumstances. They all lived in 
 a room in front of mine, and at certain hours 
 their door was opened, that they might come out 
 to take the air in the court. 
 
 The deaf and dumb boy came under my win- 
 dow, smiled at me, and gesticulated. I threw 
 him a large piece of bread ; he took it, jump- 
 ed for joy, ran to his companions, gave some
 
 22 MY PRISONS. 
 
 of it to each of them, and then came to eat 
 his portion of it near my window, expressing his 
 gratitude by the smile of his beautiful eyes. 
 
 The other children looked at me from a dis- 
 tance, but did not dare to approach ; the deaf 
 and dumb child had a great sympathy for me, 
 and not wholly from interested motives. Some- 
 times he knew not what to do with the bread 
 that I threw to him, and made signs to me that 
 he and his companions had eaten enough, and 
 could eat no more. If he saw a secondino com- 
 ing into my room, he gave him the bread to 
 take back to me. Although he then expected 
 nothing from me, he continued to play about the 
 window with a charming grace, delighted by my 
 looking at him. A secondino once permitted the 
 boy to come into my cell. He had scarcely 
 entered, when he ran to embrace my knees, ut- 
 tering a cry of joy. I took him in my arms, 
 and the eagerness with which he loaded me 
 with caresses is indescribable. How much love 
 was in that dear little soul ! How I wished 
 I could educate him, and save him from the de- 
 graded state in which he was. 
 
 I never knew his name ; he himself did not 
 know that he had one. He was always happy ;
 
 M Y P R I S O N S . 23 
 
 I never saw him cry but once, when he was 
 beaten, I know not why, by the gaoler. What 
 a strange thing ! To live in such a place seems 
 the height of misfortune ; yet that boy certainly 
 enjoyed as much happiness, as he could have 
 done at his age, had he been the son of a 
 prince. I reflected on this, and learned, that 
 it is possible to make our state of mind inde- 
 pendent of place. Let us govern the imagina- 
 tion, and we shall be well almost everywhere. 
 A day is soon passed, and at night, if we lie 
 down without hunger, or acute pain, of what 
 consequence is it whether our bed is between 
 the walls of what is called a prison, or of what 
 is called a house or a palace ? 
 
 Excellent reasoning ! but how is the imagina- 
 tion to be governed ? I have tried to do it, 
 and truly I have sometimes thought I succeed- 
 ed wonderfully ; but at other times it resumed 
 its tyranny, and, vexed with myself, I was as- 
 tonished at my weakness.
 
 M MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " In my unhappy condition, I am so far fortu- 
 nate," said I, " that a cell has been given me on 
 the ground floor, looking out upon this court, 
 where that dear boy, with whom I have so much 
 pleasure in talking by signs, can come within 
 a few steps of me. Wonderful human intelli- 
 gence ! How many things we say to each other, 
 by means of the infinitely various expressions 
 of the eyes and other features ! How graceful 
 are his motions, when I smile upon him ! How 
 he corrects them, when he sees that they dis- 
 please me ! How he understands that I love 
 him, when he caresses or makes a present to one 
 of his companions ! No one in the world imag- 
 ines it ; yet I, standing at my window, am able 
 to be a kind of instructer to that poor little crea- 
 ture. By repeating our interchange of signs, we 
 shall perfect the communication of our ideas. 
 The more he perceives that he is instructed and 
 improved by me, the more he will be attached 
 to me. I shall be to him the genius of reason 
 and goodness ; he will learn to confide to me
 
 MY PRISONS. 25 
 
 his sorrows, his pleasures, his desires ; I shall 
 learn how to console, to elevate, to direct him 
 in all his conduct. Who knows whether, my 
 fate remaining undecided from month to month, I 
 may not be left to grow old here ? Who knows 
 but this boy may grow up under my eyes, and 
 may be employed in some service in this house ? 
 With so much talent as he shows, who can tell 
 what he may become .'' Alas ! nothing more 
 than an excellent secotidhio, or something simi7 
 lar. Well, shall I not have done a good deed, 
 i£ I shall have contributed to inspire him with 
 the desire of obtaining the approbation of good 
 men and his own, and to give him the habit of 
 affectionate sentiments .'' " 
 
 This soliloquy was veiy natural. 1 had always 
 felt a great interest in children, and the office 
 of an instructor appeared to me sublime. I had 
 filled this office for some years towards Giacomo 
 and Giulio Porro,* two young boys of great 
 promise, whom I loved, and always shall love, 
 as my sons. God knows how many times I 
 thought of thcin in my prison ! how much I 
 was distressed tliat 1 could not complete their 
 
 •Tho Hons of Count Luigi Porro, who is mentionod nf- 
 Icrwards.
 
 26 MY PRISONS. 
 
 education ! how ardently I desired, that they 
 might find another master, who would feel equal 
 affection for them ! Sometimes I exclaimed to 
 myself ; " What a wretched parody this is ! 
 Instead of Giacomo and Giulio, youths adorned 
 with all that nature and fortune can give, I have 
 for my pupil a poor deaf and dumb child, in rags, 
 the son of a thief! . . . who at the very best Avill 
 become a secondino, or, in less elegant language, 
 9, shirro." 
 
 These reflections confounded and disturbed 
 me. But scarcely did I hear the shrill cry of 
 my little mute before my blood was stirred, as 
 a father's, who hears the voice of his child. And 
 that cry and his appearance dissipated every 
 thought of his meanness. " And is it his fault," 
 thought I, "if he is ragged, and imperfect in his 
 senses, and belongs to a race of thieves ? A 
 human soul at the age of innocence is always 
 to be respected." Thus I regarded him every 
 day with more affection. It appeared to me that 
 he increased in intelligence, and I was confirmed 
 in the agreeable project of applying myself to 
 his improvement ; and, fancying all possibilities, 
 I thought that perhaps I should one day be re- 
 leased from prison, and might find means to 
 place this boy in the school for the deaf and
 
 MY PRISONS. 2? 
 
 dumb, and thus open to him the way to a hap- 
 pier fortune than that of being a sbirro. 
 
 One day, while occupied thus delightfully with 
 projects for his good, two secotidini came to take 
 me away. 
 
 "You must change your lodging, Signore." 
 
 "What do you mean ? " 
 
 " It is ordered that you should be removed 
 to another room." 
 
 " Why .? " 
 
 " Some other great bird has been caught, 
 and this being the best room . . . you under- 
 stand ..." 
 
 " I understand ; this is the first resting-place 
 for new comers." 
 
 And they carried me to a room on the op- 
 posite side of the court, but, alas ! not on the 
 lower floor, nor where I could converse with 
 the little mute. Passing through the court, I 
 saw that dear boy seated on the ground, con- 
 founded, and sad ; he comprehended that he was 
 about to lose me. In an instant he got up, and 
 ran to meet mo. The secondiin would have driv- 
 en him away ; I took him in my arms, and, dirty 
 as he was, I kissed him tenderly again and again, 
 and separated myself from him — should I tell 
 it '■ — my eyes streaming with tears.
 
 28 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 My poor heart, loving so readily and so warm- 
 ly, to how many separations hast thou been 
 already doomed ! This was certainly not the 
 least sorrowful ; and I felt it the more, as my 
 new lodging was very dismal. It was a mis- 
 erable chamber, dark and gloomy, with paper 
 instead of glass in the window, and the walls 
 polluted with vile, colored daubings, I dare not 
 say of what. In the places which were not 
 painted, were inscriptions. Many simply told 
 the name and the country of some unhappy 
 man, with the date of the sad day of his arrest. 
 Others added exclamations against false friends, 
 against the writer himself, against a mistress, 
 against the judge, &c. Some were compends 
 of autobiography, and some contained moral 
 sentences. There were these words of Pascal : 
 
 " Let those who attack relisrion, at least learn 
 what it is, before attacking it. If this religion 
 boasted of having a clear, unveiled view of God, 
 it would be attacking it to say, that ive see tw- 
 ihing in the world which manifests Him toith such 
 distinctness. But since it says, on the contrary,
 
 MY PRISONS. 29 
 
 that men are in darkness and removed from 
 God, that he hides himself from their knowl- 
 edge, and that even the name he gives him- 
 self in the Scriptures is Dens absconditus (the 
 hidden God) ; what advantage can they gain, 
 when, with the negligence which they profess in 
 the search after truth, they exclaim, that no- 
 thing shows them the truth ? " 
 
 Underneath were written these words from 
 the same author : 
 
 " This is not a point of slight interest, which 
 concerns a person indifferent to us ; it concerns 
 ourselves, and our whole existence. The im- 
 mortality of the soul is something so important 
 to us, and touches us so deeply, that we must 
 have lost all feeling, to be indifferent to the 
 knowledge of what relates to it." 
 
 In another place was : 
 
 "■ I bless the prison, since it has made me 
 know the ingratitude of men, my own misery, 
 and the goodness of God." 
 
 By the side of these humble words, were the 
 most violent and haughty imprecations, by one, 
 who called himself an atheist, and who vented 
 his passion against God, as if he had forgotten 
 that he had said there was no God.
 
 30 MY PRISONS. 
 
 After a column of such blasphemies, followed 
 another, reviling those mean spirits, so he call- 
 ed them, whom the misfortune of imprisonment 
 made religious. 
 
 I showed this wickedness to one of the se- 
 condini, and asked him who had written it. " I 
 am glad to have found that writing," said he ; 
 " there are so many of them, and I have so 
 little time to look for them ! " 
 
 And without saying more, he began to scratch 
 the wall with a knife to erase it. 
 
 " Why do you do that ? " said I. 
 
 " Because the poor devil who wrote it, being 
 condemned to die for premeditated murder, re- 
 pented, and sent to beg me to do him this kind- 
 ness." 
 
 "God pardon him ! " exclaimed I. " What 
 was the murder ? " 
 
 ^' Not being able to kill his enemy, he avenged 
 himself by killing his son, the most beautiful boy 
 in the world." 
 
 I shuddered. — Can ferocity go so far .'' And 
 such a monster held the insulting language of 
 a man superior to all human weakness ! To 
 kill an innocent being ! a child !
 
 MY PRISONS. 31 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Ix my new room, so dark and so filthy, de- 
 prived of the company of the dear deaf and 
 dumb child, I was oppressed by sadness. I re- 
 mained many houi"s at the window, which looked 
 out upon a gallery, and beyond the gallery I saw 
 the extremity of the court and the window of 
 my former room. Who had succeeded me ? I 
 saw there a man walking about rapidly, like one 
 full of agitation. Two or three days afterwards, 
 I observed that he was furnished with materials 
 for writing, and then he remained sitting all day 
 at the table. 
 
 At last I recognised him. He went out of 
 his room, accompanied by the gaoler ; he was 
 going to the examination. It was Melchiorre 
 Gioja.* 
 
 * Melchiorre Gioja, born at i'lacentia, a distinguished 
 writer, particularly on subjects of |)olitical economy. In 
 consequence of suspicions of illegal correspondence, he was 
 imprisoned in 1820 for nine months. His principal works 
 are, jViwro Pros/jrtto dflle Sricnze Economirlie, (A New View 
 of the Economical Sciences), TraUato del Mcriio c ddlc
 
 32 MY PRISONS. 
 
 My heart was oppressed. " Thou, too, emi- 
 nent man, art thou here ! " (He was more for- 
 tunate than myself. After some months' deten- 
 tion he was set at liberty.) 
 
 The sight of any good being consoles me, it 
 excites my affections, it makes me think. Ah ! 
 to think, and to love, are great blessings I I 
 would have given my life to save Gioja from 
 prison ; yet to see him was a comfort to me. 
 
 After having watched him for a long time, 
 conjecturing from his motions whether his mind 
 were tranquil or disturbed, and forming wishes 
 for his welfare, I felt greater strength, greater 
 abundance of ideas, greater satisfaction with my- 
 self. This shows, that the sight of a human 
 being whom we love, is sufficient to mitigate the 
 pains of solitude. A poor little dumb boy had 
 
 Ricompense (A treatise upon Merit and Rewards), Delle In- 
 giurie e dci Danni (Of Injuries and Damages), Filosofia della 
 Statistica (The Philosophy of Statistics), Ideologia e Escrcizio 
 Logico (Ideology and the Art of Logic), Delle Manifatture 
 (Of Manufactures), Del Divorzio (Of Divorce), Elementi di 
 Filosofia (Elements of Philosophy), Kuovo Galatea (New 
 Galateo), (^iial Governo conrcnga aW Italia? (What govern- 
 ment is suitable for Italy ?) 
 He died in January, 1829.
 
 MY PRISONS. 33 
 
 first procured me this benefit, and I was now 
 indebted for it to the distant sight of a man of 
 great merit. 
 
 Perhaps some secondmo told him where I 
 was. One morning, upon opening his window, 
 he waved his handkerchief as a salutation. I 
 answered him by the same sign. Oh ! Avhat 
 pleasure flowed in upon my soul at that mo- 
 ment ! It seemed to me as if the distance had 
 vanished, as if we were together. My heart 
 beat like a lover's, when he sees his mistress. 
 We made gestures without understanding each 
 other, and with the same earnestness as if we 
 had ; I may rather say, we really did under- 
 stand each other ; those gestures meant all that 
 our souls felt, and the one was not ignorant of 
 the other's emotions. 
 
 What a comfort I thought those salutations 
 
 would be in future ! And the future came, but 
 
 they were never repeated ! Every time tliat I 
 
 afterwards saw Gioja at the window, I waved 
 
 my handkerchief In vain ! The secondino told 
 
 me, that he had been prohibited from exciting 
 
 me to make signs, and from replying to them. 
 
 Still, however, I often looked at him and he 
 
 looked at me, and thus we said many things to 
 
 each other. 
 
 3
 
 34 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Upon the gallery that was under my window, 
 on the same level with my cell, other prisoners, 
 attended by seconcUni, passed and repassed from 
 morning till night, going to and returning from 
 the examinations. The greater part belonged 
 to the lower classes. I saw some, however, 
 who appeared of better condition. Although 
 they passed so quickly, that I could not fix my 
 eyes upon them long, yet they attracted my at- 
 tention, and all of them more or less affected 
 me. This sad spectacle at first increased my 
 sufferings ; but by degrees I became accus- 
 tomed to it, and at last it even diminished the 
 horror of my solitude. 
 
 I saw, likewise, many women, who had been 
 arrested, going by. From this gallery there was 
 a passage through an arch to another court, 
 where were the prisons and hospitals for fe- 
 males. A single wall, and that very thin, di- 
 vided me from one of the rooms of the women. 
 Often these poor creatures almost stunned me 
 with their songs, sometimes with their quarrels.
 
 MY PRISONS. 35 
 
 Late in the evening, when all was still, I heard 
 them talk. 
 
 If I had wished to join in their conversation, 
 I could have done it. But I abstained, I know 
 not why. Was it through timidity .'' or pride ? 
 or through a prudent care not to attach my- 
 self to degraded women .'' It must have been 
 from all these motives. Woman, when she is 
 what she should be, is in my eyes a being so 
 sublime ! — to see her, to hear her, to speak to 
 her, enriches my mind with noble images. But 
 if she be debased and contemptible, she disturbs 
 and afflicts me, she banishes all poetry from my 
 heart. 
 
 But . . . (but is indispensable in describing hu- 
 man nature, so mixed as it is,) some of those fe- 
 male voices were sweet, and those, — why should 
 I not say it ? — were dear to me. And one was 
 more sweet than the others, was heard less fre- 
 quently, and never uttered vulgar thoughts. She 
 sung little, and for the most part only these two 
 pathetic lines : 
 
 " Chi rcndc alia mcscliina 
 La sua felicity ? " * 
 
 * " Who will restore to the wretched her happiness .'' "
 
 36 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Sometimes she sang the Litany. Her com- 
 panions accompanied her ; but I had the power 
 of distinguishing the voice of Maddalena from 
 those of the others, though they seemed deter- 
 mined to prevent me from hearing it. 
 
 Yes, that unfortunate being was named Mad- 
 dalena. When her companions related their 
 troubles, she pitied them, and sighed, and said : 
 " Take courage, my dear ; the Lord never for- 
 sakes any one." 
 
 What could prevent me from imagining that 
 she was beautiful, and more unfortunate than 
 culpable, born for virtue, and capable of return- 
 ing to it, if she had swerved from it ? Who 
 could blame me, if I were affected by the sound 
 of her voice, if I listened to her with respectful 
 interest, if I prayed for her with peculiar fer- 
 vor ? 
 
 Innocence is to be honored ; but how much 
 is repentance to be honored also ! Did the best 
 of men, the God-man, disdain to cast his com- 
 passionate looks upon sinful women, to regard 
 their confusion, and to associate them with the 
 souls whom he most honored ? Why, then, 
 should we so much despise a woman who has 
 fallen into ignominy }
 
 MY PRISONS. 37 
 
 Reasoning thus, I was a hundred times tempt- 
 ed to raise my voice, and make a declaration 
 of fraternal love to Maddalena. Once I began 
 the first syllable of her name ; " Mad ! . . . " 
 Strange ! my heart beat, as if I were a boy 
 of fifteen in love ; and yet I was thirty-one, 
 which is no longer the age of childish palpita- 
 tions. 
 
 I could go no further. I began again : 
 "Mad ! . . . Mad ! "... but it was useless. I 
 thought myself ridiculous, and exclaimed an- 
 grily, '^Matto !* and not Mad ! " 
 
 * Insane.
 
 38 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Thus ended my romance with this poor wo- 
 man, except that I was indebted to her for very 
 pleasing emotions for several weeks. I was 
 often melancholy, and her voice cheered me : 
 often, when I thought of the vileness and ingrati- 
 tude of men, I was exasperated against them, 
 I hated the whole world, and the voice of Mad- 
 dalena served to bring me back to compassion 
 and indulgence. 
 
 " Mayst thou, O unknown sinner, not have 
 been condemned to a heavy punishment ! Or, to 
 whatever punishment thou hast been condemned, 
 mayst thou profit by it, to recover thy worth, 
 and live and die dear to the Lord ! Mayst thou 
 be compassionated and respected by all who 
 know thee, as thou hast been by me, who know 
 thee not ! Mayst thou inspire, in every one who 
 sees thee, patience, gentleness, the desire of 
 virtue, and trust in God, as thou hast in him 
 who loves thee, without having seen thee ! My 
 fancy may err, when it paints thee beautiful in 
 person, but I cannot doubt the beauty of thy
 
 MY PRISONS. 39 
 
 soul. Thy companions spoke with coarseness, 
 thou with modesty and courtesy ; they blasphem- 
 ed, and thou didst bless God ; they quarrelled, 
 and thou wert the composer of their strife. If 
 any one has taken thee by the hand, to with- 
 draw thee from the career of dishonor ; if he 
 has conferred benefits on thee with delicacy ; if 
 he has dried thy tears, may all blessings be 
 showered upon him, upon his children, and upon 
 his children's children ! " 
 
 Contiguous to mine, was a cell inhabited by 
 several men. I heard their voices also. One of 
 them had authority over the others, not perhaps 
 from any superiority of condition, but through 
 greater fluency and boldness. He played, as we 
 say, the school-master. He battled with those 
 who opposed him, and put them to silence by 
 his imperious tones and his violent language ; 
 he told them what they must think and feel, 
 and, after some resistance, they ended by yield- 
 ing to him in every thing. 
 
 Unha[)py men ! not one of them softened the 
 horrors of prison by expressing any gentle sen- 
 timent whatever ; any sentiment of religion or 
 of love !
 
 40 MY PRISONS. 
 
 The leader of these neighbours of mine sa- 
 luted me, and I answered him. He asked me 
 how I passed this cursed life. I told him, that, 
 although sad, no life was a cursed one to me, 
 and that, even till death, we should endeavour 
 to enjoy the pleasures of thinking and loving. 
 
 "Explain yourself, Signore, explain yourself." 
 
 I did explain, and was not understood. And 
 when, after some ingenious preparatory circum- 
 locution, I had the courage to allude, by way 
 of example, to the tenderness which Maddalena's 
 voice awakened in me, the leader burst into a 
 shout of laughter. 
 
 "What is it ? What is it ? " cried his com- 
 panions. The scoffer repeated and burlesqued 
 my words 5 their laughter broke forth in full 
 chorus, and I appeared to them an arrant fool. 
 
 It happens in prison as in the world. Those 
 who consider it wise to be angry, and to com- 
 plain, and to despise others, think it folly to be 
 compassionate, to love, and to console one's self 
 with agreeable images, which honor humanity 
 and its Author.
 
 MY PRISONS. 41 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I SUFFERED them to laugh, and did not utter a 
 syllable. My neighbours addressed themselves 
 to me two or three times ; but I remained si- 
 lent. 
 
 " He will be no more at the window ; — he 
 has gone off ; — he will lend his ear to the 
 sighs of Maddalena ; — he is offended by our 
 laughter." 
 
 Thus they went on talking for a little while ; 
 till, at last, the leader imposed silence upon 
 the rest, who were amusing themselves at my 
 expense. 
 
 " Be silent, brutes ; you do not know what you 
 are saying. Our neighbour is not such an ass 
 as you take him to be. You are not capable 
 of reflecting upon any thing. I laugh, l)ut then 
 I reflect. All brutal villains know how to play 
 the bravo, as we do. A little more gentle cheer- 
 fulness, a little more charity, a little more faith 
 in the goodness of Heaven, — what do you sin- 
 cerely think this would be a proof of.' " 
 
 " Now that I also reflect," replied one, " it
 
 42 MYPRISONS. 
 
 seems to me a proof of being somewhat less of 
 a brute." 
 
 "Bravo ! " exclaimed the leader with a Sten- 
 torian shout ; " this time I begin to have some 
 respect for your noddle." 
 
 I was not very proud of being reputed only 
 someichat less of a brute than themselves ; but 
 I experienced a degree of pleasure, that those 
 unhappy men had changed their minds with re- 
 gard to the importance of cultivating benevolent 
 sentiments. 
 
 I moved the window-frame as if I had just re- 
 turned to it. The captain called to me. I an- 
 swered, hoping that he had a desire to moralize 
 after my fashion. I was deceived. Vulgar minds 
 avoid serious reasoning ; if a noble truth shines 
 upon them, they are capable of applauding it 
 for an instant, but their attention is quickly turn- 
 ed from it, and they cannot resist the desire of 
 making a display of their sagacity by casting 
 doubt and scorn upon it. 
 
 He afterwards asked me if I was in prison 
 for debt. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Perhaps accused of knavery ? I mean falsely 
 accused, you know."
 
 MY PRISONS. 43 
 
 "lam accused of something quite different." 
 
 " A love affair ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Of murder ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Of being a carhonaro .^ " 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 " And what are those carbonari ? " 
 
 " I know so little of them, I cannot tell you." 
 
 A secondino interrupted us very angrily ; and, 
 after having loaded my neighbour with reproach- 
 es, he turned to me with the gravity, not of a 
 shirro, but of a master, and said, — " Shame, 
 Signore ! for you to condescend to talk with all 
 sorts of people ! Do you know, that those men 
 are thieves ^ " 
 
 I blushed, and then blushed for having blush- 
 ed ; and it seemed to me, that to condescend to 
 talk with every class of unhappy men was rather 
 an act of goodness, than a fault.
 
 44 MY PRISONS 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The next morning I went to the window, to 
 see Melchiorre Gioja, but I conversed no more 
 with the thieves. I replied to their salutation, 
 and said that I had been forbidden to speak to 
 them. 
 
 The notary who had examined me came, and 
 announced, with an air of mystery, a visit which 
 would give me pleasure ; and when he thought 
 he had sufficiently prepared me for it, he said, 
 " In short, it is your father ; follow me, if you 
 please." 
 
 I followed him below into the public offices, 
 agitated with pleasure and with tenderness, and 
 forcing myself to appear with a serene aspect, 
 which might tranquillize my poor father. 
 
 When he heard of my arrest, he hoped that 
 it was upon some unfounded suspicion, and that 
 I should soon be released. But finding that my 
 detention continued, he had come to solicit my 
 liberation of the Austrian government. Sad il- 
 lusion of paternal love ! He could not believe 
 that I had been so rash, as to expose myself to
 
 MYPRISONS. 45 
 
 the rigor of the laws ; and the studied cheer- 
 fulness, with which I spoke to him, persuaded 
 him that I had no misfortune to apprehend. 
 
 The short interview that was allowed us, agi- 
 tated me indescribably ; the more, as I suppress- 
 ed every appearance of agitation. It was most 
 difficult to conceal it, when it was necessary for 
 us to separate. 
 
 In the circumstances in which Italy then was, 
 I felt certain that Austria would give some ex- 
 traordinary examples of rigor, and that I should 
 be condemned to death, or to many years of 
 imprisonment. To hide this belief from a fa- 
 ther ! to flatter him with the hope of my speedy 
 liberation ! to restrain my tears, when I em- 
 braced him, when I spoke to him of my mother, 
 of my brothers and my sisters, whom I thought 
 never to behold again upon earth ! to beg him, 
 with an unfaltering voice, to come and see me 
 again, if he were able ! Nothing ever cost me 
 so much effort. 
 
 He went away greatly comforted, and I re- 
 turned to my cell with a tortured heart. As 
 soon as I was alone, I hoped to find relief by 
 abandoning myself to weeping. This solace 
 failed. I broke out into sobs, and could not
 
 46 MY PRISONS, 
 
 shed a tear. It is a cruel misfortune to be un- 
 able to weep in severe distress ; and oh ! how 
 many times have I experienced it ! 
 
 A burning fever attacked me, accompanied 
 by a violent headache, I swallowed not even 
 a spoonful of soup the whole day, " Would 
 this were a mortal illness," said I, " that would 
 shorten my sufferings ! " 
 
 Foolish and cowardly wish ! God did not 
 grant it, and now I thank him that he did not, 
 I thank him, not only because, after ten years 
 of imprisonment, I have again seen my dear 
 family, and may call myself happy ; but also 
 because man gains strength through his suf- 
 ferings, and I hope mine have not been useless 
 to me.
 
 M Y P R I S O N S . 47 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 T^vo days afterwards my father returned. I 
 had slept well during the night, and was free 
 from fever. I resumed my easy and cheerful 
 deportment ; and no one suspected what my heart 
 had suffered, and was yet to suffer. 
 
 "I trust," said my father, "that in a few 
 days you will be sent to Turin, We have al- 
 ready prepared your room, and shall expect you 
 with great anxiety. My official duties oblige 
 me to return. Endeavour, I pray you, to join 
 me soon," 
 
 My heart was torn by his tender and melan- 
 choly expressions of affection. It seemed to 
 me, that filial piety required dissimulation, yet 
 I dissembled with a kind of remorse. Would 
 it not have been more worthy of my father and 
 of myself, if I had said to him ; " Probably 
 we shall see each other no more in this world ! 
 Let us part like men, without murmuring, with- 
 out tears ; and lot me hear a father's blessing 
 pronounced upon my head ! " 
 
 This language would have been a thousand 
 times more agreeable to me than disguise. liut
 
 48 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I looked upon the eyes of that venerable old 
 man, his features, and his grey hairs, and he did 
 not appear to me to have the strength to hear 
 me speak thus. 
 
 And what if, through my unwillingness to de- 
 ceive him, I had seen him abandon himself to 
 despair, perhaps fall into a swoon, perhaps (hor- 
 rible idea !) be struck with death in my arms ! 
 
 I could neither tell him the truth, nor suffer 
 him to perceive it. My assumed tranquillity en- 
 tirely deluded him. We parted without tears. 
 But when I returned to my cell, I was tortured 
 , as before, if not more severely ; and still in 
 vain did I pray for power to weep. 
 
 To resign myself to all the horrors of a long 
 imprisonment, to resign myself to a public ex- 
 ecution, was within my power ; but to be re- 
 signed to the thought of the overwhelming grief 
 which my father, mother, brothers, and sisters 
 would feel, my strength was not equal to it. 
 
 I prostrated myself upon the ground, and, with 
 a fervor which I had never felt before, uttered 
 this prayer : 
 
 '' My God, I accept all things from thy hand ; 
 but so marvellously strengthen the hearts of those 
 to whom I was necessary, that I may cease to be 
 so to them ; and suffer not the life of any one
 
 MYPRISONS. 49 
 
 of them to be shortened for a day on my ac- 
 count." 
 
 Oh ! the blessing of prayer ! I remamed 
 many hours with my mind raised to God. My 
 faith increased in proportion as I meditated up- 
 on the divine goodness, and upon the greatness 
 of the human soul, when it puts off its selfish- 
 ness, and strives to have no other will but the 
 will of Infinite Wisdom. 
 
 Yes, this is possible ! this is the duty of man ! 
 Reason, which is the voice of God, teaches us, 
 that all else must be sacrificed to virtue. And 
 would the sacrifice which we owe to virtue be 
 complete, if, in the most trying situations, we 
 should struggle against the will of Him, who is 
 the source of all virtue ? 
 
 When the gibbet, or any other cruel death, 
 is inevitable, to regard it with cowardly fear, 
 to be unable to meet even this, blessing the 
 Lord, is a sign of miserable degradation or ig- 
 norance. And it is not only necessary to be 
 resigned to one's own death, but to the affliction 
 which those who are dear to us may experience 
 from it. We arc permitted only to ask of God, 
 that he would temper their sufferings, and give 
 strength to us all. Such a prayer is ever heard. 
 4
 
 50 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Some days passed, and I remained in the 
 same state, that is, in a sweet sadness, full of 
 peace and of religious thoughts. I seemed to 
 have triumphed over every weakness, and to be 
 no more accessible to any disquietude. Foolish 
 illusion ! Man should strive for perfect con- 
 stancy, but he never attains it upon earth. 
 What disturbed me ? The sight of an unhappy 
 friend, the sight of my good Piero, who passed 
 along the gallery only a few steps from me, 
 while I was at the window. He had been ta- 
 ken from his room to be carried to the criminal 
 cells. 
 
 He, and those who accompanied him, passed 
 so quickly, that I had scarcely time to recog- 
 nise him, and to exchange one sign of saluta- 
 tion. 
 
 Unhappy young man ! in the flower of his 
 age, with talents of splendid promise, with an 
 upright, refined, and most affectionate charac- 
 ter, formed for the highest enjoyment of life, he 
 had been thrown into prison for political causes,
 
 MY PRISONS. 61 
 
 at a time when it was certain he could not avoid 
 the severest sentence of the laws. 
 
 I felt such compassion for him, such grief that 
 I could not deliver him, that I could not at least 
 comfort him with my presence and with my 
 words, that nothing availed to restore me to 
 any degree of calmness. I knew how much he 
 loved his mother, his brother, his sisters, his 
 brother-in-law, and his nephews ; how much he 
 longed to contribute to their happiness, and how 
 much he was beloved in return by all those dear 
 objects of his affection. I felt what must be the 
 affliction of every one of them at such a ca- 
 lamity. There are no words to express the 
 phrensy, which then seized me ; and this phren- 
 sy continued so long, that I despaired of ever 
 becoming tranquil. 
 
 Yet this fear too was an illusion. Oh ! you 
 who are afflicted, who believe yourselves to be 
 the victims of some inevitable, horrid, ever- 
 increasing wretchedness, have patience for a 
 little while, and you will be undeceived ! Nei- 
 ther perfect peace, nor extreme distress, can 
 long endure here below. We should be per- 
 suaded of this truth, that we may not be lifted 
 up in the hours of happiness, nor cast down in 
 those of trouble.
 
 52 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Weariness and apathy succeeded to this long- 
 continued excitement. But not even apathy is 
 lasting, and I feared I should from this time al- 
 ternate without respite between this and the op- 
 posite extreme. I was terrified at the prospect 
 of such a future, and again had recourse to 
 earnest prayer. 
 
 I asked God to give strength to my unhappy 
 friend Piero as well as to myself, and to his 
 family as well as to my own. It was only by 
 repeating these supplications, that I was able 
 truly to tranquillize myself. 
 
 J
 
 MY PRISONS. 53 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 But when my spirit was calmed, I reflected 
 upon the excessive agitation I had suffered ; and, 
 angry with myself for my weakness, I studied 
 how it might be prevented. To attain this end, 
 I availed myself of the following expedient. 
 Every morning, after a short homage to the 
 Creator, my first occupation was to make a 
 diligent and coui'ageous review of every possi- 
 ble event, likely to affect me deeply. Upon 
 each one I steadily fixed my imagination, and 
 prepared myself for it. I imagined every thing ; 
 — from the visits of dear friends, to the visit of 
 the executioner. This sad exercise seemed for 
 some days insupportable ; but I resolved to 
 persevere, and in a short time it gave me sat- 
 isfaction. 
 
 On New- Year's day, 1821, Count Luigi 
 Porro* obtained permission to visit me. The 
 
 * Count Luigi Porro was one of tlie most eminent indi- 
 viduals in Milan. He was distinguished by the zeal and 
 liberality, with which he promoted literature and tlie arts.
 
 54 31 Y PRISONS. 
 
 tender and warm friendship which subsisted 
 between us, the many things we had to say, 
 the restraint imposed upon our conversation by 
 the presence of a notary, the too short time 
 we were allowed to be together, the mournful 
 presentiments which distressed me, the efforts 
 which we both made to appear tranquil, all this 
 I thought must throw me into the most terrible 
 agitation. But when separated from that dear 
 friend, I felt calm ; affected, but calm. 
 
 So much may be gained, by fortifying one's 
 self against strong emotions. 
 
 My resolution of acquiring a constant calm- 
 ness did not arise so much from a desire of 
 lessening my unhappiness, as from a conviction 
 that agitation of mind is base and unworthy 
 of man. An agitated mind loses the power of 
 judging correctly ; involved in an irresistible 
 
 Having early discovered the good dispositions of young 
 Pellico, he received him into his house, as the tutor of 
 liis sons ; but always considered lilm rather as his intimate 
 friend, than as a dependent. Count Porro fell under the 
 suspicion of the Austrian government. He took refuge in 
 a foreign country (at Marseilles), and was twice condemned 
 to death, on the ground of contumacy, first as a carhonaro, 
 afterwards as a conspirator.
 
 MY PRISONS. 55 
 
 whirl of exaggerated ideas, it reasons foolishly, 
 wildly, and malignantly ; it is in a state wholly 
 antiphilosophical and antichristian. 
 
 Were I a preacher, I should often insist on 
 the necessity of banishing agitation ; we can be 
 good upon no other terms. How entirely at 
 peace with himself and with others was He, 
 whom we should all imitate. There is no great- 
 ness of mind, there is no justice, without well- 
 governed thoughts, without a disposition tending 
 rather to smile, than to be irritated, at the events 
 of this short life. Anger is of no use, except 
 in those very rare cases, when we may hope 
 by its means to humble an evil-doer, and to 
 withdraw him from iniquity. 
 
 Perhaps there may be disordered states of 
 mind different from those I have known, and 
 less to be condemned. But that, which till then 
 had made me its slave, did not proceed from 
 affliction alone. It was always mingled with 
 much hatred, a great desire to speak evil, and 
 to represent society or some individual in the 
 most execrable colors. It is the epidemic dis- 
 ease of the world. Men rise in their own es- 
 timation by abhorring others. All friends seem 
 to say in each other's ears : " Let us love on-
 
 56 MY PRISONS. 
 
 ly one another. By proclaiming that all beside 
 are a mob of rascals, we shall appear like demi- 
 gods." 
 
 What a curious fact, that to live in the in- 
 dulgence of angry passion is so agreeable ! It 
 is thought a species of heroism. If the per- 
 son against whom we raved yesterday is dead, 
 immediate search is made for another. " Of 
 whom shall I complain to-day ? Whom shall I 
 hate ? Shall he be the monster .'' Oh ! joy ! I 
 have found him. Come, my friends, let us tear 
 him to pieces ! " 
 
 So goes the world ; and without slandering it, 
 I may well say, that it goes ill.
 
 JIYPRISONS. 51 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 There was not much malignity in complain- 
 ing of the horrors of the room in which I had 
 been placed. By good fortune a better one stood 
 vacant, and I was agreeably surprised by hav- 
 ing it given to me. 
 
 Ought I not to have been highly gratified 
 with this intelligence ? But so it is, I could 
 not think of Maddalena Avithout regret. What 
 childishness ! to be always attaching myself to 
 something, and that too, without very strong 
 reasons ! As I was leaving that miserable room, 
 I looked back towards the wall, on which I had 
 so often leaned, while, scarcely a hand's breadth 
 distant, the unhappy sinner was resting on the 
 other side. I could have wished to hear once 
 more those two pathetic lines : 
 
 " Chi rende alia mcscliina 
 La sua feliciti ? " 
 
 Vain regret ! Here was another separation in 
 my unfortunate life ! I will not dwell upon it, 
 that I may not be laughed at ; ])ut it would bo
 
 58 MY PRISONS. 
 
 hypocrisy not to confess that I was sad on 
 this account for many days. 
 
 As I was going away, I saluted two of the 
 poor thieves, my neighbours, who were at the 
 window. Their captain was not there 5 but, be- 
 ing informed by his companions, he appeared 
 also, and saluted me in return. He then began 
 to hum the air, " Chi rende alia meschina." Did 
 he mean to ridicule me ? I will venture to say, 
 that if fifty persons were asked this question, 
 forty-nine would answer, "Yes." But notwith- 
 standing such a majority of voices, I incline to 
 believe that the good thief meant to offer me a 
 civility. I received it as such, was grateful to 
 him for it, and gave him another glance 5 and 
 he, extending his arms beyond the iron bars 
 with his cap in his hand, made another signal 
 to me, just as I turned to descend the stairs. 
 
 When I was in the court, I had one conso- 
 lation. The little deaf and dumb boy was un- 
 der the portico ; he saw me, recognised me, 
 and would have run to meet me. The wife of 
 the gaoler, — who knows why ? — caught him 
 by the collar, and drove him into the house. 
 I was sorry that I could not embrace him ; but 
 his springing forward to run to me, gave me a
 
 MY PRISONS. 59 
 
 delightful emotion. So sweet a thing is it to 
 be loved ! 
 
 This was a day of great adventures. A few 
 steps further on, I came near the window of 
 my former room, which Gioja now occupied. 
 " Good day, Melchiorre ! " said I, as I passed. 
 He raised his head, and darting towards me, 
 cried out, " Good day, Silvio ! " 
 
 Alas ! I was not permitted to stop one mo- 
 ment. I turned under the great gate, ascended 
 a staircase, and was placed in a clean cell 
 over that of Gioja. 
 
 A bed having been brought, and I being left 
 alone by the secondini, my first business was to 
 examine the walls. There were several memo- 
 rials written upon them, some with a pencil, 
 others with coal, and others with some pointed 
 instrument. I found two pleasing French stan- 
 zas, which I now regret that I did not commit 
 to memory. They were signed, " The Duke of 
 Normandy." I undertook to sing them, adapt- 
 ing them as well as I could to the air of my 
 poor Maddalena, and was surprised to hear some 
 one very near sing them to another air. When 
 he had finished, I exclaimed, " Bravo ! " and he
 
 60 MYPRISONS. 
 
 greeted me politely, asking me if I were a 
 Frenchman. 
 
 " No ; I am an Italian, and my name is 
 Silvio Pellico." 
 
 " The author of Franccsca da Rimini ? " 
 
 "The same." 
 
 And then followed a polite compliment, and 
 the natural condolences, upon learning that I 
 was in prison. 
 
 He asked me of what pai't of Italy I was a 
 native. 
 
 " Of Piedmont," said I. "I was born in Sa- 
 luzzo." 
 
 Here followed another polite compliment up- 
 on the character and genius of the Piedmontese ; 
 and he particularly mentioned the great men of 
 Saluzzo, especially Bodoni.* 
 
 These few words of praise were happily ex- 
 pressed, as by a person of good education. 
 
 * The Cavalier Giovanni Bodoni was one of the most 
 celebrated of modern printers. He was instructed in his 
 art, and in the Oriental languages, at the College of the 
 Propaganda at Rome. He went thence to the royal 
 printing-house at Parma, and had the direction of it until 
 the year 1813, when he died.
 
 flIY PRISONS. 61 
 
 "Now, Signore," said I, "may I be permit- 
 ted to ask who you are ? " 
 
 "You have sung one of my little songs." 
 
 "Are those two beautiful stanzas, which are 
 upon the Avail, yours t " 
 
 "Yes, Signore." 
 
 "You are then ..." 
 
 "The unhappy Duke of Normandy."
 
 62 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The guard passed under our windows, and 
 compelled us to be silent. 
 
 " What unhappy Duke of Normandy ? " thought 
 I within myself. " Is not that the title which 
 was given to the son of Louis the Sixteenth ? 
 But that poor boy is undoubtedly dead. — Well, 
 my neighbour, I must conclude, is one of those 
 unfortunate persons, who have endeavoured to 
 bring him to life again. 
 
 " Heretofore several have set themselves up 
 for Louis the Seventeenth, and have been dis- 
 covered to be impostors ; what greater credit 
 ought this man to obtain ? " 
 
 Although I endeavoured to remain in doubt, 
 I felt an invincible incredulity, which never 
 was removed ; nevertheless I determined not 
 to mortify the unhappy man, whatever fable he 
 might relate to me. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards he began to sing 
 again ; then we recommenced our conversation. 
 
 To my questions concerning him, he replied, 
 that he really was Louis the Seventeenth, and
 
 MY PRISONS. 63 
 
 went on to declaim strongly against Louis the 
 Eighteenth, his uncle, the usurper of his rights. 
 " But why did you not cause those rights to 
 be acknowledged at the time of the Restora- 
 tion r " 
 
 " I was then dangerously ill at Bologna. I 
 had scarcely recovered, when I hastened to 
 Paris, and presented myself to the Allied Sov- 
 ereigns ; but what was done, was done ; my 
 wicked uncle would not acknowledge me ; my 
 sister joined with him to oppress me. The 
 good Prince of Conde alone received me with 
 open arms ; but his friendship could avail no- 
 thing. One night, in the streets of Paris, I 
 was attacked by assassins armed with poniards, 
 and hardly escaped their blows. After having 
 wandered some time in Normandy, I returned 
 to Italy, and fixed myself at Modena. Thence 
 I wrote frequently to the monarchs of Europe, 
 and particularly to the Emperor Alexander, who 
 replied to me with the greatest politeness, so 
 (hat I did not despair of finally obtaining just- 
 ice ; or, if through political motives they chose 
 to set aside my rights to the throne of France, 
 that they would at least assign mc a decent 
 maintenance. But I was arrested, carried to the
 
 64 MY PRISONS. 
 
 frontiers of the Duchy of Modena, and consign- 
 ed to the Austrian government. Now, for eight 
 months I have been buried here, and God knows 
 when I shall be released." 
 
 I did not give credit to all that he said ; but 
 that he was buried there was indeed true, and 
 it inspired me with a lively feeling of com- 
 passion. 
 
 I requested him to give me a brief account 
 of his life. He related to me minutely all the 
 particulars which I already knew with regard to 
 Louis the Seventeenth; — how they placed him 
 with that Avretch, Simon the shoemaker ; how 
 they prevailed upon him to utter an infamous 
 calumny against the character of the poor queen 
 his mother, £tc. &c. Finally, he said, that, 
 while he was in prison, some persons came by 
 night, to take him away ; a stupid boy, named 
 Mathurin, was put in his place ; and he was car- 
 ried off. A carriage and four was in the street 5 
 one of the horses being a wooden machine, in 
 which he was concealed. They reached the 
 Rhine in safety, and passed the frontier. The 
 general . . . (he told me his name, but I have 
 forgotten it) who liberated him, behaved to- 
 wards him for some time as an instructer and a
 
 MY PRISONS. 65 
 
 father, and then either sent or took him to Amer- 
 ica. There the young king, without a kingdom, 
 met with various adventures ; he suffered hun- 
 ger in the deserts ; he became a soldier ; at 
 one time he hved happily and in esteem at the 
 court of the king of Brazil, but was afterwards 
 slandered, persecuted, and obliged to fly. He 
 returned to Europe about the time of Na- 
 poleon's downfall ; was detained a prisoner at 
 Naples by Joachim Murat ; and when he found 
 himself at liberty, and was on the point of claim- 
 ing the throne of France, he was attacked at Bo- 
 logna by that unfortunate illness, during which 
 Louis the Eighteenth was crowned.
 
 66 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 He related this story with a surprising air of 
 truth. I could not believe him, but he excit- 
 ed my admiration. All the facts of the French 
 i-evolution were quite familiar to him ; he spoke 
 of them with much natural eloquence, and re- 
 lated many curious anecdotes respecting them. 
 There was something soldierlike in his lan- 
 guage, but he was not deficient in the ele- 
 gance which is acquired by intercourse with 
 good society. 
 
 " Will you permit me," said I, " to talk to 
 you without ceremony, without using your title? " 
 
 " That is what I desire," replied he. " I have 
 at least derived this advantage from misfortune, 
 that I smile at all vanities. I assure you, that 
 I value myself more upon being a man, than 
 upon being a king." 
 
 Morning and evening we held long conversa- 
 tions together ; and, in spite of what I consid- 
 ered as acting in him, he appeared to me to 
 be naturally good, candid, and desirous of all 
 moral excellence. Many times I was about
 
 MY PRISONS. 67 
 
 to say to him : " Pardon me, I wish to beheve 
 that you are Louis the Seventeenth, but I con- 
 fess to you sincerely that the contrary opinion 
 prevails in my mind ; have the frankness to re- 
 nounce this fiction." And I ruminated upon a 
 fine lecture I would give him on the futility oi" 
 every falsehood, even those which seem inno- 
 cent. 
 
 I deferred it from day to day ; I waited till 
 we should become somewhat more intimate with 
 each other, and I never had the courage fo 
 execute my plan. 
 
 When I reflect upon this want of courage, I 
 .sometimes excuse it as necessary urbanity, an 
 honest fear of giving pain, and I know not what 
 beside. But these excuses do not satisfy me ; 
 and I cannot but confess, that I should be bet- 
 ter pleased with myself, if I had not stifled my 
 meditated lecture. To pretend to have faith in 
 an imposture is pusillanimity ; it appears to me 
 that I should not do so again. 
 
 Yes, it is pusillanimity ! True, in however 
 delicate a preamble it may be involved, it is a 
 harsh thing to say to any one, "I do not be- 
 lieve you." He will be angry ; we shall lose the 
 pleasure of his friendship ; perhaps he will load
 
 68 MY PRISONS, 
 
 US with insults. But any thing we may sufTei' 
 is to be preferred to the dishonor of falsehood. 
 And perhaps the unfortunate man, even though 
 he may load us with insults, yet, perceiving that 
 his imposture is not credited, will admire our 
 sincerity in secret, and be induced by it to make 
 such reflections, as will lead him to a better 
 course. 
 
 The secondmi inclined to believe that he really 
 was Louis the Seventeenth ; and, having before 
 witnessed so many changes of fortune, did not 
 despair of his one day ascending the throne of 
 France, and remembering their devoted services. 
 Except in favoring his escape, they treated him 
 with all the consideration he desired. 
 
 I was indebted to this circumstance for the 
 honor of seeing this great personage. He was 
 of middling stature, from foi'ty to forty-five years 
 old, somewhat corpulent, and of a true Bourbon 
 physiognomy. It is probable, that an accidental 
 likeness to the Bourbons induced him to play 
 the wretched part he had assumed.
 
 MY PRISONS. 69 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 I MUST accuse myself of another instance of 
 unworthy regard to human opinion. My neigh- 
 bour was not an atheist ; he sometimes spoke 
 of religious sentiments like a man who prizes 
 them, and is not a stranger to them ; but he 
 cherished, notwithstanding, many irrational preju- 
 dices against Christianity. He regarded its true 
 spirit less than its abuses. He had been daz- 
 zled by the superficial philosophy, which pre- 
 ceded and followed the revolution in France. 
 It appeared to him, that God might be adored 
 with greater purity, than according to the re- 
 ligion of the Gospel. Without having much 
 knowledge of Condillac and Tracy, he respect- 
 ed them as deep thinkers, and imagined that 
 the latter had reached the limits of all possible 
 metaphysical researches. 
 
 I, who had pushed my philosophical studies 
 further, who felt the weakness of the experi- 
 mental philosophy, and knew the gross errors 
 in criticism, by wliicli the age of Voltaire had 
 labored to defame Christianity ; I, who had read
 
 70 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Guenee and those other writers, who have so 
 powerfully confuted that false criticism ; I, who 
 was persuaded that a consistent reasoner can- 
 not believe in God and reject the Gospel ; I, 
 who thought it so vulgar a thing to follow the 
 current of antichristian opinions, and to be un- 
 able to raise one's self to the perception of the 
 simplicity and sublimity of Christianity, when not 
 seen in caricature ; — I had the baseness to 
 yield to a weak regai-d for human opinion. I 
 was disconcerted by the witticisms of my neigh- 
 bour, although their frivolity did not escape me. 
 I dissembled my belief, hesitated, considered 
 whether it would be seasonable or not to con- 
 tradict him, said to myself that it would be use- 
 less, and endeavoured to persuade myself that 
 I was right. 
 
 Cowardice ! cowardice ! What deference is due 
 to the presumptuous confidence with which popu- 
 lar opinions are urged, when they rest on no 
 foundation ? It is true, that unseasonable zeal 
 is indiscreet, and may greatly irritate an unbe- 
 liever ; but to profess frankly, and at the same 
 time with modesty, what we firmly hold as im- 
 portant truth ; to profess it, even when we can- 
 not expect approval, or even to escape without
 
 MY PRISONS. 71 
 
 scorn, this is a positive duty ; and such a no- 
 ble confession may always be made, without 
 assuming inappropriately the character of a mis- 
 sionary. 
 
 It is right to profess an important truth at 
 all times ; because, if we may not hope that it 
 will be immediately acknowledged, still it may 
 so prepare the minds of others, as one day to 
 produce greater impartiality of judgment, and 
 the consequent triumph of the light.
 
 72 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 I REMAINED in tlus rooixi a month and some 
 days. The night of the 18th and 19th of Feb- 
 ruary, 1821, I was waked by the sound of 
 bolts and keys ; I saw several men enter with 
 a lantern : the first idea which occurred to me 
 was, that they had come to cut my throat. But 
 while I looked at these figures in perplexity, I 
 saw Count B.,* who politely approached, and 
 desired me to have the kindness to dress myself 
 immediately in order to depart. 
 
 This communication surprised me, and I was 
 so foolish as to hope, that I was about to be 
 conducted to the confines of Piedmont. " Is it 
 possible," thought I, '' that so severe a tem- 
 pest can thus pass away ? And shall I after 
 all regain my liberty ? Shall I again see my 
 dear parents, my brothers, my sisters .'' " 
 
 These flattering thoughts agitated me for a 
 few moments. I dressed myself hastily, and fol- 
 
 * Count Bolza, of the Lake of Como, who for many 
 years served the Austrian government in the capacity of 
 commissary of pohce.
 
 MY PRISONS. 73 
 
 lowed my conductors, without being able even 
 to bid farewell to my neighbour. I thought I 
 heard his voice, and was sorry that I could not 
 reply to him. 
 
 " Where are we going ? " said I to the Count, 
 as I entered the coach with him and an officer 
 of the gendarmerie. 
 
 " I cannot inform you, until we are a mile 
 beyond Milan." 
 
 I saw that the coach did not go towards the 
 Vercelli Gate, and my hopes vanished ! 
 
 I was silent. It was a beautiful moonlight 
 night. I beheld those familiar streets, where 
 I had for years been accustomed to walk in 
 the full enjoyment of life, those houses, those 
 churches ; — every thing brought back a thou- 
 sand tender recollections. 
 
 The Avenue of the Eastern Gate, the public 
 gardens, where I had so many times wandered 
 with Foscolo,* with Monti, "j" with Ludovico di 
 
 • The learning of Ugo Foscolo, and the fame which he 
 acquired by liis Carme dci Sepolcrl, his Vltimc Lcttcre di Jo- 
 copo Ortis, the Discorsi intorno Dante, Petrarca, e Boccaccio, 
 Sec., are well known. He passed the last years of his life 
 in England, dying in 1827. 
 
 t The Cavalier Vinccnzo Monti, one of the most cele- 
 brated modern Italian poets. He died at Milan in 1829.
 
 74 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Breme,* with Pietro Borsieri,f with Porro and 
 his sons, and with so many others whom I 
 loved, conversing full of life and hope ! — as I 
 said to myself that I saw you for the last time, 
 as I rapidly left you behind, oh ! how I felt 
 that I had loved you, and that I did love you 
 still ! When we had passed through the gate, I 
 drew my hat over my eyes, and wept unobserved. 
 
 I waited till we had travelled more than a 
 mile, and then said to Count B., " I suppose 
 that we are going to Verona." 
 
 "We go further than that," he replied ; "we 
 are going to Venice, where I must consign you 
 to a special commission." 
 
 We travelled post without stopping, and on 
 the 20th of February arrived at Venice. 
 
 In the September of the preceding year, a 
 
 * Monsignor Ludovico di Breme, son of the Marchese di 
 Breme, was a Piedmontese, governor of the pages of the 
 ex-king of Italy, the friend of Madame de Staol and of 
 M. Sismondi, and a man of elevated sentiments, great vi- 
 vacity, and cultivated mind. 
 
 t Don Pietro Borsieri, the son of a judge of the court of 
 appeal in Milan, of which he was, before being condemned 
 to death, one of the secretaries. He is the author of sev- 
 eral literary works.
 
 MY PRISONS. 75 
 
 month before I was arrested, I was at Venice, 
 and dined with a numerous and happy party, 
 at the Hotel della Luna. Strange coinci- 
 dence ! I was carried by the Count and the 
 gendarme to the very same Hotel della Luna. 
 
 One of the waiters was astonished at seeing 
 me, and at perceiving (although the gendarme 
 and his two attendants, who appeared as ser- 
 vants, were disguised) that I was a prisoner. 
 I was pleased at this meeting, being persuaded 
 that the servant would speak of my arrival to 
 others. 
 
 We dined ; — I was then conducted to the 
 palace of the Doge, where the courts of justice 
 are now held. I passed under those familiar 
 porticos of the Procuratie, and before the Flo- 
 nan Coffee-house, where I had enjoyed such 
 delightful evenings the past autumn. I did not 
 meet with any of my acquaintance. 
 
 We crossed the Piazzetta. Upon that Piaz- 
 zetta, in the September before, a beggar had 
 said these remarkable words to me ; " It is 
 plain that you are a stranger, Signore. I do 
 not understand why you and all strangers ad- 
 mire this place ; to me it is a place of misfor- 
 tune, and I pass here only from necessity."
 
 "76 MY PRISONS, 
 
 " Has any disaster befallen you here ? " 
 
 " Yes, Signore, a horrible disaster, and not 
 to me only. God preserve you, Signore ; God 
 preserve you ! " 
 
 And he went away in haste. 
 
 Now, as I again passed there, it was impos- 
 sible not to I'ecollect the words of the beggar. 
 And it was upon that very Piazzetta the follow- 
 ing year, that I ascended the scaffold, where I 
 heard the sentence of death read, and the com- 
 mutation of that punishment for fifteen years 
 of severe imprisonment. 
 
 If I were disposed to be superstitious, I should 
 think much of this beggar, who so emphatically 
 pointed out this, as a place of misfortune. I 
 notice the fact only as a singular incident. 
 
 We ascended to the palace ; Count B. spoke 
 with the judges, then consigned me to the gaol- 
 er, and, taking leave, he embraced me with 
 emotion.
 
 MY PRISONS. 77 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII, 
 
 I FOLLOWED the gaoler in silence. After hav- 
 ing passed through several passages, and several 
 halls, we arrived at a staircase, which carried 
 us under the Pioinbi (the Leads), a famous state 
 prison from the time of the republic of Venice. 
 Here the gaoler registered my name, and 
 then shut me up in the room assigned to me. 
 The Piombi (so called) form the upper part of 
 the former palace of the Doge, entirely covered 
 with lead. 
 
 My room had a large window, with enormous 
 iron bars, and looked out upon the roof of the 
 church of St. Mark, likewise covered with lead. 
 Beyond the church, I saw in the distance the 
 termination of the Piazza, and, all around, an 
 infinite number of cupolas and steeples. The 
 gigantic Campanile of St. Mark's was separated 
 from me only by the length of the church, and 
 I could hear persons on the top of it Avhen they 
 spoke somewhat loudly. I saw also, on the 
 left side of the church, a portion of the great 
 court of the palace, and one of the entrances.
 
 78 MY PRISONS. 
 
 In that part of the court was a public well, 
 and people came there continually to draw wa- 
 ter. But my prison being so high, the men 
 below looked like children, and I could not dis- 
 tinguish their words, except when they raised 
 their voices. I found myself much more solitary 
 here than in the prisons of Milan. 
 
 During the first days, the business of the 
 criminal process, to which I was subjected by 
 the special commission, produced a degree of 
 sadness, that was increased, perhaps, by the 
 painful feeling of greater solitude. Besides, I 
 was further from my family, and had no longer 
 any information of them. The new faces which 
 I saw, expressed no aversion to me ; but they 
 preserved a seriousness, as if they were terri- 
 fied. They had heard exaggerated reports of 
 the plots of the Milanese and of the rest of 
 Italy, for obtaining independence, and they sus- 
 pected that I was one of the most unpardonable 
 exciters of that delirium. My literary celebrity, 
 such as it was, was known to the gaoler, to his 
 wife, his daughter, his two boys, and even to 
 the two secondini ; and who knows but they all 
 believed an author of tragedies to be a kind of 
 magician.
 
 MY PRISONS. 79 
 
 They were grave and distrustful, eager that 
 I should give them more information about my- 
 self, but full of civility. 
 
 After a few days, their shyness abated, and I 
 found them well disposed. The wife had most 
 of the countenance and character of a gaoler. 
 She was a woman with a very sharp face, about 
 forty years old, and very sharp in her words ; 
 and did not give the smallest sign of being 
 capable of kindness to any one but her chil- 
 dren. 
 
 She commonly brought me my coffee in the 
 morning and after dinner, water, linen, &c. 
 She was usually accompanied by her daughter, 
 a girl of fifteen, not handsome, but with a com- 
 passionate expression, and her two sons, one 
 thirteen, the other ten years of age. They 
 withdrew with their mother, and their three 
 young faces turned gently to look at me as 
 the door was closed. The gaoler came to my 
 room only when he had to conduct me to the 
 hall, where the commission for my examination 
 held its meetings. The secondini seldom came 
 near mc, being occupied in attending the pris- 
 ons of the police, wliich were placed upon a 
 lower floor, and were always full of thieves.
 
 80 MY PRISONS. 
 
 One of these sccondini was more than seventy 
 years old, but still able to endure the fatigue of 
 perpetually going up and down stairs to the dif- 
 ferent cells. The other was a young man of 
 twenty-four or five, more disposed to talk of his 
 love affairs, than to attend to his business.
 
 MY PRISONS. 81 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 To one accused of hostility to the govern- 
 ment, the anxiety attending a criminal process 
 is dreadful. How much apprehension is felt of 
 injuring others ! How difficult it is to struggle 
 against so many charges, so many suspicions ! 
 How probable it is, that every thing will be- 
 come more and more miserably entangled, if 
 the process do not quickly terminate, if new 
 arrests are made, if new imprudences are dis- 
 covered, even of individuals who are strangers 
 to the accused, but belonging to the same party ! 
 I have resolved not to speak of politics, and 
 I must, therefore, suppress all account of my 
 examination. I will only say, that after having 
 been subjected to it for many hours, I returned 
 to my room so irritated, so enraged, that I 
 should have destroyed myself, if the voice of 
 religion, and the recollection of my beloved 
 relatives, had not restrained me. 
 
 The habit of tranquillity, which at Milan I 
 thought I had acquired, was lost. For some 
 days I despaired of ever recovering it, and 
 6
 
 82 MY PRISONS. 
 
 they were days of torture. I ceased to pray, 
 I questioned the justice of God, I cursed man- 
 kind and the universe, and revolved in my mind 
 all possible sophisms upon the vanity of virtue. 
 
 An unhappy and exasperated man is horribly 
 ingenious in calumniating his fellow-creatures, 
 and even the Creator himself. Anger is more 
 immoral, more wicked, than is commonly thought. 
 Although one cannot rage from morning till 
 night for a week, and the mind most enslaved 
 by passion must have intervals of repose, yet 
 in these intervals we usually feel the effects 
 of the immorality which has preceded them. 
 The mind seems to be at peace, but it is a 
 malignant, irreligious peace ; a savage compla- 
 cency, without charity, without dignity ; a feel- 
 ing of pleasure in disorder, riot, and scorn. 
 
 In such a state I sung for whole hours, with 
 a kind of merriment which had nothing in it 
 of good feeling. I jested with all who entered 
 my apartment ; I forced myself to regard all 
 things with a vulgar wisdom, the wisdom of 
 cynics. 
 
 This disgraceful state did not last long, — six 
 or seven days. 
 
 My Bible was covered with dust. One of the
 
 MY PRISONS. 83 
 
 gaoler's boys said, while caressing me ; " Since 
 you have ceased to read that ugly book, you 
 are much less melancholy, I think." 
 
 "Do you think so ^ " said I. 
 
 And taking the Bible, I wiped the dust from 
 it with my handkerchief, and opening it at ran- 
 dom, my eyes fell upon these words : " Theti 
 said he to his disciples, It is impossible that of- 
 fences should not come : but tcoe to him through 
 whom they come ! It tvere better for him that a 
 millstone were hanged about his neck, and he icere 
 cast into the sea, than that he should offend one 
 of these little ones."* 
 
 I was struck by finding these words, and 
 blushed that the boy should have perceived, 
 from the dust which he saw upon it, that I no 
 longer read the Bible, and that he should sup- 
 pose I had become more amiable by being re- 
 gardless of God. 
 
 " You graceless little fellow," said I to him, 
 reproving him gently, and grieved for having 
 been an offence to him ; " This is not an ^ighj 
 book, and I am in a very bad state since I neg- 
 lected to road it. When your mother permits 
 
 • Luke, chapter xvii. verses 1, 2.
 
 84 MY PRISONS. 
 
 you to stay a moment with me, I endeavour 
 to drive away my bad humor ; but you do not 
 know how it overcomes me when I am alone, 
 when you hear me sing hke a madman ! "
 
 MY PRISONS. 85 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The boy left me ; and I felt a degree of pleas- 
 ure at having again taken the Bible in my hand, 
 and having confessed that I was in a worse 
 state without it. It seemed to me, as if I had 
 made satisfaction to a generous friend, whom I 
 had unjustly offended ; as if I had effected a 
 reconciliation. 
 
 "And had I abandoned thee, my God?" I 
 exclaimed. " And had I become perverted ? 
 And could I believe that the infamous sneer of 
 cynicism was suited to my desperate situa- 
 tion ? " 
 
 I pronounced these words with indescribable 
 emotion ; I placed the Bible upon a chair, knelt 
 down to read, and I, who am so often unable 
 to weep, burst into tears. 
 
 Those tears were a thousand times sweeter, 
 than all irrational mirth. I again felt the pres- 
 ence of God ! I loved Him, I repented having 
 ofTendod Him by degrading myself, and I vowed 
 never again to separate myself from Him ; never 
 again !
 
 86 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Oh ! how a sincere return to religion con- 
 soles and elevates the spirit ! 
 
 I read and wept for more than an hour, and 
 rose full of faith, that God was with me, that 
 God had pardoned all my folly. Then my 
 misfortunes, the torments of the examination, 
 the scaffold, which would probably be my fate, 
 appeared to me small things. I exulted in suf- 
 fering, since that gave opportunity for the ex- 
 ercise of virtue, since, by suffering with a re- 
 signed spirit, I obeyed the Lord. 
 
 Thanks to Heaven, I knew how the Bible 
 should be read. I no longer judged it with 
 the wretched criticism of Voltaire, treating con- 
 temptuously expressions that are neither laugh- 
 able nor false, except when through real igno- 
 rance or malice their meaning is not understood. 
 I clearly perceived, that it is the code of ho- 
 liness, and therefore of truth ; that to be of- 
 fended by certain imperfections of style is un- 
 philosophical, and like the pride of him, who 
 despises every thing which does not possess 
 elegance of form ; that it is absurd to imagine, 
 that such a collection of venerable religious 
 books should not have an authentic origin ; and 
 that the superiority of such writings over the
 
 MY PRISONS. 87 
 
 Koran, and the theology of India, is indispu- 
 table. 
 
 Many have made a bad use of them; it has 
 been the aim of many to make them a code of 
 injustice, a sanction for their wicked passions. 
 This is true ; but it is always so ; every thing 
 may be abused ; and in what case should the 
 abuse of an excellent thing lead us to say, that 
 it is in itself bad } 
 
 As Jesus Christ proclaimed, the sum of the 
 law and the prophets, of all this collection of 
 sacred books, is to be found in the precept of 
 loving God and man. And must not such wri- 
 tings contain truth adapted to every age ? Must 
 they not be the ever-living words of the Holy 
 Spirit .'' 
 
 These reflections being awakened in me, I re- 
 newed my purpose of disposing all my thoughts 
 on human things, all my opinions upon the pro- 
 gress of civilization, my philanthropy, my pa- 
 triotism, and all the affections of my soul, in 
 conformity to religion. 
 
 The few days I had passed in cynicism had 
 greatly injured me. I felt the effects for a 
 long time, and was obliged to labor to over- 
 come them. Every time man yields in any dc-
 
 «a MYPRISONS. 
 
 gree to the temptation of degrading his intel- 
 lect, of regarding the works of God through the 
 infernal medium of scorn, of abandoning the 
 beneficial exercise of prayer, the injury which 
 he does to his own reason renders him liable 
 to fall again. For many weeks I was assailed 
 almost every day by strong unbelieving thoughts. 
 I exerted all the power of my mind to repel 
 them.
 
 MYPRISONS. 89 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 When these conflicts had ceased, and I again 
 felt myself firm in the habit of honoring God 
 with my whole will, I enjoyed for some time a 
 delightful state of tranquillity. The examina- 
 tions, to Avhich the commission subjected me 
 every two or three days, however painful they 
 might be, no longer produced lasting disquiet. 
 I strove, in this difficult position, not to fail in 
 what was due to others, and to my own honor, 
 and then said ; "Let God order the rest." 
 
 I resumed the habit of daily anticipating ev- 
 ery surprise, every emotion, every supposable 
 misfortune ; and this exercise was again a great 
 help to me. 
 
 Meanwhile my solitude increased. The two 
 sons of the gaoler, who at first gave me some- 
 times a little of their company, were put to 
 school, and, being in consequence little at home, 
 they came no more to see mo. The mother 
 and the sister, who, when the boys were there, 
 often stopped to talk with me, now appeared no 
 more, except to bring my coffee, and then left
 
 90 31 y PRISONS. 
 
 me. As to the mother, I cared but little about 
 her, for she did not show a compassionate heart. 
 But the daughter, though plain, had a certain 
 gentleness in her looks and words, that led 
 me to put some value upon them. When she 
 brought my coffee, and said, " I made it," it 
 always seemed to be excellent. When she 
 said, "Mamma made it," it was only warm wa- 
 ter. 
 
 Seeing human beings so seldom, I occupied 
 myself with some ants, that came upon my win- 
 dow. I fed them sumptuously ; they went to 
 call an army of their companions, and my win- 
 dow was full of these insects. I took notice, 
 also, of a beautiful spider, which hung its 
 tapestry upon one of my walls. I fed him 
 with flies and with gnats, and he grew familiar 
 enough with me to come upon my bed, and on 
 my hand, and to take his prey from my fingers. 
 
 Would that these had been the only insects 
 that visited me ! Though it was yet spring, 
 the gnats had already multiplied, I may with 
 truth say, frightfully. The winter had been 
 extraordinarily mild ; and, after some windy 
 weather in March, the hot season came on. 
 The heat of the air in the den that I inhab-
 
 MY PRISONS. 91 
 
 ited, is indescribable. It faced directly south, 
 under a leaden roof, and with the window open- 
 ing on the roof of St. Mark's, also of lead, the 
 reflection from which was tremendous. I was 
 suffocated. I had never had an idea of such 
 oppressive heat. In addition to this suffering 
 there was such a multitude of gnats, that, how- 
 ever I labored to destroy them, I was covered 
 with them ; the bed, the table, the chair, the 
 floor, the walls, the ceiling, every thing was 
 covered with them : and the surrounding air 
 contained an infinite number, always going and 
 coming through the window, and making an 
 infernal buzzing. The stings of these crea- 
 tures are not a little painful ; and when one is 
 pierced by them from morning till night, and 
 from night till morning, and has the everlasting 
 vexation of striving to diminish their number, 
 he in truth suffers much both in body and mind. 
 When I had learned from experience the se- 
 verity of this torment, and was unable to ob- 
 tain a change of my prison, the thought of 
 suicide entered my mind, and at times I feared 
 that I should become mad. But thanks to Heav- 
 en, these were not lasting disorders of my mind, 
 and religion continued to sustain me. It taught
 
 92 MY PRISONS. 
 
 me, that man should endure, and endure with 
 fortitude ; it made me feel a certain satisfac- 
 tion in pain, a complacency in not being sub- 
 dued by it, in overcoming every thing. 
 
 I said ; " Inasmuch as life is made painful to 
 me, so much the less shall I be cast down, if, 
 young as I am, I should be condemned to death. 
 Without these preliminary sufferings, perhaps, 
 I should die like a coward. And then, have I 
 such virtues as merit happiness } What are 
 they ? " 
 
 And examining myself with just rigor, I found, 
 in the years I had lived, only a few specious 
 traits of character ; all the rest was made up 
 of foolish, idolatrous passions, proud and false 
 virtues. ^' It is well," I concluded ; " suffer, 
 unworthy man, suffer ! If, through passion and 
 without any right, men and gnats should tor- 
 ment thee to death, acknowledge them as the 
 instruments of divine justice, and be silent."
 
 MY PRISONS. 93 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Does it need an effort for man to be sin- 
 cerely humble ? to be sensible that he is a sin- 
 ner ? Is it not true, that in general we waste 
 youth in vanity, and that, instead of striving 
 with all our powers to advance in the career 
 of goodness, we employ them in a great meas- 
 ure to degrade ourselves } There may be ex- 
 ceptions, but I confess they do not concern my 
 poor self. And I have no merit in being dis- 
 contented with myself When I see a lamp 
 which gives more smoke than flame, it requires 
 no great sincerity to say, that it does not burn 
 as it should. 
 
 Yes ; without self-abasement, without the scru- 
 ples of a bigot, contemplating myself with all 
 possible tranquillity of mind, I perceived that 
 I deserved the chastisements of God. A voice 
 from within said to me ; " Such chastisements 
 are due to thee for one reason, if not for an- 
 other ; may they avail to reconduct thee to- 
 wards Him who is perfect, and whom mortals 
 are called to imitate, according to their finite 
 powers."
 
 94 MY PRISONS. 
 
 With what reason, while I was constrained 
 to condemn myself for a thousand faults before 
 God, could I complain, if some men appear- 
 ed to me despicable and others wicked ; if 
 worldly prosperity was taken from me ; if I 
 were to perish in a dungeon, or to suffer a vio- 
 lent death ? 
 
 I endeavoured to fix in my heart reflections 
 so just and wise ; and, this being done, I saw 
 that it was necessary to be consistent, and that 
 I could be so in no other way, but by blessing 
 the righteous judgments of God, by loving Him, 
 and by extinguishing in myself every desire op- 
 posed to His will. 
 
 In order to become more steadfast in this 
 resolution, I determined henceforward diligent- 
 ly to develope all my thoughts by committing 
 them to writing. The difficulty was, that al- 
 though the commission allowed me to have ink 
 and paper, yet they numbered the sheets, pro- 
 hibiting the destruction of any of them, and 
 requiring that the manner in which I used them 
 should be submitted to their examination. To 
 supply the place of paper, I had recourse to 
 the innocent artifice of smoothing with a piece 
 of glass a rough table that I had ; upon which
 
 MY PRISONS. 95 
 
 I then wrote every day long meditations on the 
 duties of man, and on my own in particular. 
 
 I do not exaggerate when I say, that the 
 hours thus employed were sometimes delightful 
 to me, notwithstanding the difficulty of breath- 
 ing, which I suffered in consequence of the 
 extreme heat, and notwithstanding the painful 
 stings of the gnats. To escape their stings as 
 far as possible, I was obliged, in spite of the 
 heat, to wrap myself up from head to foot, and 
 to write, not only with gloves, but with a band- 
 age round my wrists, that the gnats might not 
 get into my sleeves. 
 
 My meditations assumed a biographical char- 
 acter. I gave an account of all the good and 
 evil dispositions, that had been formed witli- 
 in me from childhood to that time, entering 
 into discussions with myself, endeavouring to 
 explain all my doubts, and arranging, in the 
 best manner I could, all my knowledge, and all 
 my ideas upon every subject. 
 
 When the whole surface of the table, which 
 could be used, was filled with writing, I read 
 It again and again ; I meditated upon my for- 
 mer meditations, and at last resolved (often 
 with regret j to scrape it all off with the glass,
 
 96 MY PRISONS. 
 
 in order to have the surface again fit to re- 
 ceive my thoughts. 
 
 I then pursued my narrative, continually bro- 
 ken by digressions of all sorts, by analyses of 
 various points of metaphysics, of morals, of po- 
 litics, and of religion ; and when the table was 
 wholly covered anew, I read over and over 
 what I had written, and then effaced it again. 
 
 Being unwilling that any thing should prevent 
 me from bringing before my mind with perfect 
 fidelity my actions, so far as I could recollect 
 them, and my opinions, and foreseeing at the 
 same time the possibility of some inquisitorial 
 visit, I wrote in cipher, that is, with transpo- 
 sitions of letters and abbreviations, to which I 
 had been accustomed. Such a visit, however, 
 never happened, and no one was aware that I 
 passed my sad time thus comfortably. When 
 I heard the gaoler or others opening the door, 
 I covered the table with a table-cloth, and put 
 the ink and the legal little quire of paper upon it.
 
 MY PRISONS. 97 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Some of my hours were likewise devoted to 
 that small quire, sometimes a whole day, or a 
 whole night. On that I wrote literary articles. 
 I composed at this time the Ester d' Eno-addi 
 and the Iginia d' Asti, and the poems entitled 
 Tancreda, Rosilde, Eligi e Vulafrido, and Mello ; 
 besides several skeletons of tragedies and of 
 other works, among them, a poem upon the 
 Lombard League, and another upon Christopher 
 Columbus. 
 
 As it was not always easy to obtain a re- 
 newal of my paper when it was used, I made 
 the first draft of every composition upon the 
 table, or upon tlie wrapping-paper in which 
 dried figs or other fruits had been brought to 
 me. Sometimes, by giving my dinner to one 
 of the sccondini, making him believe that I had 
 no appetite, I induced hiin to bring me some 
 sheets of paper. This happened only in cer- 
 tain cases, when the table was already cover- 
 ed with writing, and I could not yet determine 
 to erase it. Then I suffered from hunger ; but, 
 7
 
 98 31 Y P R I S O JN S . 
 
 although the gaoler had my money in deposit, 
 I did not ask him for food through the whole 
 day, partly that he might not suspect that I 
 had o-iven away my dinner, and partly that the 
 secondino might not perceive that I had de- 
 ceived him, when I assured him of my want 
 of appetite. In the evening I sustained myself 
 with strong coffee, and I begged that la Sio7'a 
 Zanze * would make it. This was the daughter 
 of the gaoler, who, if she could do it without 
 the knowledge of her mother, made it very 
 strong ; so that, taken upon an empty stomach, 
 it caused a kind of nervous affection, that was 
 not unpleasant, and kept me awake all night. 
 
 In this state of gentle intoxication, I felt my 
 intellectual powers redoubled. I made verses, 
 philosophized, and prayed until the dawn of day, 
 with wonderful pleasure. A sudden weakness 
 afterwards seized me ; then I threw myself on 
 the bed, and in spite of the gnats, which, al- 
 though I wrapped myself up, succeeded in get- 
 ting at me to suck my blood, I slept profoundly 
 for an hour or two. 
 
 These nights of excitement, produced by 
 
 * La Signora Angiola.
 
 MY PRISONS. 99 
 
 strong coffee taken upon an empty stomach, 
 and passed in such pleasant exaltation, seemed 
 too agreeable not to be often sought for. In 
 consequence, even when I did not want paper 
 from the secondbio, I frequently determined not 
 to taste a mouthful of dinner, in order to pro- 
 cure in the evening the desired charm of the 
 magical beverage. Happy was it for me, when 
 I obtained my object. More than once it hap- 
 pened, that the coffee was not made by the 
 compassionate Zanze, and the wretched stuff 
 was unavailing. Then the disappointment made 
 me a little ill-humored. Instead of beinar ex- 
 cited, I was languid, I yawned, suffered from 
 hunger, threw myself upon the bed, and could 
 not sleep. 
 
 Then I complained of it to Zanze, and she 
 pitied me. One day, when I reproved her 
 harshly, as if she had deceived me, the poor 
 girl wept, and said to me ; " Signore, I have 
 never deceived any body, and yet every one 
 calls me a deceiver." 
 
 " Every one ^ Oh ! then it is clear that 1 
 am not the only person who is angry about this 
 wretched coffee." 
 
 " I do not mean that, Signore. Ah ! if you
 
 100 MY PRISONS. 
 
 only knew ! ... if I could pour out my wretch- 
 ed heart into yours ! . . . " 
 
 " Well, do not weep so ! What the deuce 
 is the matter with you ? I ask your pardon, 
 if I have scolded you unjustly. I really be- 
 lieve it is not your fault that I had such bad 
 coffee." 
 
 "Alas! I do not weep for that, Signore." 
 
 My self-love was somewhat mortified, but I 
 smiled. 
 
 " My scolding then is only the occasion of 
 your tears ; the real cause is something quite 
 different." 
 
 "Yes, truly." 
 
 " Who calls you a deceiver .'' " 
 
 "My lover." 
 
 And her face was covered with blushes. And 
 in her ingenuous confidence she related to me 
 a serio-comic idyl, which affected me.
 
 MY PRISONS. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 From that day I became, I know not why, 
 the confidant of the girl, and she was disposed 
 to talk with me a great deal. 
 
 She said to me ; " Signore, you are so good, 
 that I look up to you as a daughter looks up 
 to her father." 
 
 "You pay me a poor compliment," I replied, 
 pushing away her hand ; "I am hardly thirty- 
 two years old, and yet you look up to me as 
 your father." 
 
 "Well then, Signore, I will say as a brother." 
 
 And she seized my hand, and held it affec- 
 tionately. And all this was in perfect inno- 
 cence. 
 
 I said to myself afterwards ; " It is fortunate 
 she is not a beauty ; otherwise this innocent 
 familiarity might disconcert me." 
 
 At other times I said ; " It is fortunate she 
 is so young ! There can be no danger of my 
 being in love with such a child." 
 
 At other times I was a little uneasy from its 
 seeming to me, that I had deceived myself in
 
 102 MY PRISONS. 
 
 considering her plain, and I was obliged to ac- 
 knowledge that the outline of her form and fea- 
 tures was not irregular. 
 
 " If she were not so pale," said I, " and had 
 not those few freckles on her face, she might 
 pass for handsome." 
 
 In truth, it is impossible not to find some 
 charm in the presence, looks, and conversation 
 of a lively and affectionate girl, I had done 
 nothing to win her kindness ; and yet I was 
 dear to her, as a father or a brother, as I might 
 prefer. Why ? Because she had read the 
 Francesca da Rimini, and the Eiifemio, and my 
 verses made her weep so much ! and then I was 
 a prisoner, without having, as she said, either 
 robbed or murdered ! 
 
 In short, how was it possible that I, who 
 had been attached to Maddalena without see- 
 ing her, should be indifferent to the sisterly 
 attentions, to the agreeable flattery, to the ex- 
 cellent coffee of the 
 
 "Venezianina adolescente sbirra".'* 
 
 I should be an impostor, were I to attribute 
 
 * The young Venetian police-girl.
 
 MY PRISONS. 103 
 
 to discretion my not being in love with her. I 
 was not in love with her, simply because she 
 had a lover, of whom she was passionately fond. 
 Woe to me, had it been otherwise ! 
 
 But if the sentiment she awoke in me was 
 not what is called love, I confess that it was 
 something like it. I desired that she should 
 be happy, that she should succeed in mai-rying 
 him who pleased her. I had not the least jeal- 
 ousy, not the smallest idea that she could se- 
 lect me as the object of her affection. But 
 when I heard the door open, my heart beat 
 with the hope that it was Zanze ; and if it were 
 not, I was dissatisfied ; but if it were, my 
 heart beat yet more strongly, and I was re- 
 joiced. 
 
 Her parents, who had already conceived a 
 good opinion of me, and knew that she was 
 passionately in love with another, felt no con- 
 cern about allowing her to come almost always 
 to bring my coffee in the morning, and some- 
 times in the evening. 
 
 She was simple and winningly affectionate. 
 She said to me ; " I am so much in love with 
 another, and yet I am so ready to stay with 
 you ! When I do not see my lover, I feel 
 dissatisfied everywhere but here."
 
 104 MY PRISONS. 
 
 "Do you know why ? " 
 
 "No, I do not." 
 
 " I will tell you ; it is because I let you talk 
 of your lover." 
 
 "That may very well be ; but it seems to 
 me, that it is likewise because I esteem you so 
 very, very much ! " 
 
 Poor girl ! she had the blessed fault of con- 
 tinually taking my hand and pressing it, and 
 did not perceive that this pleased and disturbed 
 me at the same time. 
 
 But thanks be to Heaven, I can remember 
 her without the least remorse !
 
 MY PRISONS. 105 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 These pages would certainly be more inter- 
 esting if Zanze had been in love with me, or 
 if I at least had been distracted for her. Yet 
 that simple good will which united us, was more 
 precious to me than love. And, if sometimes 
 I feared that it would change its character in 
 my foolish heart, I was seriously grieved at the 
 thought. 
 
 Once, apprehensive that this would happen, 
 distressed to find her (I knew not by what en- 
 chantment) a hundred times more pleasing than 
 she had seemed to me at first, surprised by 
 the melancholy I sometimes experienced when 
 she was absent, and by the joy which her pres- 
 ence brought back to me ; I undertook for two 
 days to appear cold and stern, imagining that 
 she would discontinue in some degree her fa- 
 miliarity with me. This expedient was of little 
 use ; the poor girl was so patient, so compas- 
 sionate ! .She rested her elbow on tlic window, 
 and stood looking at mo silently. Then she 
 said to me :
 
 106 flIY PRISONS. 
 
 " Signore, you appear to be weary of my 
 company ; yet if I could, I would remain here 
 all day ; just because I see that you need to 
 be drawn away from your own thoughts. This 
 ill humor is the natural effect of solitude ; but 
 if you would try to talk a little, it would go 
 off; and if you do not wish to talk, I will." 
 
 "Of your lover, eh ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! not always of him. I can talk of 
 something else." 
 
 And she actually began to tell me of her 
 little domestic interests, of the harshness of her 
 mother, of her father's kindness, of the boyish 
 tricks of her brothers ; and her narratives were 
 full of simplicity and grace. But, without per- 
 ceiving it, she always returned to the favorite 
 theme, her unfortunate love. 
 
 I persisted however in being ungracious, and 
 I hoped that she would be displeased by it. 
 But either from inconsideration or from art, she 
 paid no attention to it, and I was compelled at 
 last to appear cheerful again, to smile, to be 
 moved, and to thank her for her sweet patience 
 with me. 
 
 I dismissed the ungrateful design of displeas- 
 ing her, and by degrees my apprehensions were
 
 MY PRISONS. 107 
 
 calmed. In truth I was not in love with her ; 
 I examined my scruples a long time, I wrote 
 my reflections upon the subject, and I was 
 benefited by revolving them in my mind. 
 
 Man sometimes terrifies himself by bugbears, 
 created out of nothing. In order not to fear 
 them, we must look at them closely, and with 
 greater attention. 
 
 And how was I to blame, if I wished for her 
 visits with tender solicitude, if I appreciated 
 their sweetness, if I was pleased to be pitied 
 by her, and requited sympathy with sympathy, 
 since our thoughts relating to each other were 
 as pure as the purest thoughts of infancy ; 
 since even her taking my hand, and her most 
 affectionate looks, while they disturbed me, yet 
 filled me with salutary respect ? 
 
 One evening, while she poured into my heart 
 a great affliction which she had experienced, 
 the unhappy girl threw her arms around my 
 neck, and my face was wet with her tears. In 
 this embrace, there was not the least thought 
 of impropriety. A daughter could not embrace 
 her father with more respect. 
 
 But my imagination was afterwards too much 
 affected by it. This embrace often returned to
 
 108 MY PRISONS. 
 
 my mind, and then I could no longer think of 
 any thing else. 
 
 Another time, when she abandoned herself to 
 a similar burst of filial confidence, I unbound 
 myself instantly from her dear arms, without 
 pressing her towards me, without kissing her, 
 and said, stammering : 
 
 " I beg you, Zanze, never to embrace me ; 
 it is not well." 
 
 She fixed her eyes upon me, cast them down, 
 and blushed ; and certainly it was the first time 
 that she read in my soul the possibility of any 
 weakness in relation to her. 
 
 She did not cease to be familiar with me, 
 but from that time her familiarity became more 
 respectful, more in accordance with my wishes, 
 and I was grateful to her for it.
 
 MY PRISONS. 109 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 I CANXOT speak of the evils which afflict 
 other men ; but, as to those which have fallen 
 to my lot during life I must confess, that, after 
 thorough examination, I have always found 
 them ordered for my good. Yes, even that hor- 
 rible heat which oppressed me, and those ar- 
 mies of gnats, which made such fierce war upon 
 me. A thousand times I have reflected upon it. 
 Had I not been in such a state of perpetual 
 torment, constant vigilance would have been 
 necessary to render myself invulnerable to the 
 darts of love which threatened me ; a love, 
 which it would have been difficult to preserve 
 sufficiently respectful, considering how lively 
 and affectionate was the disposition of that girl. 
 If I sometimes trembled for myself, in the situ- 
 ation in which I was, how should I have been 
 able to govern my fancy in an agreeable at- 
 mosphere, suited to enjoyment. 
 
 Such being the indiscretion of Zanze's pa- 
 rents, who confided so much in me ; such be- 
 ing her own imprudence, that she did not fore-
 
 110 MY PRISONS. 
 
 see that she might be the cause of culpable 
 folly in me ; such being the insecurity of my 
 virtue, I have no doubt that the suffocating 
 heat of that furnace, and the cruel gnats, were 
 salutary circumstances. 
 
 Such thoughts reconciled me somewhat ta 
 those torments. And then I asked myself: 
 
 " Wouldst thou be free from them, and go 
 to a good room, with the comfort of fresh air, 
 and see that affectionate creature no more ? " 
 
 Shall I tell the truth ? I had not the cour- 
 age to answer the question. 
 
 When one has a little good will towards an- 
 other, the pleasure which things apparently tri- 
 fiinw may give is indescribable. Often a word 
 from Zanze, a smile, a tear, a grace of her 
 Venetian dialect, the quick motion of her arm 
 in brushing away the gnats from herself and 
 me with a handkerchief or a fan, infused a 
 childish pleasure into my soul, which remained 
 the whole day. It was particularly delightful 
 to me to find, that her troubles were lessened 
 by talking to me, that my pity was of value to 
 her, that she was influenced by my advice, and 
 that her heart was warmed, when we spoke of 
 virtue and of God.
 
 MY PRISONS. Ill 
 
 " When we have been talking together of 
 religion," said she, "I pray more readily, and 
 with more faith." 
 
 And sometimes, breaking off suddenly from 
 a frivolous conversation, she took the Bible, 
 opened it, kissed a verse at random, and then 
 wished that I would translate it to her, and 
 comment upon it. And she said : " I wish that 
 every time you read over that verse, you would 
 remember that I have imprinted a kiss there," 
 Her kisses, indeed, did not always fall on for- 
 tunate places, especially if she chanced to open 
 the Song of Solomon. Then, that I might not 
 make her blush, I took advantage of her igno- 
 rance of Latin, and made use of phrases, in 
 which I preserved the sanctity of the holy vol- 
 ume and her purity at the same time, both of 
 which inspired me with the deepest reverence. 
 In such cases I never allowed myself to smile. 
 It was, however, no small embarrassment to 
 me, when sometimes, not well understanding my 
 pseudo-version, she begged me to translate a 
 passage word for word, and would not lot mc 
 escape to another subject.
 
 112 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Nothing here below is lasting ! Zanze fell 
 sick. During the first days of her illness she 
 came to see me, and complained of great pain 
 in her head. She wept, and did not explain to» 
 me the cause of her tears. She only stammer- 
 ed some complaint against her lover. " He is 
 a bad man," said she ; " but may God forgive 
 him ! " 
 
 Although I entreated her to open her heart 
 to me as she was accustomed to do, I could 
 not learn what made her so unhappy. 
 
 " I shall return to-morrow mornino;," said 
 she one evening. But the following day, my 
 coffee was brought by her mother, other days 
 by the secondini, and Zanze was seriously ill. 
 
 The secondini said some ambiguous things 
 about this girl's love affair, which made my 
 hair stand on end. A seduction "i But perhaps 
 they were calumnies. I confess that I gave 
 credit to them, and was greatly troubled by 
 such a misfortune. But nevertheless I will hope 
 that they did not speak the truth.
 
 MY PRISONS. 113 
 
 After more than a month's illness, the poor 
 girl was carried into the country, and I saw 
 her no more. 
 
 I cannot describe what I suffered from this 
 loss. Oh ! how much more horrible my solitude 
 became. The thought that that kind-hearted 
 girl was unhappy, was a hundred times more 
 bitter to me than her absence. She had con- 
 soled me so much in my misery by her gen- 
 tle compassion, and now my compassion was 
 useless to her ! But surely she must have be- 
 lieved, that I wept for her, that I would have 
 made no small sacrifice to procure some com- 
 fort for her, had it been possible, ,and that I 
 should never cease to bless her, and to pray 
 for her happiness. 
 
 While Zanze was near me, her visits, though 
 always too short, by breaking delightfully the 
 monotony of my perpetual silent meditation and 
 study, by interweaving other ideas with my own, 
 and by exciting in me gentle affections, truly 
 gave a charm to my adversity, and a double 
 value to my existence. 
 
 Afterwards, my prison became again like a 
 tomb. I was for many days so oppressed by 
 sadness, that I no longer found the least plcas- 
 8
 
 114 MY PRISONS. 
 
 ure in writing. My sadness however was tran- 
 quil, compared with the violent emotions I had 
 formerly experienced. Was it that I had now 
 become more familiar with misfortune ^ more 
 philosophical ? more Christian ? or only that the 
 suffocating heat of my room had deadened my 
 sensibility to suffering ? Alas ! not my sensi- 
 bility to suffering. I recollect that I suffered 
 acutely in my inmost soul, and perhaps more 
 acutely, because I had no will to express what 
 I felt by cries and groans. 
 
 Certainly the long apprenticeship I had 
 served had made me more capable of enduring 
 new afflictions with resignation to the will of 
 God. I had so often said to myself, // is mean- 
 spirited to complain, that at last I had learned 
 to restrain murmurs just ready to break forth, 
 and was ashamed that they had been upon my 
 lips. The practice of writing my thoughts liad 
 contributed to invigorate my soul, to free me 
 from vain illusions, and to bring the greater 
 part of my reasonings to these conclusions : 
 
 There is a God, therefore there is infallible 
 justice ; then, whatever takes place is ordered 
 for the best ; consequently, the sufferings of 
 man in this world are for the good of man. 
 
 My acquaintance with Zanze had also been
 
 MY PRISONS. 115 
 
 useful to me ; it had softened my temper. The 
 
 pleasure of her approbation had been an incen- 
 
 > 
 tive to me not to fail for some months in a 
 
 duty, which I considered incumbent upon all 
 men, to be superior to fortune, and therefore 
 patient. And some months of perseverance ha- 
 bituated me to resignation. 
 
 Zanze saw me angry only twice. Once it 
 was, as I have mentioned, on account of the 
 bad coffee ; the other occasion was as follows. 
 
 Every two or three weeks a letter from my 
 family was brought to me by the gaoler, a let- 
 ter that had passed first through the hands of 
 the commission, and in which passages had been 
 completely blotted out. One day it happened, 
 that, instead of blotting out only some phrases, 
 they had drawn one horrible line through the 
 whole letter, excepting the words " Dearest Sil- 
 vio," which were at the beginning, and the 
 salutation at the end ; " We all heartily embrace 
 you." 
 
 I was so angry at this, that in Zanze 's pres- 
 ence I broke forth into violent outcries, and 
 cursed I knew not whom. The poor girl pitied 
 me ; but at the same time rebuked me for my 
 inconsistency with my principles. I felt that she 
 was right, and I refrained from cursing any one.
 
 116 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 One day a secondino entered my room with 
 a mysterious air, and said to me : 
 
 " When the siora Zanze was here ... as the 
 coffee was brought by her . . . and she stayed a 
 long time to talk ... I was afraid that the rogue 
 found out all your secrets, Signore ..." 
 
 " No, she discovered none," said I, angrily ; 
 " if I had any secrets, I should not be such a 
 simpleton as to suffer them to be drawn from 
 me. Go on." 
 
 " Pardon me ; I do not say that you are a 
 simpleton ; but I distrusted the siora Zanze. 
 And now, Signore, that you have no longer any 
 one that comes to keep you company, ... I 
 trust, . . . that ..." 
 
 "What ? Explain yourself at once." 
 "But, first, swear not to betray me." 
 " As for swearing not to betray you, that I 
 can do ; I have never betrayed any one." 
 "Will you swear so then, in earnest ? " 
 " Yes, I swear not to betray you ; but know, 
 fool that you are, that any one who is capable
 
 MY PRISONS. 117 
 
 of betraying, would also be capable of breaking 
 an oath." 
 
 He drew a letter from his pocket and gave 
 it to me, trembling and conjuring me to destroy 
 it, when I had read it. 
 
 " Stop," said I to him, opening it ; "as soon 
 as I have read it, I will destroy it in your 
 presence." 
 
 " But, Signore, it must be answered, and I 
 cannot wait. Do it at your leisure. Only let 
 us have an understanding together. When you 
 hear any one coming, you may always know 
 whether it be I or not, by my singing the air, 
 ' Sognai, mi gera un gato.' * Then you need 
 not fear being surprised, and can keep any pa- 
 per in your pocket. But if you do not hear 
 that song, it will be a sign, either that it is not 
 I, or that some one is with me. In that case, 
 do not trust to keeping any paper concealed, 
 because there may be an examination ; but if 
 you should have one, destroy it quickly, and 
 throw it out of the window." 
 
 " Be not alarmed : I see that you are cau- 
 tious, and I will be so likewise." 
 
 * I dreamt I was a cat.
 
 118 MY PRISONS. 
 
 "Yet you have called me a fool." 
 "You do well to reprove me," said I to him, 
 pressing his hand. "Forgive me." 
 
 He then went out, and I read as follows : 
 " I am ..." (and here followed the name) 
 " one of your admirers. I know the whole of 
 your Francesca da Rimini by heart. I was ar- 
 rested for ..." (and here he told the cause of 
 his arrest, and the date of it), " and I would 
 give I know not how many pounds of my blood 
 to have the advantage of being with you, or, 
 at least, to have a cell contiguous to yours, 
 so that we might converse together. Since I 
 understood from Tremerello (so we will call 
 our confidant), that you, Signore, were arrest- 
 ed, and for what reason, I have burnt with 
 desire to tell you, that no one compassionates 
 you more than myself, that no one loves you 
 more than I do. Will you be so good as to 
 accept the following proposal, namely, that we 
 should both lighten the weight of our solitude 
 by writing to each other ? I promise you as a 
 man of honor, that not a creature in the world 
 shall ever know it from me, persuaded, that, 
 should you accept my proposal, I may expect
 
 MY PRISONS. 119 
 
 the same secrecy from you. In the mean time, 
 that you may have some knowledge of me, I 
 will give you an abstract of my history, &c." 
 The abstract followed.
 
 120 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Every reader who has a little huagination 
 will easily conceive, how exciting such a letter 
 must have been to a poor prisoner, particularly 
 to one whose disposition was by no means un- 
 social, and whose heart was affectionate. My 
 first feeling was attachment to this unknown 
 individual, pity for his misfortunes, and grati- 
 tude for the kindness which he manifested to- 
 wards me. 
 
 "Yes," I exclaimed, "I accept your propo- 
 sal, generous man ; may my letters give you 
 as much comfort as yours will give me, as 
 much as I now derive from your first ! " 
 
 And I read the letter over and over again 
 with a boyish delight, and a hundred times 
 blessed the writer ; and it seemed to me that 
 every expression revealed a sincere and noble 
 soul. 
 
 The sun was setting ; it was my hour of 
 prayer. Oh ! how I felt the presence of God, 
 how I thanked him for always supplying new 
 means to prevent the powers of my mind and
 
 MY PRISONS. 121 
 
 heart from languishing ! How the recollection 
 of all his precious gifts revived within me ! 
 
 I stood before the large window, my arms 
 between the bars, and my hands folded. The 
 church of St. Mark was beneath me, a prodi- 
 gious multitude of wild doves were hovering 
 around the leaden roof, fluttering and building 
 their nests ; the most magnificent sky was be- 
 fore me. I overlooked all that part of Venice 
 which was visible from my prison ; while a dis- 
 tant sound of human voices fell gently upon 
 my ear. From this unhappy, but wonderful 
 place, I addressed myself to Him, who alone 
 saw me ; to Him I commended my father, my 
 mother, and all who were dear to me, one by 
 one, and it seemed as if He replied to me : 
 "Put thy trust in my goodness ! " — and I 
 exclaimed, " Yes, in thy goodness do I put 
 my trust ! " 
 
 I concluded my prayer, softened and com- 
 forted ; caring little for the stings, that mean- 
 while the gnats had been giving me at their 
 pleasure. 
 
 In the evening, after so much exaltation, my 
 imagination beginning to grow calm, the gnats 
 becoming insufferable, and I being obliged, as
 
 122 MY PRISONS. 
 
 usual, to wrap up my face and hands, a vulgar 
 and malignant thought suddenly entered my 
 mind, which made me shudder ; I wished to 
 expel it, but could not. 
 
 Tremerello had hinted to me an infamous 
 suspicion concerning Zanze, that she had been 
 a spy of my secrets, — she! that pure soul! 
 who knew nothing of politics ! who wished to 
 know nothing of them ! 
 
 It was impossible to doubt her ; but I asked 
 myself, " Have I the same certainty about Tre- 
 merello I And what, if that knave should him- 
 self be a spy ? What, if that letter should 
 have been fabricated by some unknown indi- 
 vidual, in order to induce me to make impor- 
 tant confidential communications to one appear- 
 ing as a new friend. Perhaps the pretended 
 prisoner who wrote to me does not even exist. 
 Perhaps there is such an individual, and he 
 may be a perfidious wretch, who seeks to learn 
 secrets, in order that he may purchase his own 
 safety by betraying them. Perhaps he is a 
 worthy man, and the treachery is in Treme- 
 rello, who would ruin us both in order to gain 
 an addition to his salary."
 
 MY PRISONS. 123 
 
 It is base, but only too natural, for one who 
 groans in a prison, to fear on every side en- 
 mity and fraud. 
 
 Such suspicions grieved and disheartened me. 
 I could never, indeed, admit them for a mo- 
 ment with regard to Zanze. But ever since 
 Tremerello had uttered those words respecting 
 her, a half doubt had tormented me, not of her, 
 but of those who had allowed her to come to 
 my room. Had they, through their own zeal, 
 or the direction of a superior, given her the 
 task of a spy .•* Oh ! if it were so, how ill 
 they had been served ! 
 
 "But what," said I to myself, "is to be 
 done about the letter from the unknown .^ Shall 
 I conform to the severe, mean counsels of that 
 fear which is called prudence ? Shall I give 
 the letter again to Tremerello, and tell him, 
 that I am not willing to run any risk ? And 
 suppose there should be no fraud ? Suppose 
 that the unknown should be a man worthy of 
 my friendship, worthy that I should risk some- 
 thing to alleviate the anguish of his solitude. 
 Coward ! thou art standing perhaps but two 
 steps from death, the fatal sentence may any 
 day be pronounced ; and yet thou wouldst re-
 
 124 MY PRISONS. 
 
 fuse to do an act of love. I ought, — I ought 
 indeed to reply. But, if this correspondence 
 should unfortunately be discovered, even though 
 no one could in conscience make a crime of 
 it in us, yet would not poor Tremerello be 
 severely punished ? Is not this consideration 
 sufficient to make it my absolute duty not to 
 engage in it ? "
 
 31 Y PRISONS. 125 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 I WAS agitated all the evening, I did not 
 close my eyes through the night, and amidst so 
 much uncertainty I knew not what to deter- 
 mine. 
 
 I sprung from my bed before dawn, raised 
 myself to the window, and prayed. In difHcult 
 cases, we must lay our doubts before God, 
 listen to His inspirations, and follow them. 
 
 This I did, and after a long prayer I came 
 down, shook off the gnats, rubbed my bitten 
 cheeks with my hand, and my determination 
 was made. It was to express to Tremerello 
 my apprehension, that he miglit suffer in con- 
 sequence of this correspondence, to give it up 
 if he wavered, and to proceed in it if his fears 
 did not overcome him. 
 
 I walked about my room until I heard him 
 singing ; " Sognai, mi gera un g(ito, E ti mi 
 carezzevi." * Tremerello brought my coffee. 
 
 I told him my scruples, not sparing a word 
 
 * I dreamt I was a cat, and you caressed me.
 
 126 MY PRISONS. 
 
 that might excite his fear. I found him firm 
 in the desire to serve, as he said, tivo such per- 
 fect gentlemen. This was quite at variance with 
 his timid look, and with the name of Treme- 
 rello, which we had given him. Accordingly I 
 was firm also. 
 
 " I will leave you my wine," said I, " and 
 do you supply me with paper necessary for this 
 correspondence ; and trust me, that if I hear 
 the sound of the keys without your song, I will 
 always instantly destroy every thing clandes- 
 tine." 
 
 " Here is one sheet of paper ready ; I will 
 give you more as long as you wish, and I trust 
 entirely to your circumspection." 
 
 I burnt my mouth by swallowing my coffee 
 too hastily, Tremerello retired, and I sat down 
 to write. 
 
 Was I doing well ? Was the determination 
 I had made, truly inspired by God ? Was it 
 not rather a triumph of my natural boldness ; 
 a preference of what pleased me, to painful sac- 
 rifices ; a mixture of proud satisfaction in the 
 esteem which had been expressed for me by 
 the unknown, and of the fear of appearing pu-
 
 MY PRISONS. 127 
 
 sillanimous, if I preferred prudent silence to a 
 somewhat hazardous correspondence ? 
 
 How were these doubts to be solved ? I 
 frankly expressed them in replying to my fellow 
 captive, and added, that it was nevertheless my 
 opinion, that when it seems to any one, that he 
 is acting from proper motives, without a mani- 
 fest repugnance of conscience, he ought not to 
 fear that he is committing a fault. I begged 
 him, however, to reflect with all seriousness 
 upon what we had undertaken, and to tell me 
 candidly with what degree of tranquillity or un- 
 easiness he had determined upon it. "If," said 
 I, " in consequence of new reflections you judge 
 the enterprise too rash, let us make the effort 
 to give up the solace, which this correspondence 
 promises us, and content ourselves with being 
 known to each other by the exchange of a few 
 words, indelible pledges of strong attachment." 
 
 I wrote four pages glowing with the most 
 sincere affection, briefly hinted at the cause of 
 my imjjrisonment, spoke with expressions of 
 deep feeling of my family and some of my in- 
 timate friends, and aimed to make myself known 
 to the bottom of my heart.
 
 128 MY PRISONS. 
 
 In the evening my letter was carried. Not 
 having slept the preceding night, I was very 
 weary ; sleep did not require to be invoked, 
 and I awoke the following morning refreshed 
 and cheerful, my heart throbbing at the thought, 
 that I should perhaps in a few moments have 
 an answer from my friend.
 
 MY PRISONS. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 The answer came with my coffee. I sprung 
 upon Tremei-ello's neck, and said to him with 
 emotion, " May God reward you for so much 
 kindness ! " My suspicions of him and of the 
 unknown were dissipated, yet I cannot tell 
 why ; perhaps because they were odious to me ; 
 or because, being cautious never to speak fool- 
 ishly of politics, they appeared to me useless ; 
 or because, though an admirer of the genius 
 of Tacitus, I nevertheless have no faith in the 
 propriety of looking, like Tacitus, on the dark 
 side of every thing. 
 
 Julian (so my correspondent chose to sign 
 himself) began his letter with a polite pream- 
 ble, and said he was without any uneasiness 
 about our correspondence. Then he rallied me 
 upon my hesitation, at first gently, but with 
 more sharpness as he went on. At last, after 
 an eloquent eulogy upon sincerity, he asked 
 my pardon if ho could not conceal the i-egret 
 he had felt in consequence of perceiving in 
 me, as he .said, " a certain scrupulous wavering, 
 9
 
 130 MY PRISONS. 
 
 a certain Christian subtilty of conscience, ivliich 
 did not harmonize ivith true 'philosophy." 
 
 " I shall always esteem you," he added, 
 " even if we cannot agree about this ; but the 
 sincerity which I profess obliges me to tell you, 
 that I have no religion, that I abhor it alto- 
 gether, that through modesty I take the name 
 of Julian, because that good emperor was an 
 enemy of the Christians ; but in reality I go 
 much further than he did. The crowned Julian 
 believed in God, and he was not without cer- 
 tain bigotries of his own. I have none. I do 
 not believe in God ; I regard all virtue as con- 
 sisting in the love of truth and of him who 
 seeks it, and in hating him who does not please 
 me." 
 
 He went on in the same manner. He brought 
 no reasons for any thing, but inveighed vehe- 
 mently against Christianity, praised, with pom- 
 pous energy, the sublimity of virtue without 
 religion, and undertook, in a style partly serious 
 and partly jocose, to make a eulogy upon the 
 Emperor Julian for his apostasy, and for his 
 jihilanthropic attempt to efface from the earth 
 every trace of the Gospel. 
 
 Then, fearing he had shocked my -opinions
 
 3IY PRISONS. 131 
 
 too much, he again asked my pardon, and de- 
 claimed against the common want of sincerity. 
 He repeated his very great desire to continue 
 his connexion with me, and then concluded. 
 
 In a postscript, he said : " My only appre- 
 hension is, that I may not be sufficiently sin- 
 cere. I cannot therefore suppress the suspi- 
 cion, tlict the Christian language you make use 
 of to mc may be assumed. I earnestly de- 
 sire that it may be z^,. In that case, throw off 
 the ma=k ; I have sot you the example." 
 
 I cannot describe the strange effect this letter 
 had upon me. When I began to read, my 
 heart beat like that of a lover ; then a hand 
 of ice seemed to press upon it. The sarcasms 
 upon my conscientiousness offended me. I re- 
 pented of having formed any connexion with 
 such a man ; — I, who despise cynicism so 
 much ! who believe all its tendencies to be most 
 unphilosophical, most base ! who am so little to 
 be imposed upon by arrogance ! 
 
 Having read it through, I took the letter be- 
 tween the thumb and finger of one hand, and 
 the thumb and finger of the other, and raising 
 my left hand, drew down the right rapidly, so 
 that each of my hands remained in possession 
 of half the letter.
 
 132 MY PRISONS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 I LOOKED at those two pieces, and meditated 
 a moment upon the inconstancy of human things 
 and their false appearances. " But a short 
 time ao-o how much I desired this letter, and 
 now I tear it with indignation ! But a short 
 time ago what a presentiment I felt of future 
 friendship with this companion in misfortune ; 
 what a persuasion of mutual comfort ; what a 
 disposition to manifest towards him the greatest 
 affection 5 and now I call him insolent ! " 
 
 I put the pieces one upon the other, and tore 
 them as before. I was about to repeat the 
 same operation, but one of the four pieces fell 
 to the floor ; I stooped to take it up, and, in 
 the short space of time while I was stooping 
 and rising, I changed my determination, and 
 was disposed to read this vainglorious compo- 
 sition again. 
 
 I sat down, fitted the four pieces together 
 upon my Bible, and again read the letter. I 
 left it in this state, walked about, read it once 
 more, and meanwhile I thought thus :
 
 MY PRISONS. 133 
 
 " If I do not reply to him, he will con- 
 clude, that I am overwhelmed with confusion, 
 that I dare not appear again in the presence of 
 such a Hercules. Let me answer him ; let me 
 make him see, that I fear not to confront my 
 doctrines with his. Let me show him in a 
 suitable manner, that there is no meanness in 
 judging deliberately ; in hesitating concerning 
 a resolution somewhat hazardous, and hazard- 
 ous for others rather than for ourselves. Let 
 him learn, that true courage consists not in 
 laughing at conscience ; that true dignity con- 
 sists not in pride. Let me unfold to him the 
 reasonableness of Christianity and the insuffi- 
 ciency of unbelief — And after all, if this Julian 
 expresses opinions so opposite to my own ; if 
 he docs not spare me his bitter sarcasms ; if 
 he desires so little to conciliate me, is it not 
 at least a proof that he is not a spy ? — But 
 may not his thus rudely wounding my self-love 
 be a refinement of art ? — No, I cannot believe 
 it. It is ill-natured in me, because I feel 
 offended by those ihconsidcratc jokes, to wish 
 to persuade myself, that he who uttered them 
 must be the most worthless of men. Vulgar 
 malignity, which I have a thousand times con-
 
 134 MY PRISONS. 
 
 demned in others, away from my own heart ! 
 No, Julian is what he is, and nothing more ; 
 he is insolent, but he is not a spy. — And have 
 I in truth the right to give the odious name 
 of insolence to what he considers as sincerity ? — 
 This is your humility, O hypocrite ! It is enough 
 that one through an error of the understand- 
 ing should maintain false opinions, and deride 
 your faith, for you immediately to arrogate to 
 yourself the right of despising him. — God knows 
 if this fierce humility and this malevolent zeal, 
 in the breast of me, a Christian, are not worse 
 than the audacious sincerity of that unbeliev- 
 er ! — Perhaps nothing is wanting but a ray of 
 grace, to change his strong love of truth into 
 a religion firmer than my own. — Should I not 
 do better to pray for him, than to be angry 
 with him, and to suppose myself better than 
 he ? — Perhaps, while I was furiously tearing his 
 letter, he may have been reading mine again 
 with affectionate tenderness, and have trusted 
 so much in my goodness, as to believe me 
 incapable of being offended by the frankness of 
 his expressions. — Which is the most sinful, one 
 who loves, and says ' I am not a Christian,' or 
 one who says, ' I am a Christian,' and does not
 
 MY PRISONS. 135 
 
 love ? — It is difficult to know a man's charac- 
 ter after having lived with him many years, 
 and now I am ready to judge this man by a 
 single letter ! Among so many possibilities, is 
 it not supposable, that, without confessing it 
 even to himself, he may not be quite satisfied 
 with his atheism, and therefore may wish to 
 excite me to oppose it, with the secret hope 
 of being obliged to yield ? Oh ! may it be 
 thus ! Great God, in whose hand all instru- 
 ments, even the most unworthy, may be ef- 
 ficacious, choose me, oh ! choose me for this 
 work ! Impart to me such powerful and holy 
 arguments as may convince that unhappy man ; 
 such as may lead him to bless thee, and to 
 learn, that distant from thee there is no virtue 
 which is not a contradiction ! "'
 
 136 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 I TORE into smaller pieces, but without any 
 remains of anger, the four parts of the letter ; 
 I went to the window, stretched out my hand, 
 and stopped to observe the fate of the differ- 
 ent fragments, which became the sport of the 
 wind. Some rested upon the roof of the church, 
 others flew about a long time in the air, and 
 then fell to the ground. I saw that they were 
 so scattered, that there was no danger that any 
 one could collect them, and discover their se- 
 crets. 
 
 I then wrote to Julian, and took great care 
 not to be, and not to appear, offended. 
 
 I jested at his apprehension, that I carried 
 my scruples of conscience to a point which 
 did not accord with true philosophy, and told 
 him, that he ought at least to suspend his judg- 
 ment about it. I praised his profession of 
 sincerity, assured him that he would find me 
 equally sincere with himself, and added, that, 
 in order to give him a proof of it, I was pre- 
 paring to defend Christianity ; "well persuaded,"
 
 MY PRISONS. 137 
 
 said I, "that, as I shall always be ready to listen 
 in a friendly manner to your opinions, so you 
 will have the liberality to listen patiently to 
 mine." 
 
 This defence I proposed to make in succes- 
 sive parts, and I began at once by faithfully 
 analyzing the spirit of Christianity, as consist- 
 ing in the wox'ship of God without supersti- 
 tion, — brotherly love among men, — perpetual 
 aspirations after virtue, — humility without mean- 
 ness, — dignity without pride, — the model for 
 imitation being the God-man ! What can be 
 more philosophical and more sublime ? 
 
 My next purpose was, to show how such 
 wisdom had been more or less imparted to all 
 those who had sought the truth by the light of 
 reason ; but that it was never universally dif- 
 fused ; and how our divine Master, having ap- 
 peared upon earth, manifested himself in a 
 most striking manner, by effecting this diffusion 
 through the weakest human means. What the 
 greatest philosophers could never achieve, the 
 overthrow of idolatry, and the general preach- 
 ing of brotherly love, was accomplished by a 
 few uneducated messengers. Then the eman- 
 cipation of slaves became every day more
 
 138 MY PRISONS. 
 
 frequent ; and at last there appeared a form of 
 civilized life without slavery, a state of society 
 which to the ancient philosophers had seemed 
 impossible. 
 
 In the last place, I gave a review of history 
 from Jesus Christ to the present time, in order 
 to show, how the religion established by him 
 had been always found adapted to every pos- 
 sible stage of civilization ; and hence concluded 
 the opinion to be false, that, as civilization con- 
 tinues to advance, the Gospel will no longer be 
 iu accordance with it. 
 
 I wrote in a very small hand, and a very 
 long letter ; but I was unable to proceed much 
 further : my paper failed. I read my introduc- 
 tion over and over again, and it appeared to 
 me well done. There was not a word of re- 
 sentment for Julian's sarcasms ; expressions of 
 kindness abounded, and they were uttered from 
 my heart, which had now entirely i-ecovered its 
 tolerance. 
 
 I sent my letter, and the following morning 
 expected the answer with anxiety. 
 
 Tremerello came, and said ; 
 
 " That gentleman has not been able to write ; 
 but he begs you to continue your joke."
 
 MY PRISONS. 139 
 
 "Joke ? " I exclaimed. "He could not have 
 called it a joke ! you must have misunderstood 
 him." 
 
 Tremerello shrugged his shoulders : " I must 
 have misunderstood him." 
 
 " But do you really think he called it a 
 joke r " 
 
 " Just as I think I hear the stroke of St. 
 Mark's at this moment." (The great bell sound- 
 ed at the instant.) I drank my coffee, and was 
 silent. 
 
 " But tell me : had that gentleman read the 
 whole of my letter ? " 
 
 " I suppose so ; because he laughed, as if he 
 were out of his senses, and he made the letter 
 into a ball, and tossed it up in the air, and 
 when I told him that he must not forget to 
 destroy it, he did destroy it immediately." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 And I returned the cup to Tremerello, say- 
 ing, that it was plain that the coffee had been 
 made by Siora Bettina. 
 
 " Have you found it bad .-* " 
 
 "Wretched." 
 
 " I made it however, and I assure you I made 
 it strong, and there arc no grounds." 
 
 "Perhaps my mouth is out of taste."
 
 140 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 I WALKED about the whole morning in a state 
 of irritation. " What sort of fellow must this 
 Julian be ? Why does he call my letter a 
 joke ? Why does he laugh and play at ball 
 with it ? Why does he not give me even a 
 line in reply ? All unbelievers are alike. Feel- 
 ing the weakness of their cause, if any one 
 undertakes to confute them, they do not listen, 
 they laugh, and assume an air of superior gen- 
 ius, as if they had no need to examine any 
 thing. Unhappy men ! When was there any 
 philosophy without examination, without serious- 
 ness ? If it is true that Democritus always 
 laughed, he was a buffoon. — But what else 
 could I expect ? Why did I undertake this 
 correspondence ? That I should have deluded 
 myself for a moment was pardonable ; but when 
 I perceived that he was insolent, was I not a 
 fool to write to him again ? " 
 
 I resolved to write to him no more. At din- 
 ner Tremerello took my wine, poured it into a 
 bottle, and putting it into his pocket said, " Oh !
 
 MY PRISONS. 141 
 
 I recollect that I have some paper here for 
 you." And he gave it to me. 
 
 He went out, and as I looked at that blank 
 paper, I felt a temptation to write for the last 
 time to Julian, and to take leave of him with 
 a good lesson upon the baseness of insolence. 
 
 "A fine temptation!" I afterwards said to 
 myself, " to requite scorn for scorn ! to make 
 him hate Christianity yet more, by exhibiting 
 to him impatience and pride in myself, a Chris- 
 tian ! — No, that will not do ; let the corre- 
 spondence entirely cease. — And if I break it 
 off so abruptly, will he not be as likely to say, 
 that impatience and pride have conquered me r 
 — It is proper that I should write to him once 
 more, and without ill temper. — But if I can 
 write without ill temper, would it not be better 
 to give no intimation that I have been told of 
 his derision, and that he has been pleased to 
 call my letter a joke .? Would it not be better 
 to continue my apology for Christianity .' " 
 
 I thought a little while, and then determined 
 to do so. 
 
 In the evening I despatched my packet, and 
 the following morning received some lines, thank- 
 ing me in the coldest terms, free indeed from
 
 142 MY PRISONS. 
 
 any sarcastic expressions, but at the same time 
 without the slightest token of approbation, or of 
 a desire that I should go on. 
 
 This note displeased me ; nevertheless I de- 
 termined not to desist from my purpose. 
 
 My theme could not be treated briefly, and 
 was the subject of five or six other long let- 
 ters ; to each one of which came an answer 
 of thanks laconically expressed, accompanied 
 by some declamation foreign to the subject ; 
 sometimes cursing his enemies, sometimes laugh- 
 ing at himself for having cursed them, and say- 
 ing that it was natural that the strong should 
 oppress the weak, and that he regretted only 
 that he was not among the strong ; and some- 
 times confiding his love aflairs to me, and the 
 control that these exercised over his tormented 
 imagination. 
 
 However, to my last letter upon Christianity 
 he said that he was preparing a long answer. 
 I expected it for more than a week, and in the 
 mean time he wrote to me every day about 
 other things, and most frequently upon indecent 
 topics. 
 
 I begged him to recollect the answer which 
 he owed me, and I advised him to determine
 
 MY PRISONS. 143 
 
 to apply his mind to weigh carefully all the 
 arguments I had made use of. 
 
 He answered me somewhat angrily, lavish- 
 ing upon himself the titles of a philosopher, of 
 a man of strong mind, one who had no need to 
 think so very much in order to perceive that a 
 fire-fly was not a lantern; * — he then turned 
 from the subject, to speak gayly of scandalous 
 adventures. 
 
 * Referring to the Italian proverb ; Mostrur lucciole per 
 lanterne, " To show fire-flies for lanterns," that is, to make 
 one believe a thing to be different from what it is.
 
 144 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 I WAS patient, because I would not give him 
 a pretence to call me bigoted and intolerant, 
 and because I did not despair, that, after this 
 fever of dissolute buffoonery, a period of se- 
 riousness would arrive. In the mean time I 
 expressed to him my disapprobation of his ir- 
 reverence towards women, and of his abomi- 
 nable conduct in love affairs, and my compas- 
 sion for those unhappy beings, who, he told me, 
 had been his victims. 
 
 He pretended to have but little faith in the 
 sincerity of my disapprobation, and repeated : 
 " However you may grumhle about immorality, I 
 am certain that I divert you by my narratives ; — 
 all men love pleasure as I do ; but they have not 
 the frankness to speak of it ivithout disguise. I 
 ivill tell you such slo7'ies as shall enchant you, and 
 you will feel obliged in conscience to applaud me." 
 
 From Vv'eek to week, he never desisted from 
 this infamous manner of writing, and I (al- 
 ways hoping to find in every letter another 
 subject, and suffering myself to be drawn on
 
 MY PRISONS. 145 
 
 by curiosity) read the whole ; and my mind 
 was, not indeed perverted, but yet disturbed, 
 removed from noble and holy thoughts. Inter- 
 course with degraded men degrades ; unless 
 one has much more than common virtue, much 
 more than mine. 
 
 "Thus are you punished," said I to myself, 
 " for your presumption ! This is what one 
 gains by wishing to be a missionary, without 
 the requisite holiness ! " 
 
 One day I resolved to write to him as follows : 
 " I have hitherto done all in my power to 
 call your attention to other topics ; but you 
 continue to send me tales, which, as I told 
 you frankly, displease me. If an exchange of 
 thoughts upon more worthy subjects will be 
 agreeable to you, we will continue the corre- 
 spondence ; otherwise let us shake hands, and 
 each remain by himself" 
 
 I was two days without an answer ; and a( 
 first rejoiced at it. "Blessed solitude !" I ex- 
 claimed, "how much less bitter art thou, than a 
 discordant and debasing intercourse ! Instead 
 of tormenting myself by reading his immodest 
 language, instead of vainly fatiguing myself to 
 oppose to it the expression of those aspira- 
 10
 
 146 MY PRISONS. 
 
 tions that honor humanity, I shall return to 
 hold converse with God, and with the dear 
 recollections of my family and my true friends, 
 I shall again read the Bible much more, I 
 shall write my thoughts upon the table, study- 
 ing the bottom of my heart and endeavouring 
 to improve it, and shall taste the sweetness of 
 an innocent melancholy, a thousand times pre- 
 ferable to gay and sinful imaginations." 
 
 Every time that Tremerello entered my cell, 
 he said, "I have no answer yet." 
 
 " It is very well," I replied. 
 
 The third day he said to me ; " Signer N. N. 
 is somewhat ill." 
 
 " What is the matter with him ^ " 
 
 " He does not say ; but he is always stretch- 
 ed upon his bed ; he neither eats nor drinks, 
 and he is ill-humored." 
 
 I was moved at the thought, that he suffered, 
 and had no one to comfort him. 
 
 The words escaped from my lips, or rather 
 from my heart ; "I will write a few lines to 
 him." 
 
 " I will carry them to him this evening," said 
 Tremerello, and he went out.
 
 MY PRISONS. 147 
 
 I felt somewhat embarrassed as I placed my- 
 self at the table. " Am I right in resuming 
 our correspondence ? Did I not just now 
 bless solitude as a recovered treasure ? What 
 inconsistency then is mine ? — Yet that unhappy 
 man neither eats nor drinks ; surely he must 
 be ill. Is this the moment to abandon him ? 
 My last note was harsh ; it may have contribut- 
 ed to afflict him. Perhaps, in spite of our dif- 
 ferent modes of thinking, he never would have 
 dissolved our friendship. My note may have 
 appeared to him more unkind than it was, and 
 he may have considered me as taking leave of 
 him, finally and contemptuously."
 
 148 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 I WROTE thus : 
 
 " I hear that you are not well, and I am 
 very sorry for it. I wish with all my heart 
 that I were near you, and could perform for 
 you all the offices of a friend. I hope that 
 your ill health has heen the only cause of 
 your silence for the last three days. Could 
 you have been offended at my note the other 
 day ? I wi'ote it, I assure you, without the 
 least ill-will, and with the simple design of 
 leading you to more serious subjects of reflec- 
 tion. If writing is injurious to you, only send 
 me exact news of your health, I will write 
 evex'y day some trifle to amuse you, and to re- 
 mind you that I wish you well." 
 
 I could never have anticipated the letter 
 which he sent me in reply. It began thus : 
 " I renounce your friendship. If you do not 
 want mine, I do not want yours. I am not one 
 who pardons offences ; once rejected, I do not 
 return. Because you know that I am ill, you 
 hypocritically address me again, hoping that ill-
 
 MY PRISONS. 149 
 
 ness may have Aveakened my mind, and may 
 induce me to listen to your preaching." . . . 
 And he went on in this manner, reproaching 
 me violently, ridiculing me, caricaturing all that 
 I had said of religion and morals, protesting 
 that he would live and die always the same, 
 that is, with the greatest hatred and the great- 
 est contempt for all philosophy different from 
 his own. 
 
 I was confounded ! 
 
 " Fine conversions I make ! " said I, sorrow- 
 ful and shocked. " God is my witness that my 
 intentions were pure ! — No, I have not de- 
 served these insults ! — But patience ! I am 
 but undeceived once more. It is the worse 
 for him, if he imagines himself to be offended, 
 that he may enjoy the luxury of withholding 
 his forgiveness ! I am not obliged to do more 
 than I have done." 
 
 Nevertheless, after a few days my anger 
 abated, and I thought that his crazy letter 
 might have been the result of a transient ex- 
 citement. " Perhaps he is already ashamed of 
 it," said I ; " but is too proud to confess his 
 fault. Would it not be a generous act, now
 
 150 MY PRISONS. 
 
 that he has had time to become calm, to write 
 to him again ? " 
 
 It cost me much to make such a sacrifice 
 of self-love ; but I made it. He who humbles 
 himself for no mean end is not degraded, what- 
 ever unjust contempt may fall upon him. 
 
 I received for answer a letter less violent, 
 but not less insulting. The implacable man 
 told me that he admired my evangelical mod- 
 eration. 
 
 " Now then," pursued he, " we will resume 
 our correspondence ; but let us speak plainly. 
 We do not love each other. Let us each write 
 to amuse himself, putting freely upon paper all 
 that comes into his head ; you, your seraphic 
 imaginations, and I, my blasphemies ; you, your 
 ecstasies upon the dignity of man and woman, 
 I, the ingenuous narratives of my abominations 5 
 I, hoping to convert you, and you, to convert 
 me. Answer me, should the proposal please 
 you." 
 
 I replied 5 " Yours is not a proposal, but 
 a mockery. I have shown abundant good-will 
 towards you. My conscience requires nothing 
 more of me but to wish you all happiness in 
 this life and in the next."
 
 MY PRISONS. 151 
 
 Thus ended my clandestine intercourse with 
 that man. He was perhaps (who can tell ?) 
 one exasperated by misfortune and crazed by 
 despair, rather than absolutely wicked.
 
 152 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 Once more I earnestly blessed solitude, and 
 my days again passed for some time without 
 any adventure. 
 
 The summer ended ; during the last half of 
 September the heat diminished. October came, 
 and I then rejoiced in having a room which 
 would be comfortable in winter. But one morn- 
 ing the gaoler told me that he had orders to 
 change my cell. 
 
 "And where am I to go ? " 
 "A few steps from this, into a cooler room." 
 " And why did you not think of it when I 
 was dying with the heat, when the air was all 
 gnats, and the bed all bugs ? " 
 
 "The order did not come before." 
 "Well, patience ! let us go." 
 Although I had suffered so much in that 
 room, it pained me to leave it ; not only be- 
 cause it would have been very comfortable in 
 cold weather, but for many other reasons. There 
 I had those ants that I loved and nourished 
 with a solicitude, which I would call almost
 
 MY PRISONS. 153 
 
 paternal, were it not a ridiculous expression. 
 A few days before, that dear spider of which 
 I have spoken had emigrated, I know not 
 from what cause; but I said, "Who knows 
 but he may remember me, and come back ? 
 And now, that I am going away, he will 
 perhaps return, and find the cell vacant ; or, 
 should there be some other tenant, he may be 
 an enemy to spiders ; he may desti'oy that 
 beautiful web with his slipper, and crush the 
 poor insect ! Yet more, had not this sad prison 
 been cheered by the compassion of Zanze ? 
 How often has she rested upon that window, 
 and let the crumbs of buzzolai* fall liberally for 
 my ants. There she used to sit ; in that place 
 she told me one story, in this another ; there 
 she bent over my table, and her tears dropt up- 
 on it ! " 
 
 The place in wliich I was put was also in 
 the Piombi ; but to the north and west, with 
 two windows, one on each side, an abode of 
 perpetual cold, and, in the severe months, of 
 horrible frost. 
 
 The window towards the west was very large ; 
 
 • A kind of little rolls, thus called in Venice.
 
 154 WY PRISONS. 
 
 that towards the north was small, and high above 
 my bed. 
 
 I looked out first at the north window, and 
 found that it commanded a view of the palace 
 of the Patriarch. Other prisons were near mine, 
 in a wing of small extent on the right, and in 
 a projection of the building in front. In this 
 projection there were two cells, one above the 
 other ; the lower one had an enormous win- 
 dow, through which I saw a man elegantly 
 dressed, walking about. It was Signor Caporali 
 of Cesena. He saw me, made a signal to me, 
 and we told each other our names. 
 
 I then wished to examine the view from my 
 other window ; I placed the table upon the bed 
 and a chair upon the table, climbed up, and 
 saw that it was on a level with a part of the 
 roof of the palace. Beyond the palace appear- 
 ed a large part of the city and the Lagoon. 
 
 I stood observing this beautiful view, and did 
 not move when I heard the door open. It was 
 the gaoler, who, perceiving where I had climbed, 
 forgot that I could not pass through the bars 
 like a mouse, and thought that I was attempt- 
 ing to escape. In the first moment of his alarm, 
 he sprung upon the bed in spite of a rheu-
 
 MY PRISONS. 155 
 
 matism which tormented him, and caught me 
 by the leg, screaming like an eagle. 
 
 " But do you not see, stupid fellow, that it 
 is not possible for me to escape on account of 
 these bars ? Do you not understand, that I got 
 up here only from curiosity ? " 
 
 " I see, iSi'oj*, I see, I understand ; but come 
 down, I say, come down ; these are temptations 
 to escape." 
 
 And there was nothing for me to do, but to 
 get down and laugh.
 
 156 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 At the windows of the side prison I recog- 
 nised six other persons, who were confined for 
 political causes. 
 
 Thus, while I had prepared myself for greater 
 solitude than before, I found that I was in a 
 kind of world. At first this was unpleasant to 
 me, either because my long-continued solitary 
 life had already made my disposition somewhat 
 unsocial, or because the unpleasant termination 
 of my acquaintance with Julian had made me 
 distrustful. 
 
 But the little intercourse we began to have, 
 partly by words and partly by signs, soon ap- 
 peared to me an advantage, if not as a stimu- 
 lus to cheerfulness, at least as a diversion to 
 my thoughts. Of my connexion with Julian I 
 made no mention to any one. We had given 
 our word of honor to each other, that the secret 
 should remain buried in ourselves. I should 
 not have spoken of the subject in these pages, 
 were it not impossible for those under whose 
 eyes they may pass to conjecture, among so
 
 MY PRISONS. 157 
 
 many individuals as were confined in those cells, 
 which was Julian. 
 
 Besides this new intercourse with my fellow 
 prisoners, I formed an acquaintance of another 
 kind, which was very agreeable to me. 
 
 From the large window I saw, beyond the 
 projecting cells which were in front of me, 
 an extent of roofs, surmounted with chimneys, 
 turrets, belfries, and cupolas, which were lost 
 in the distant perspective of the sea and sky. 
 In the house nearest to me, which was a wing 
 of the Patriarchal palace, dwelt a worthy family, 
 who acquired a title to my gratitude from show- 
 ing, by their greetings, the pity with which I 
 inspired them. A salutation, a word of love to 
 the unhappy, is a great kindness ! 
 
 A boy al)out nine or ten years old began to 
 raise his little hands towards me from a win- 
 dow, and I heard him exclaim : 
 
 " Mamma, mamma, they have put some one 
 up in the Piombi. Oh, poor prisoner ! who are 
 you ? " 
 
 " I am Silvio Pellico," I replied. 
 
 Anotlicr l)oy, rather larger, then ran to the 
 window, and exclaimed : 
 
 "Arc you Silvio Pellico ? " 
 
 "Yes, and you, dear boys ? "
 
 158 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " My name is Antonio S. . . ., and my brother's 
 is Giuseppe." 
 
 Then he turned to some one within and said; 
 "What else shall I ask him ? " 
 
 And a woman whom I suppose to have been 
 their mother, and who was half concealed, sug- 
 gested some kind words to those dear children, 
 which they repeated, and for which I thanked 
 them with the liveliest emotion. 
 
 These conversations were but a small matter, 
 and it was necessary not to carry them too 
 far, lest they should draw the notice of the 
 gaoler ; but every day they were repeated, to 
 my great consolation, in the morning, at noon, 
 and at night. When the lights were brought, 
 and the woman closed the window, the boys cried 
 out ; "Good night, Silvio ! " and she, embold- 
 ened by the darkness, repeated with a tremu- 
 lous voice ; " Good night, Silvio ! Be of good 
 courage ! " 
 
 When those children took their breakfast or 
 supper, they said to me ; " Oh that we could 
 give you some of our coffee and milk ! Oh 
 that we could give you some of our rolls ! 
 Remember to come and see us the day you 
 are set at liberty ! We will give you some 
 fine warm rolls, and so many kisses ! "
 
 MY PRISONS. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 With the month of October returned the 
 most wretched of my anniversaries. I was ar- 
 rested on the 13th day of this month, the pre- 
 ceding year. Several other sad recollections 
 were connected with it. Two years before, 
 in October, an excellent man, whom I highly 
 honored, was drowned in the Ticino, by an un- 
 happy accident. Three years before, in Oc- 
 tober, Odoardo Briche, a young man whom I 
 loved as if he were my son, had accidentally 
 killed himself with a gun. In my early youth 
 another heavy affliction had befallen me in Oc- 
 tober. 
 
 Although I am not superstitious, I was made 
 very sad by the recollection of so many un- 
 happy events, which had been fated to occur in 
 this month. 
 
 While talking from the window with those 
 boys and with my fellow prisoners, I feigned 
 cheerfulness ; but I had scarcely returned into 
 my den, when an inexpressible load of sorrow 
 weighed upon my soul.
 
 160 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I took up my pen to compose verses, or to 
 engage in some other literary occupation ; and 
 an irresistible power seemed to force me to 
 write something altogether difTerent. What did 
 I write ? Long letters which I could not send ; 
 long letters to my dear family, in which I 
 poured out all my heart. I wrote them on the 
 table, and then erased them. They were warm 
 expressions of tenderness, and recollections of 
 the happiness I had enjoyed with my parents, 
 my brothers, and my sisters, all so indulgent 
 and so affectionate. The longing I felt for 
 them inspired me with an infinite variety of 
 passionate expressions. After having written 
 hours and hours, other sentiments always re- 
 mained for me to express. 
 
 Thus I repeated my biography under a new 
 form, illuded myself by reproducing the image 
 of the past, and forced myself to keep my 
 eyes fixed upon the happy times which were 
 no more. But, oh God ! how often, after hav- 
 ing represented in a most animated picture the 
 fairest portion of my life, after having excited 
 my imagination to such a degree that I even 
 seemed to be with the persons to whom I spoke, 
 I suddenly recollected the present, and my pen
 
 MY PRISONS. 161 
 
 dropped, and I was seized with horror ! Those 
 were truly fearful moments. I had experienced 
 them at other times, but never with such agi- 
 tation as that which now assailed me. 
 
 I attributed this agitation and terrible an- 
 guish to the too great excitement of feeling, 
 caused by the epistolary form that I gave to 
 those writings, and by addressing them to per- 
 sons so dear to me, 
 
 I wished to do otherwise, but I could not. 
 I wished at least to give up the epistolary form ; 
 I could not. I took the pen, placed myself to 
 write, and the result was always a letter full 
 of tenderness and grief 
 
 " Is my will no longer free ? " said I. " Is 
 this necessity of doing what I wish not to do, a 
 wandering of my mind ? This has not happen- 
 ed to me before. It might have been accounted 
 for in the early period of my confinement ; 
 but now, that I am inured to the life of a pris- 
 on, now, wlicn my imagination ought to be calm 
 upon all subjects, now, that I have so fortified 
 myself with philosophical and i-cligious reflec- 
 tions, how have I become the slave of the blind 
 desires of my heart, and grown thus childish ? 
 Let me apply myself to something else." 
 11
 
 162 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I then endeavoured to pray ; or to deaden 
 my feelings by studying the German language. 
 Vain effort ! I found myself beginning to write 
 another letter.
 
 3IY PRISOKS. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Such a state was a real disease ; perhaps I 
 might call it a kind of somnambulism. It was, 
 without doubt, the effect of great exhaustion, 
 produced hy thinking and watching. 
 
 It went much further. My nights became 
 constantly sleepless, and for the most part fe- 
 verish. In vain I ceased to take coffee in the 
 evening ; my sleeplessness was the same. 
 
 It seemed as if I were two men, one whose 
 will it was to be always writing letters, and 
 another who wished to do differently. ''Well," 
 said I, " let us come to an accommodation ; 
 write letters, but write them in German ; thus 
 we shall learn that lancuaire. " 
 
 From this time I wrote every thing in bad 
 German. By doing so I at least made some 
 progress in that study. 
 
 In the morning, after long watching, my brain 
 being exhausted, I became sleepy. Tlien I 
 dreamed, or rather wildly imagined, that I saw 
 my father, my mother, and others who were 
 dear to me, in despair at my fate. I heard
 
 164 MY PRISONS. 
 
 from them the most miserable sobs, and I sud- 
 denly awoke, sobbing and affrighted. 
 
 Sometimes in those short dreams, I seemed 
 to hear my mother consoling the others who 
 had entered with her into my prison, and ad- 
 dressing to me the most holy words upon the 
 duty of resignation ; and when I rejoiced in 
 her firmness, and in that of my other friends, 
 she suddenly burst into tears, and they all wept. 
 No one can tell what agonies my soul then suf- 
 fered. 
 
 In order to relieve myself from such misery, 
 I tried not to go to bed at all. I kept my 
 lamp burning the whole night, and remained 
 at the table to read and write. But of what 
 use was it ? I found myself after a time read- 
 ing wide awake, but without understanding any 
 thing, and absolutely incapable of arranging my 
 thoughts. Then I copied something, but while 
 I copied, my mind wandered from what I wrote ; 
 I was ruminating on my afflictions. 
 
 Yet if I went to bed, it was worse. No po- 
 sition was tolerable to me while lying down. 
 I threw myself about convulsively, and was 
 compelled to rise. Or if I sometimes slept, my 
 dreams of despair only made me more ill than 
 watching.
 
 MY PRISONS. 165 
 
 I derived no consolation from my prayers 
 yet I nevertheless repeated them frequently ; 
 not long prayers in words, but invocations to 
 God ! God united to man, and acquainted with 
 human griefs ! 
 
 In those horrible nights my imagination was 
 excited to such a degree, that even while awake 
 it appeared to me that I sometimes heard groans 
 in my prison, and sometimes stifled laughter. 
 I had never, from my infancy to this time, been 
 a believer in witches and apparitions ; but now 
 that laughter and those groans terrified me ; I 
 knew not how to explain them, and was con- 
 strained to doubt, whether I were not the sport 
 of unknown malignant powers. 
 
 Many times I took the light trembling, and 
 looked under the bed to see if there was any 
 one there who was mocking at me. Many times 
 the suspicion came upon me, that I had been 
 removed from my first room and brought into 
 this, because there was here some trap-door, or 
 some secret opening in the wall, whence my 
 tormentors observed all I did, and cruelly amused 
 themselves by terrifying me. 
 
 While I was seated at the tabic, it some- 
 times seemed as if some one pulled me by my
 
 166 MY PRISONS, 
 
 dress, or that a push was given to a book, 
 which fell on the floor, or that some person 
 behind me blew upon the light to extinguish 
 it. Then I sprung upon my feet, looked around, 
 walked about suspiciously, and asked myself, if 
 I were mad, or in my senses. I no longer 
 knew whether what I saw or felt was reality 
 or illusion, and I exclaimed with anguish : — 
 " Deus mens, Deus mens, ut quid dereliquisti me? " 
 (" My God, my God ! why hast thou forsaken 
 me ? ")
 
 MY PRISONS. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 OxcE I went to bed a little before dawn. I 
 had no doubt whatever of having put my hand- 
 kerchief under the bolster. But after a mo- 
 ment's sleep I awoke as usual, and it seemed 
 as if some one were strangling me. I per- 
 ceived that my neck was tightly bound. How 
 strange ! It was bound by my handkerchief, 
 strongly tied with many knots. I could have 
 sworn that I had not made those knots, that I 
 had not touched the handkerchief since I had 
 put it under the bolster. I must certainly have 
 done it, either sleeping or in delirium, without 
 retaining any remembrance of it ; but I could 
 not believe it ; and from that time was every 
 night in fear of being strangled. 
 
 I am aware how ridiculous such wanderings 
 of the mind must appear to others ; but I suf- 
 fered so much from them, that I shudder at the 
 thought of them still. 
 
 They disappeared every morning ; and as 
 long as the light of day lasted I felt myself 
 so strengthened against their terrors, that it
 
 168 MY PRISONS. 
 
 seemed to me impossible I should ever suffer 
 from them again. But at sunset I began to 
 tremble anew, and every night brought back 
 the wild phantoms of the preceding one. 
 
 In proportion to my Aveakness during the 
 night, were my efforts during the day to ap- 
 pear gay in conversation with my companions, 
 with the two boys in the Patriarchal palace, 
 and with my gaolers. No one who heard me 
 joke as I did, could have imagined the misera- 
 ble infirmity, from which I was suffering. I 
 hoped to invigorate myself by these efforts ; but 
 they were of no avail. Those nocturnal appa- 
 ritions, which by day I called absurdities, be- 
 came in the evening frightful realities. 
 
 If I had dared, I would have entreated the 
 commission to change my room ; but I could 
 not bring myself to it, from the fear of being 
 laughed at. 
 
 All my reasonings, all my resolutions, all 
 my studies, all my prayers being in vain, the 
 horrible idea of being totally and for ever aban- 
 doned by God took possession of my mind. 
 
 All those malignant sophisms against Provi- 
 dence, which, when my understanding was sound, 
 had a few weeks before appeared to me so
 
 MY PRISONS. 
 
 169 
 
 foolish, now came swarming into my head, and 
 seemed to me worthy of attention. I strug- 
 gled against this temptation for several days ; 
 then I abandoned myself to it. 
 
 I denied the excellence of religion ; I said, 
 as I had heard furious atheists say, and as Ju- 
 lian had written to me not long before ; " Re- 
 ligion serves only to enfeeble the mind." I was 
 presumptuous enough to believe, that by re- 
 nouncing my faitli in God, my mind would be 
 strengthened. Mad belief! I denied God ; and 
 yet was unable to deny the existence of in- 
 visible malignant beings, who seemed to sur- 
 round me, and to feast upon my miseries. 
 
 What shall I call this torment ? Is it enough 
 to say that it was a disease ? Or was it at the 
 same time a divine chastisement, to cast down 
 my pride, and to make me understand that with- 
 out special light I might become an unbeliever 
 like Julian, and even more insensate than he. 
 
 However it may be, God delivered me from 
 this great evil when I least expected it. 
 
 One morning after I had taken coffee, I was 
 seized with violent vomiting and colic. I thought 
 I had been poisoned. After being exhausted 
 by vomiting, I was in a profuse perspiration,
 
 170 MY PRISONS. 
 
 and remained in bed. Towards mid-day I fell 
 asleep, aud slept peacefully until the evening. 
 
 I awoke, surprised at having rested so long ; 
 and, thinking that I should sleep no more, I 
 arose. " If I am up," said I, " I shall be 
 better prepared for my usual terrors." 
 
 But those terrors did not come. I was trans- 
 ported, and in the fulness of my gratitude, feel- 
 ing once more the presence of God, I threw 
 myself upon my knees to adore Him, and to 
 ask his forgiveness, for having denied him dur- 
 ing many days. This effusion of joy exhausted 
 my strength, and while I was resting upon my 
 knees, supported by a chair, I again fell asleep, 
 and slept in that position. 
 
 I know not if it were an hour or many hours 
 afterwards, when I half awoke ; but I scarcely 
 had time to throw myself dressed as I was up- 
 on the bed, when I again fell into a sleep which 
 lasted till dawn. I continued sleepy all day ; 
 in the evening I lay down early and slept the 
 whole night. I am ignorant what crisis had 
 taken place in my disorder, but I was restored 
 to health.
 
 MY PRISONS. ni 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 The nausea, and pain in my head, from 
 which I had suffered a long time, ceased, and I 
 had an extraordinary appetite. I digested well, 
 and my strength increased. Wonderful Provi- 
 dence ! which had taken away my strength to 
 humble me, and restored it to me as the period 
 drew near when the sentences were to be pro- 
 nounced, not willing that I should sink under 
 their announcement. 
 
 On the 24th of November, one of our com- 
 panions. Dr. Foresti, was taken from the pris- 
 ons of the Piomhi, and carried we knew not 
 whither. The gaoler, his wife, and the secon- 
 dini were terrified, and none of them would 
 give me any liglit upon the subject. 
 
 "And what would you know," said Treme- 
 rcllo, " if there is notliing good to be known ? 
 I have told you too much already." 
 
 " Of what use is silence ? " exclaimed I, trem- 
 bling. " Have I not understood you ? Is he 
 then condemned to death ? " 
 
 " Who .? ... he ? ... Dr. Foresti ? " . . .
 
 172 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Tremerello hesitated ; but the love of talking 
 was not the least of his virtues. 
 
 " Do not then say that I am a tattler ; I 
 would not of my own accord open my mouth 
 about these matters. Remember that you have 
 forced me." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I have forced you ; but go on ! 
 tell me all. What of poor Foresti ? " 
 
 "Ah, Signore ! they have made him pass the 
 Bridge of Sighs ! he is in the condemned cells ! 
 The sentence of death has been pronounced 
 upon him and two others." 
 
 " And will it be executed ? When ? Unhap- 
 py men ! Who are the other two ? " 
 
 " I know nothing more. The sentences are 
 not yet published. It is said in Venice, that 
 there will be several commutations of punish- 
 ment. God grant that none of them may be 
 executed ! God grant, that, if all of them do 
 not escape from death, you at least may. I 
 feel as much affection for you . . . pardon the 
 freedom ... as if you were my brother ! " 
 
 And he went away much moved. The reader 
 may imagine in what agitation I was all that 
 day and the following night, and for several 
 succeeding days, in which I could learn nothing 
 more.
 
 MY PRISONS. 173 
 
 This uncertainty lasted for a month ; finally 
 the sentences relative to the first trial were 
 published. Many persons were fiDund guilty, 
 nine of whom were condemned to death, which 
 as an act of grace was commuted to severe 
 imprisonment fcarcere duroj ; some being con- 
 demned to this for twenty years, others for fif- 
 teen, and others for ten or less. In the two 
 former cases the punishment was to be suffered 
 in tlie fortress of Spielberg, near the city of 
 Brunn, in Moravia ; in the latter, in the for- 
 tress of Laybach. 
 
 Was the fact, that the punishment of all those 
 included in the first examination had been com- 
 muted, an argument that those concerned in 
 the second would likewise be spared from death ^ 
 Or would indulgence be exercised only towards 
 the first, because they were arrested before 
 the notifications were published against secret 
 societies, and would all the rigor of the law 
 fall upon the second ? 
 
 " The solution of this doubt cannot be dis- 
 tant," said 1 ; " thanks be to Heaven, that I 
 have time to foresee death, and to prepare my- 
 self for it."
 
 174 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 My only care was to die like a Christian 
 and with proper courage. I was tempted to 
 avoid the gibbet by committing suicide ; but 
 this thought passed away. — What merit is there 
 in not suffering one's self to be put to death 
 by an executioner, but becoming instead one's 
 own executioner ? Is it to preserve honor ? 
 And is it not a childish fancy to think there 
 is more honor in cheating the executioner than 
 in not doing so, when one is at all events 
 compelled to die ? — Even if I had not been a 
 Christian, suicide would upon reflection have 
 appeared to me a foolish indulgence, a useless 
 act. 
 
 "If the end of my life has arrived," said I 
 to myself, " am I not fortunate that it is in 
 such a manner as to give me time to recollect 
 myself, and to purify my conscience by holy 
 desires and acts of penitence, worthy of a man ? 
 Judging with the vulgar, to die on the gibbet 
 is the worst of deaths ; judging like a wise man, 
 is it not to be preferred to many kinds of death
 
 MY PRISONS. 175 
 
 that follow from disease, accompanied by great 
 weakness of intellect, which leaves no oppor- 
 tunity to raise the soul from low thoughts ? " 
 
 I was so deeply penetrated by the truth of 
 this reasoning, that the horror of death, and 
 of that kind of death, entirely passed away. I 
 meditated frequently upon the sacraments, which 
 were to strengthen me for the solemn change ; 
 and I seemed to be in a state to receive them 
 with such dispositions as would render them ef- 
 ficacious. The elevation of soul which I be- 
 lieved myself to possess, the peace, the indul- 
 gent feelings towards those who hated me, the 
 joy in being able to sacrifice my life to the 
 will of God ; should I have preserved them, 
 had I been led to execution ? Alas ! how full 
 of contradictions is man ! and when he seems 
 to be strongest and most holy, ho may fall in 
 an instant into weakness and sin. God only 
 knows if I should have died worthily. I do not 
 esteem myself so highly as to aflirm it. 
 
 In tiic mean time the probable nearness of 
 death so fixed my imagination ii|)(iii this idea, 
 that death ai)pcarcd to mo not only possible, 
 but signified by an infalliljlo presentiment. No 
 hope of avoiding this destiny any longer en-
 
 176 MY PRISONS. 
 
 tered my heart ; and at every sound of foot- 
 steps and of keys, at every opening of my door, 
 I said to myself ; " Courage ! perhaps they 
 come to take me to hear my sentence. Let 
 me hstea to it with becoming tranquillity, and 
 bless the Lord." 
 
 I reflected upon what I should write for the 
 last time to my family, and to each member 
 of it ; to my father, my mother, to each of 
 my brothers and to each of my sisters ; and 
 while revolving in my mind those expressions 
 of feelings so profound and so sacred, I was 
 tenderly affected, I wept ; yet those tears did 
 not enfeeble my resigned will. 
 
 Could it be otherwise than that I should 
 again pass sleepless nights ? But how very dif- 
 ferent were they from those I had suffered be- 
 fore ! I heard neither groans nor laughter in 
 my room. I imagined neither spirits nor hu- 
 man beings concealed. Night was more pleas- 
 ant to me than day ; because my thoughts 
 were more concentrated in prayer. Towards 
 four o'clock I usually went to bed, and slept 
 tranquilly for two hours. I then awoke, and 
 remained late in bed in order to rest. I arose 
 about eleven o'clock.
 
 MY PRISONS. 177 
 
 One night having lain down somewhat earlier 
 than usual, I had slept scai'cely a quarter of 
 an hour, when I awoke, and saw a great light 
 upon the wall opposite to me. I feared that 
 I had fallen into my former delirium ; but what 
 I saw Avas no illusion. The light came through 
 the north window, beneath which I lay. 
 
 I started up, took the table, put it upon my 
 bed, placed a chair upon it, climbed up, and 
 saw one of the most beautiful and terrible spec- 
 tacles of fire that I can imagine. 
 
 It was a great conflagration, at the distance 
 of a musket-shot from our prisons. It caught 
 in the house which contained the public ovens, 
 and consumed it. 
 
 The night was very dark, and consequently 
 the vast volumes of flame and smoke were the 
 more conspicuous, agitated as they were by a 
 violent wind. Sparks flew on all sides, and it 
 seemed as if the heavens rained them down. 
 The neighbouring Lagoon reflected the fire. A 
 multitude of gondolas were going and coming. 
 I pictured to myself the alarm and danger 
 of those who lived in the burning house and 
 in its vicinity, and sympathized with them. I 
 heard distant voices of men and women calling 
 12
 
 178 MY PRISONS. 
 
 to each other ; " Tognina ! Momolo ! Beppo ! 
 Zanze ! " Yes, the name of Zanze too sound- 
 ed in my ears ! There are a thousand of them 
 in Venice ; yet I feared that it might be that 
 one, whom I remembei'ed with so much inter- 
 est ! — " Can that unfortunate girl be there ? 
 and surrounded perhaps by flames ! Oh that 
 I might rush to her deliverance ! " 
 
 Breathless, alarmed, wondering, I remained 
 at the window till daylight ; then I descended, 
 oppressed by a mortal sadness, imagining much 
 more harm than had happened. Tremerello told 
 me, that nothing had been burned but the ovens, 
 and the adjoining magazines, with a large num- 
 ber of sacks of meal.
 
 MY PRISONS. 179 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 My imagination was still powerfully affected 
 by having seen this conflagration, when a few 
 nights afterwards, — I had not yet gone to bed, 
 but was at the table studying, quite benumbed 
 with cold, — I heard voices at a little distance. 
 They were those of the gaoler, his wife and 
 children, and the secondini, crying, — "Fire! 
 Fire ! Oh blessed Virgin ! Oh we are lost ! " 
 All feeling of cold immediately left me. I 
 sprang on my feet in a violent perspiration, and 
 looked round to discover the flames ; there 
 were none to be seen. 
 
 The fire, however, was in the palace itself, 
 in some offices near the prisons. 
 
 One of the secondini exclaimed ; " But, Mas- 
 ter, what shall we do with these gentlemen, 
 who are caged up here, if the fire increases?" 
 The gaoler replied ; " I have not the heart 
 to leave them to be roasted. Yet I cannot 
 open the cells without a permit from the com- 
 mission. Run, then, quick, I say, and ask their 
 leave."
 
 180 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " As quick as possible, Sior, but the answer 
 will not be in season, you know." 
 
 And where was that heroic resignation, which, 
 when I thought upon death, I had felt so sure 
 of possessing .'' Why should the idea of burn- 
 ing alive throw me into a fever .'' As if it were 
 a greater satisfaction to be strangled than to 
 be burned ! I thought of this, and was asham- 
 ed of myself. I was about to call to the gaol- 
 er, to beg him in mercy to open the door ; but 
 I restrained myself. Still I was in fear. 
 
 " See," said I, "what my courage would be, 
 if, delivered from the flames, I should be led 
 to execution ! I shall command myself, I shall 
 hide my cowardice from others, but I shall trem- 
 ble. But ... is there not courage in acting as 
 if we felt no fear, even while we tremble ? Is 
 it not generosity to force ourselves to give wil- 
 lingly what we regret to give ? Is it not obe- 
 dience, when we obey with difficulty ? " 
 
 The uproar in the gaoler's house was so 
 great as to indicate that the danger was con- 
 tinually increasing. And the secondino, who had 
 gone to ask permission to remove us, did not 
 return ! At last it seemed to me that I heard 
 his voice ; I listened, but could not distinguish
 
 MY PRISONS. 181 
 
 his words ; I waited, I hoped ; in vain ! no one 
 came. Is it possible that permission has not 
 been granted for our removal to some place of 
 safety ? And what, if no means of escape re- 
 main ? And what, if the gaoler and his family 
 should care only to save themselves, and no 
 one should think more of the poor encaged 
 men ? 
 
 "But this," I went on, "is not philosophy; 
 this is not religion ! Should I not do better 
 to prepare myself to see the flames burst into 
 my room, ready to devour me ? " 
 
 In the mean time the noises diminished. 
 Gradually they all died away. " And does 
 this prove that the fire has ceased, or have all 
 those fled that could escape, and do none re- 
 main except the victims abandoned to so cruel 
 a fate > " 
 
 The continuation of the silence calmed me. 
 I knew that the fire must be extinguished. 
 
 I went to bed, and reproached myself for 
 the distress I had suflcred as cowardly ; and 
 now, that I was no longer in danger of being 
 burned alive, I regretted that I had not been 
 burned, instead of having soon to suficr death 
 from the hand of man.
 
 182 MY PRISONS. 
 
 The following morning I heard from Treme- 
 rello what the fire was, and laughed at the 
 fright which he told me he had been in, as if 
 my own had not been equal to or greater than 
 his.
 
 MY PRISONS. 183 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 The 11th day of Januaiy, 1822, about nine 
 in the morning, Tremerello took an opportu- 
 nity to come to me, and said to me in great 
 agitation : 
 
 " Do you know that in the island of San Mi- 
 chele di Murano, a short distance from Venice, 
 there is a prison where there are perhaps more 
 than a hundred carbonari ? " 
 
 " You have told me that before. What do 
 you mean ? . . . Go on. Speak. Have any of 
 them been condemned ? " 
 
 "They have been." 
 
 "Who ? " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " Is my poor friend Maroncelli there ? " 
 
 "Ah, Signore ! I do not know who is there." 
 
 And he went away troubled, looking at me 
 with an expression of pity. 
 
 Soon after the gaoler came, accompanied by 
 secondini, and l)y a man whom I had never be- 
 fore seen. The gaoler appeared confused. The 
 stranger addressed me :
 
 184 MY rUISONS. 
 
 " Signore, the commission has ordered that 
 you should go with me." 
 
 ^' Let us go," said I; "and who then are 
 you ? " 
 
 " I am the keeper of the prison of San Mi- 
 chele, whither you are to be removed." 
 
 The gaoler of the Piombi gave my money, 
 which he had in his keeping, to this man. I 
 asked and obtained permission to make a pres- 
 ent to the secondini. I put my things in order, 
 took my Bible under my arm, and departed. 
 As I was descending those endless stairs, Tre- 
 merello pressed my hand by stealth. It seem- 
 ed as if he would say to me ; " Unfortunate 
 man ! you are lost." 
 
 We went out at a door, which opened upon 
 the Lagoon, where was a gondola with two of 
 the new gaoler's secondini. 
 
 I entered the gondola,, affected with opposite 
 emotions ; — a certain regret at leaving my 
 dwelling in the Piombi, where I had suffered 
 much ; but where I had also become attached 
 to some individuals, and they to lue ; — the 
 pleasure of finding myself, after so long a pe- 
 riod of confinement, in the open air, of seeing 
 the sky and the city and the water, without
 
 MY PRISONS. 185 
 
 the melancholy frame of iron gratings ; — the 
 recollection of the cheerful gondola, which at a 
 far happier time bore me upon that same La- 
 goon, the gondolas of the Lago di Como, those 
 of the Lago Maggiore, and the little boats of 
 the Po, and those of the Rhone and of the 
 Saone ! . . . Oh smiling, vanished years ! Who 
 in the world had ever been so happy as I ? " 
 
 Born of the kindest parents, in that condi- 
 tion of life which, being at an equal distance 
 from the rich and the poor, enables us to ob- 
 tain a true knowledge of the state of both, a 
 condition which I esteem the most advanta- 
 geous for the cultivation of the affections ; af- 
 ter a childhood cheered by the tenderest do- 
 mestic love, I went to Lyons to an aged mater- 
 nal uncle, very rich and very deserving of his 
 wealth, where all that might serve to enchant 
 a heart longing after elegance and love, had 
 delighted the fervor of my early youth. Thence 
 I returned to Italy, and lived at Milan with 
 my parents, where I pursued my studies, in- 
 dulged my love for society and books, and met 
 only with excellent friends an<l flattering ap- 
 plause. Monti and Foscolo, though at variance 
 with each other, were equally kind to me. I
 
 186 MY PRISONS. 
 
 attached myself more to the latter ; and al- 
 though an irritable man, who by his asperities 
 provoked many to dislike him, he was always 
 gentle and cordial towards me, and I regarded 
 him with affectionate respect. The other dis- 
 tinguished literai'y men also loved me ; and I 
 loved them in return. No envy, no calumny 
 ever assailed me, or if they did, they proceed- 
 ed from persons of so little credit, that they 
 could do me no harm. Upon the fall of the 
 kingdom of Italy, my father took up his resi- 
 dence at Turin with the rest of his family, and 
 I, delaying from time to time to join these 
 dear friends, at last fixed my residence at Mi- 
 lan, where so much happiness surrounded me 
 that I knew not how to* resign it. 
 
 Among other excellent friends, there were 
 three in Milan to whom I was particularly at- 
 tached ; Don Pietro Borsiere, Monsignor Ludo- 
 vico di Breme, and Count Luigi Porro Lam- 
 bertenghi. To these was afterwards added 
 Count Federigo Confalonieri.* Becoming the 
 
 * Pietro Borsieri, Ludovico di Breme, and Count Porro, 
 have been already mentioned. Count Federigo Confalo- 
 nieri, of an illustrious Milanese family, a man of great
 
 MY PRISONS. 187 
 
 tutor of two young children of Porro, I was 
 like a father to them, and like a brother to 
 their father. Not only all the most cultivated 
 men of the city frequented his house, but 
 many distinguished foreigners. Here I became 
 acquainted with De Stael, Schlegel, Davy, By- 
 ron, Hobhouse, Brougham, and many other 
 eminent persons from various parts of Europe. 
 What a great pleasure is the acquaintance of 
 men of worth, and how great a stimulus to 
 ennoble one's self! Yes, I was happy! I 
 would not have changed my lot for that of a 
 prince. And from this happy lot I had sud- 
 denly fallen among ruffians, to pass from prison 
 to prison, and at last to die on a gibbet or to 
 perish in fetters ! 
 
 talents and resolution, was a zealous promoter of popular 
 institutions in Lombardy. The Austrian government, be- 
 coming aware of the aversion manifested by the Coimt to 
 the foreign yoke, wliich weighed upon his country, had 
 him brought to trial in the years 1822 and 1823, and he 
 was condemned to severe imprisonment (carccre duro) for 
 life in the fortress of Spielberg, where he is compelled by 
 rheumatic pains to lie stretched on a wretched bed for six 
 months of the year.
 
 188 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 Revolving such thoughts I arrived at San 
 Michele, and was shut up in a room, which 
 had a view of a court, of the Lagoon, and of 
 the beautiful island of Murano. I inquired for 
 Maroncelli of the gaoler, his wife, and four se- 
 condini. But they made me short visits, were 
 full of reserve, and Avould tell me nothing. 
 
 However, among five or six persons it would 
 be strange not to find one ready to pity and to 
 talk, I met with such an individual, and learn- 
 ed what follows : 
 
 Maroncelli, after having been long alone, had 
 been placed with Count Camillo Laderchi ; * 
 but the Count had been released from prison 
 a few days before as innocent, and Maroncelli 
 was again alone. Of our companions, there 
 had also been released, as innocent. Professor 
 Gian-Domenico Romagnosif and Count Giovan- 
 
 • Count Camillo Laderchi, belonging to one of the most 
 distinguished families of Faenza. 
 t Gian-Domenico Romagnosi, born in Placentia, was for
 
 MY PRISONS. 189 
 
 ni Arrivabene.* Captain Rezia t and Signer 
 Canova were together. In a cell contiguous 
 to theirs, Professor Ressi J lay dying. 
 
 some years Professor of Criminal Law in the University of 
 Pavia, afterward in a higli school of law established by 
 the Italian government. He is the author of many philo- 
 sopliical works, but particularly known by the Genesi del 
 Diritto Penale (Grenesis of Criminal Law), by which he 
 obtained reputation both in and out of Italy. 
 
 * Count Giovanni Arrivabene of Mantua, who possessed 
 a considerable fortune, of which he made good use in pri- 
 vate charities, and in the maintenance of a school for mu- 
 tual instruction. Having fallen under the suspicion of the 
 government, he left Italy, and during his exile has written 
 a work which will be useful to every one who interests 
 liimself in the good of the human race. It is entitled 
 Dellc Society di Puhldica Bcncjicenza in Londra (Of the So- 
 cieties for Public Charity in London). 
 
 t Captain Rezia, an officer of artillery in the army of 
 Italy, was the son of Prolessor Rezia, a distinguished anato- 
 mist, whose preparations are to be Been in tlic Anatomical 
 Museum at Pavia. 
 
 t Professor Ressi occupied for several years the chair 
 of Political Economy in tin- University of Pavia, and is tlio 
 author of a work whicli bears the title, Kconomia della 
 Specie Uinana (Economy of tlie Human Race). Having 
 fallen under the suspicion of the Austrian government, ho 
 was put in prison, and a year afterwards died in confine- 
 ment.
 
 190 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " The sentences of those who are not liberat- 
 ed have then arrived," said I. "When is it 
 expected that they will be declared ? Perhaps 
 poor Ressi will die, or will be in no situation 
 to hear his sentence ; is it not so ? " 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 Every day I inquired for this unfortunate man, 
 
 "He has lost his speech; — he has regained 
 it, but his mind wanders, and he does not un- 
 derstand ; — he gives few signs of life ; — he 
 spits blood often, and his mind is wandering 
 still ; — he grows worse ; — he is better ; — he 
 is dying." 
 
 Such answers were given me for many weeks. 
 At last one morning I was told ; " He is 
 dead ! " 
 
 I shed tears for him, and consoled myself by 
 the thought, that he was ignorant of his con- 
 demnation ! 
 
 The following day, the 21st of February, 
 1822, the gaoler came for me about ten in the 
 forenoon. He conducted me to the hall of the 
 commission, and withdrew. The president, the 
 inquisitor, and the two assistant judges were 
 seated. They rose. 
 
 The president, with an expression of gener-
 
 MY PRISONS. 191 
 
 ous commiseration, told me that my sentence 
 had arrived, and that the judgment had been 
 terrible, but that the Emperor had mitigated 
 its severity. 
 
 The inquisitor read the sentence ; " Con- 
 demned to death." He then read the imperial 
 rescript ; " The punishment is conmiuted to fif- 
 teen years' severe imprisonment in the fortress 
 of Spielberg." 
 
 I answered ; "The will of God be done!" 
 
 And it was truly my intention to receive this 
 terrible blow as a Christian, and neither to 
 show, nor to indulge resentment against any 
 one. 
 
 The president praised my tranquillity, and 
 advised me always to preserve it, telling me 
 that it might perhaps depend upon this tranquil- 
 lity, whether in two or three years I should be 
 considered worthy of further grace. (Instead 
 of two or three, they were many more.) 
 
 The other judges likewise addressed to me 
 words of kindness and hope. But one of them, 
 who had always seemed hostile to me during 
 the trial, said something courteous, which yet 
 seemed cutting ; and tliat courtesy, I thought,
 
 192 MY PRISONS. 
 
 was belied by his looks, in which I could have 
 sworn I saw a smile of joy and of insult. 
 
 At the present time I would not swear that 
 it was so ; it is very possible that I may have 
 been in error. But then my blood was stirred, 
 and I had to struggle with myself to repress 
 my anger. I dissembled ; and, whilst they 
 were praising me for my Christian patience, I 
 had in reality lost it. 
 
 "We regret," said the inquisitor, "that to- 
 morrow the sentence must be announced to 
 you in public ; but the formality cannot be dis- 
 pensed with." 
 
 " Be it so, then," said I. 
 
 "From this time we grant you," he added, 
 "the society of your friend." And he called 
 the gaoler, and again consigned me to him, 
 telling him that I was to be put with Maron- 
 celli.
 
 MY PRISONS. 193 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 What a happy moment for my friend and 
 for myself was that of our meeting after a 
 separation of a year and three months, and af- 
 ter so much suffering ! The joys of friendship 
 made us, as it were, forget our condemnation 
 for some moments. 
 
 Soon however I tore myself from his arms, 
 to write to my father, I earnestly desired that 
 my sad fate should be made known to my fam- 
 ily by myself rather than by any one else ; 
 80 that the anguish of those beloved hearts 
 might be tempered by my words of peace and 
 religion. The judges promised me to send the 
 letter immediately. 
 
 After this Maroncelli spoke to me of his 
 trial and I of mine ; and we confided to each 
 other various incidents of our imprisonment. 
 Then, going to the window, we saluted three 
 other friends, who were at their windows. Two 
 of them were Canova and Rezia, who were to- 
 gether ; the first condemned to six years' severe 
 imprisonment, and the last to three ; the third 
 13
 
 194 MY PRISONS. 
 
 was Dr. Cesare Armari, who during some months 
 preceding had been my neighbour in the Piom- 
 bi. He had not been condemned, and was af- 
 terwards released, being declared innocent. 
 
 Talking with one and another was a pleas- 
 ant distraction of my thoughts during the whole 
 day and evening. But upon going to bed, the 
 light being extinguished, and all being silent, 
 it was not possible for rae to sleep ; my head 
 burned, my heart bled, while I thought of my 
 family. — Could my aged parents sustain such 
 a misfortune ? Would their other children be 
 able to console them ? They were all loved as 
 much as I was, and were more worthy than 
 myself; but do a father and mother ever find 
 in the children who remain to them, a compen- 
 sation for one whom they have lost ? 
 
 Would that I had thought only of my rela- 
 tions, and of others whom I loved ! The re- 
 membrance of them afflicted and softened me. 
 But my mind dwelt also on the smile of pleas- 
 ure and insult which I had imagined in the 
 countenance of that judge, on the trials, on 
 the causes of the different sentences, on po- 
 litical passions, and on the fate of so many of 
 my friends, . . . and I could no longer judge with
 
 MY PRISONS. 195 
 
 indulgence any of my adversaries. God put 
 me to a severe proof ! My duty was, to sus- 
 tain it with fortitude. I could not ! I would 
 not ! It was more agreeable to me to hate 
 than to forgive. I passed an infernal night. 
 
 In the morning I did not pray. The uni- 
 verse appeared to me the work of a power at 
 enmity with good. I had before been a ca- 
 lumniator of God ; but I could not have be- 
 lieved it possible for me to become so again, 
 and that within a few hours ! Julian in his 
 greatest fury could not be more impious than 
 I was. He who dwells on thoughts of hatred, 
 especially when overwhelmed by a great mis- 
 fortune, which ought to render him more re- 
 ligious, becomes wicked, even though he may 
 have been righteous. Yes, even though he 
 may have been righteous ; because no one 
 can hate without pride. And who art thou, 
 oh miserable mortal, to pretend that none of 
 thy follow creatures should judge thee se- 
 verely ? to pretend that no one can injure thee 
 in good faith, believing that he acts justly ? 
 to complain, if God leaves thee to sufler in 
 one way rather than another .''
 
 196 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I felt unhappy that I could not pray 5 but 
 where pride reigns, it acknowledges no God 
 but itself, 
 
 I would willingly have commended my deso- 
 late family to a Supreme Supporter, but I no 
 longer believed in Him.
 
 MY PRISONS. 197 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 At nine in the forenoon, Maroncelli and I 
 were put into a gondola, and were conducted 
 to the city. We landed at the palace of the 
 Doge, and ascended to the prisons. We were 
 put in the room where Signor Caporali had 
 been a few days before. I do not know whither 
 he was removed. Nine or ten sbirri were placed 
 as a guard, and we walked about, waiting for 
 the time when we should be led to the Piazza. 
 We waited long ; it was not till noon that the 
 inquisitor appeared, and announced to us that 
 it was time to go. The physician was present, 
 and proposed to us to drink a glass of mint- 
 water. Wc accepted it, and were grateful, not 
 so much for that, as for the deep compassion 
 that the good old man showed for us. It was 
 Dr. Dosmo. The head sbirro then advanced, 
 and put iiandcuffs on us. We followed him, 
 accompanied ]>y the other shirn. 
 
 We descended the magnificent Giants' Stairs, 
 and remembered tlie Doge Marino Faliero, who 
 was there beheaded. We entered the great
 
 198 MY PRISONS. 
 
 gateway that opens from the court of the pal- 
 ace upon the Piazzetta, and, arriving there, 
 turned to the left towards the Lagoon. In the 
 centre of the Piazzetta was the scaffold, which 
 we were to ascend. From the Giants' Stairs to 
 this scaffold, stood two files of German sol- 
 diers, between which we passed. 
 
 Having mounted the scaffold, we looked 
 around, and saw the immense crowd of peo- 
 ple filled with consternation. In several places, 
 at a distance, other soldiers were drawn up. 
 We were told, that cannon with lighted matches 
 were stationed on every side. 
 
 And it was in this very Piazzetta that a men- 
 dicant had said to me, in September, 1820, a 
 month previous to my arrest ; — " This is a 
 place of misfortune ! " 
 
 I recollected the mendicant, and thought ; — 
 " Who knows but he may be among so many 
 thousands of spectators, and perhaps recognise 
 me .? " 
 
 The German captain called out to us to turn 
 toward the palace and look up. We obeyed, 
 and saw upon the open- gallery an officer of 
 the court with a paper in his hand. It was 
 the sentence. He read it in a loud voice.
 
 MY PRISONS. 199 
 
 Profound silence reigned until he came to 
 the words, condemned to death. Then a general 
 murmur of compassion arose. Silence again 
 succeeded, that the reading might be finished. 
 New murmurs arose at the words ; condemned 
 to severe imprisonment ; Maroncelli for ticcnty 
 years, and Pellico for fifteen. 
 
 The captain made a sign to us to descend. 
 We did so, after having once more cast our 
 eyes around us. We again entered the court, 
 reascended the great stairs, and returned to 
 the room from which we had been taken ; our 
 handcuffs were removed, and we were carried 
 back to San Michele.
 
 200 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 Those who had been condemned before us 
 had already set out for Laybach and Spielberg, 
 accompanied by a commissary of police. The 
 same commissary was now expected back to 
 conduct us to our place of destination. It was 
 a month before he arrived. 
 
 During this interval I spent my time in talk- 
 ing and in hearing others talk, in order to dis- 
 tract my mind. Beside this, Maroncelli read 
 to me his literary compositions, and I read mine 
 to him. One evening I read from the window 
 Ester d' Engaddi to Canova, Rezia, and Arma- 
 ri, and, the following evening, Iginia d' Jlsti. 
 
 But during the night I wept and groaned, 
 and slept little or not at all. 
 
 I wished, and at the same time feai'ed, to 
 know how the news of my misfortune had been 
 received by my relations. 
 
 At last a letter came from my father. What 
 was my grief, when I found that the last I had 
 addressed to him had not been immediately 
 sent, as I had so earnestly begged of the in- 
 quisitor ! My unhappy father, who had always
 
 MY PRISONS, 201 
 
 flattered himself that I should be acquitted, one 
 day took up the Milan Gazette, and there found 
 my sentence ! He himself told me the cruel 
 circumstance, and left me to imagine the an- 
 guish of his soul.. 
 
 While I felt the greatest sorrow for him, 
 for my mother, and for all my family, how, at 
 the same time did I burn Avith anger, that my 
 letter had not been more speedily forward- 
 ed ! It was probably accidental ; but I sup- 
 posed there was infernal malice in this delay. 
 I believed that I saw in it a refinement of bar- 
 barity, a desire that the scourge should fall 
 with all possible severity even upon my inno- 
 cent relations. I could have been willing to 
 shed a sea of blood, in order to punish this fan- 
 cied inhumanity. 
 
 Now that I judge calmly, I do not think my 
 suspicions probable. The delay arose, without 
 doubt, only from negligence. 
 
 Furious as I was, I was greatly distressed 
 by hearing that my companions proposed to re- 
 ceive the communion at Easter before their 
 departure. I felt that I ought not to do so, 
 while I had no disposition to forgive. Not to 
 receive it was an oflence ; yet would that I 
 had given this offence !
 
 202 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 The commissary at last arrived from Ger- 
 many, and came to tell us that we should set 
 out in two days. 
 
 "I have the pleasure," he added, " of being 
 able to give you one consolation. Returning 
 from Spielberg, I saw at Vienna his majesty 
 the Emperor, who told me, that the days of 
 your punishment, Gentlemen, will be calculated 
 of twelve hours' length instead of twenty-four. 
 By this expression he intends to signify, that 
 the punishment is diminished one half" 
 
 This diminution was never officially announced 
 to us ; but there was no probability that the 
 commissary spoke an untruth, particularly as 
 he did not give us the intelligence secretly, but 
 with the knowledge of the commission. 
 
 Yet I could not rejoice at this. Seven years 
 and a half in chains were scarcely less horri- 
 ble to my mind than fifteen. It appeared to 
 me impossible I should live so long. 
 
 My health was again very miserable. I suf- 
 fered severe pains in the breast, with a cough.
 
 MY PRISONS. 203 
 
 and I believed that my lungs were affected. I 
 ate but little, and even that I did not digest. 
 
 Our departure was in the night between the 
 25th and 26th of March. We were permitted 
 to embrace our friend Dr. Cesare Armari. A 
 sbirro chained us transversely, the right hand 
 to the left foot, to render our escape impossi- 
 ble. We stept into a gondola, and the guards 
 rowed towards Fusina. 
 
 Arrived there, we found two carriages pre- 
 pared. Rezia and Canova went in one, Ma- 
 roncelli and I in the other. In one of the car- 
 riages was the commissary with two of the 
 prisoners, in the other an under-commissary 
 with the two others. Six or seven guards of 
 the police armed with muskets and sabres, part 
 within the carriage, and part on the box of the 
 driver, completed the convoy. 
 
 To be forced by misfortune to leave one's 
 country is always painful ; but to leave it in 
 chains, to be carried to a horrible climate, 
 destined to languish for years among malefac- 
 tors, is something so distressing, that no lan- 
 guage can describe it. 
 
 As I approached the Alps, my countrymen 
 became every hour more and more dear to me,
 
 204 MY PRISONS. 
 
 in consequence of the pity everywhere ex- 
 pressed for us by those we met. In every 
 city, in every village, wherever houses were 
 scattered, we were expected, as our condem- 
 nation had been publicly known for some weeks. 
 In several places, the commissaries and the 
 guards could scarcely disperse the crowd that 
 surrounded us. It is wonderful how much 
 sympathy was manifested towards us. 
 
 In Udine, an affecting and unexpected inci- 
 dent occurred. Upon our arrival at the inn, 
 the commissary had the gate of the court-yard 
 shut, in order to keep back the people. He 
 assigned us a room, and directed the sexwants 
 to bring supper and the necessaries for sleep- 
 ing. An instant afterwards three men entei'ed 
 with mattresses upon their shoulders. What 
 was our astonishment upon perceiving, that only 
 one of them was in the service of the house, 
 and that the others were two of our acquaint- 
 ances ! We pretended to assist them in putting 
 down the mattresses, and secretly took them 
 by the hand. Tears overflowed from their hearts 
 and from ours. Oh ! how painful it was to us 
 to be unable to shed them in each other's arms !
 
 MY PRISONS. 205 
 
 The commissaries did not observe this af- 
 fecting scene ; but I suspected that one of the 
 guards discovered the secret, as the good Da- 
 rio was pressing my hand. That guard was a 
 Venetian. He looked Dario and me in the 
 face, turned pale, and seemed to hesitate wheth- 
 er he should raise his voice ; but he was si- 
 lent and turned away his eyes, as if he had 
 observed nothing. If he did not conjecture 
 that they were our friends, he at least thought 
 that they were servants with whom we were 
 acquainted.
 
 206 MY PRISONS, 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 In the morning we left Udine, when it was 
 scarcely dawn. The affectionate Dario was al- 
 ready in the street, wrapped in his cloak ; he 
 saluted us again, and followed us for a long 
 time. We also saw a coach following us for 
 two or three miles. Some one in it waved a 
 handkerchief. At last, it turned back. Who 
 was it ? We had our suspicions. 
 
 Oh may God bless all those generous souls, 
 who are not ashamed to love the unfortunate. 
 How much more highly do I prize them, since, 
 during the period of my calamity, I have known 
 some cowards who have renounced me, and 
 thought to benefit themselves, by echoing re- 
 proaches against me. But these latter were few, 
 and the number of the former was not small. 
 
 -I deceived myself by supposing, that the com- 
 passion which we found in Italy would cease, 
 when we were in a foreign land. The good 
 man is always a fellow countryman of the un- 
 happy ! In passing through the Illyrian and 
 German provinces, it was the same as in our
 
 MV PRISONS. 207 
 
 own country. The exclamation was univer- 
 sal ; " Anne Herren ! " (Poor gentlemen !) 
 
 Sometimes upon entering a {ilace, our car- 
 riage was obliged to stop until it was decided 
 where we should lodge. Then the populace 
 pressed around us, and we heard words of 
 compassion, which truly burst from the heart. 
 The kindness of those people affected me still 
 more than that of my countrymen had done. 
 Oh ! how grateful I was to them all ! What a 
 solace is the compassion of our fellow men ! 
 How pleasant it is to love them ! 
 
 The consolation thus afforded me effectually 
 diminished my indignation against those I called 
 my enemies. 
 
 "Who knows," thought I, " if we could see 
 each other face to face, and if I could read 
 their souls, and they mine ; who knows, but I 
 might be forced to acknowledge that there is 
 no wickedness in them ; and they, that there 
 is none in me ? Who knows, but wc should 
 be constrained to feel mutual compassion and 
 love ? " 
 
 Much too often men detest one another, be- 
 cause they arc mutual strangers, when if they
 
 208 MY PRISONS. 
 
 would interchange a few words, one would give 
 his arm in confidence to the other. 
 
 We remained one day at Laybach, where 
 Canova and Rezia were separated from us, and 
 taken to the castle. It is easy to imagine how 
 painful this separation was to all four of us. 
 
 The evening of our arrival at Laybach, and 
 the following day, a gentleman had the polite- 
 ness to make us a visit, who told us, if I 
 rightly understood, that he was a municipal 
 secretary. He was very humane, and spoke 
 of religion with feeling and propriety. I sus- 
 pected that he was a priest, for priests in Ger- 
 many commonly dress exactly like laymen. He 
 had one of those ingenuous countenances that 
 inspire esteem. I regretted that I could not 
 have a longer acquaintance with him, and am 
 sorry to have been so careless as to forget his 
 name. 
 
 How gratifying it would also be to me to 
 know the name of a young girl, who, in a vil- 
 lage of Styria, followed us in the midst of a 
 crowd, and, when our carriage stopped for a few 
 minutes, saluted us with both hands, then went 
 away with a handkerchief to her eyes, resting 
 upon the arm of a melancholy looking young
 
 MY PRISONS. 209 
 
 man, who by his fair hair appeared to be a Ger- 
 man, but who perhaps had been in Italy, and 
 had become attached to our unhappy nation ! 
 
 How gratifying it would be to me, to know the 
 names of each one of those venerable fathers 
 and mothers of families, who in different places 
 approached us, to ask if we had parents ; and 
 upon being answered in the affirmative, turned 
 pale, and exclaimed ; " Oh, may God soon re- 
 store you to them I How unhappy they must 
 be in their old age ! " 
 
 14
 
 '210 x^IY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 We arrived at the place of our destination 
 on the 10th of April. 
 
 The city of Brlinn is the capital of Mora- 
 via, and the residence of the governor of the 
 two provinces of Moravia and Silesia. It is sit- 
 uated in a pleasant valley, and has a certain 
 appearance of wealth. At the time of which I 
 speak, there were many flourishing manufacto- 
 ries of cloth in the place, but they afterwards 
 fell into decay. The population was about thirty 
 thousand. 
 
 Near the walls, on the west, rises a hill, on 
 which stands the ill-omened fortress of Spiel- 
 berg ; once the palace of the lords of Mora- 
 via, now the severest prison of the Austrian 
 government. It was formerly a very strong 
 citadel ; but the French bombarded and took it 
 at the time of the famous battle of Austerlitz, 
 so named from a village at a little distance. It 
 was not repaired so as to serve for a fortress 5 
 but part of the outer wall, which had been de- 
 stroyed, was rebuilt. About three hundred
 
 MY PRISONS. 211 
 
 convicts, for the most part robbers and assas- 
 sins, are here confined ; some condemned to se- 
 vere imprisonment (carcere duroj, others to 
 very severe (durissimo). 
 
 Those condemned to severe imprisonment are 
 obliged to labor, to wear chains on the feet, to 
 sleep on bare boards, and to eat the poorest 
 food imaginable. Those condemned to very se- 
 vere imprisonment are chained more heavily, with 
 a band of iron round the waist, the chain be- 
 ing fastened in the wall, so that they can walk 
 only just by the side of the boards which serve 
 them for a bed ; their food is the same, al- 
 though the law says, bread and water. 
 
 We, prisoners of state, were condemned to 
 severe imprisonment. 
 
 As we ascended the hill, we turned our eyes 
 back to bid adieu to the world, uncertain wheth- 
 er the gulf, that was about to swallow us alive 
 would ever be unclosed for us. I was tranquil 
 in appearance, but I raged within. In vain I 
 sought calmness from philosophy ; philosophy 
 could afford me no sufficient support. 
 
 I left Venice in bad health, and had been 
 miserably wearied by the journey. My head 
 and my whole body were in pain. I burned with
 
 212 MY PRISONS. 
 
 fever. Disease heightened my exasperation, 
 and this exasperation probably aggravated my 
 disease. 
 
 We were consigned to the superintendent of 
 Spielberg ; and our names were registered by 
 him among those of the robbers. The imperial 
 commissary at his departure embraced us, and 
 was affected : — "I particularly recommend do- 
 cility to you, Gentlemen," said he ; "the small- 
 est infraction of discipline may be severely 
 punished by the superintendent." 
 
 The consignment being made, Maroncelli and 
 I were conducted to a subterranean corridor, 
 where two dark rooms, not adjoining, were open- 
 ed for us. Each of us was shut up in his den.
 
 MY PRISONS. 213 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 After having bid farewell to so many ob- 
 jects, when only two friends, equally unfortu- 
 nate, remain together, it is indeed a most bit- 
 ter thing for them to be parted. Maroncelli, 
 when he left me, perceived that I was ill, and 
 mourned for me, as for one whom he should 
 probably never more see. I mourned for him, 
 as for a vigorous plant in full flower, snatched 
 perhaps for ever from the vital light of the 
 sun. And, alas ! how that plant withered ! 
 He was restored to the light ; but alas ! in 
 what a state ! 
 
 When I found myself alone in this horrible 
 den, and heard the bohs fastened, and distin- 
 guished, by the dim light which fell from the 
 small, high window, the bare boards given me 
 for a bed, and an enormous chain in the wall, 
 I seated myself on that bed shuddering ; I 
 took Tip flic chain, and measured its length, 
 thinking it was intended for me. 
 
 Half an hour after, I heard the keys grate ; 
 the door was opened ; the head gaoler brought 
 me a pitcher of water.
 
 214 MY PRISONS. 
 
 "This is to drink," said he, with a rough 
 voice ; " and to-morrow morning I shall bring 
 the bread." 
 
 "Thank you, good man." 
 
 " I am not good," he replied. 
 
 " The worse for you," said I to him, irri- 
 tated. "This chain," I added, "is pei-haps for 
 me ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you do not keep quiet, if you 
 should grow furious, or speak insolently. But 
 if you will be reasonable, we shall only put 
 a chain on your feet. The smith is prepar- 
 ing it." 
 
 He walked slowly up and down, shaking his 
 vile bunch of large keys ; and I, with angry 
 eyes, observed his gigantic, meagre, aged fig- 
 ure ; and though the features of his face were 
 not vulgar, yet every thing about him seemed 
 to me to exhibit the most odious expression of 
 brutal severity. 
 
 Oh ! how unjust men are, when they judge 
 from appearances, and according to their arro- 
 gant prejudices ! The man, who, as I fancied, 
 took pleasure in shaking his keys, to make me 
 feel his power more bitterly, he, whom I con- 
 sidered as hardened by long habits of cruelty.
 
 MY PRISONS. 215 
 
 was full of compassionate thoughts, and spoke 
 in so rough a manner only to conceal his feel- 
 ings. He wished to hide them, that he might 
 not appear weak, and through fear of my being 
 an unworthy object ; but at the same time, 
 thinking that perhaps I was more unfortunate 
 than guilty, he was desirous of manifesting his 
 sympathy. 
 
 Annoyed by his presence, and still more by 
 his assuming the air of a master, I thought 
 proper to humble him, by saying to him im- 
 periously, as if addressing a servant, " Give 
 me the water." 
 
 He looked at me with an expression, which 
 seemed to say, "Arrogant man ! you must here 
 give up the habit of ordering." 
 
 But he was silent, he bent his long back, 
 took the pitcher from the floor, and gave it to 
 me. I perceived, as I took it, tliat ho trem- 
 bled, and attributing this trembling to his old 
 age, a mixture of pity and respect tempered 
 my pride. 
 
 " How old arc you ? " said I, in a kind tone. 
 
 " Seventy-four, Sir. I have in times past seen 
 many misfortunes of my own and of others."
 
 216 MY PRISONS. 
 
 While alluding to his own misfortunes and 
 those of others, he again trembled as he took 
 back the pitcher ; and I suspected that it was the 
 effect, not merely of old age, but of some gen- 
 erous emotion ; and the thought removed from 
 my mind the dislike, which his first appearance 
 had excited. 
 
 "What is your name ? " said I. 
 
 "A freak of fortune. Sir, has given me the 
 name of a great man. I am called Schiller." 
 
 Then in a few words he told me his coun- 
 try, and his origin, what wars he had been in, 
 and what wounds he had received. 
 
 He was a Swiss, of a peasant's family ; he 
 had fought against the Turks under General 
 Laudon in the time of Maria Theresa and of 
 Joseph the Second, and afterward in all the 
 wars of Austria against France, until the fall of 
 Napoleon.
 
 MY PRISONS. 217 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 When we conceive a better opinion of a 
 person of whom we had before thought ill, 
 then upon observation we seem to discover in 
 his countenance, voice, and manners, evident 
 signs of goodness. Is this discovery a reality ? 
 I suspect it to be an illusion. The same 
 countenance, voice, and manners appeared to 
 us a little while before to give evident to- 
 kens of a bad character. If our judgment be 
 changed with regard to the moral qualities, 
 the conclusions of our physiognomical science 
 suddenly change. How many faces do we 
 venerate, because we know they belong to ex- 
 cellent men, which would not seem at all suit- 
 ed to inspire veneration, if they belonged to 
 other mortals ! And so on the other hand. I 
 once laughed at a lady, who seeing a repre- 
 sentation of Catiline, and confounding him with 
 Collatinus, thought she discovered in it the 
 sublime grief of Collatinus for the death of Lu- 
 cretia. Yet such illusions are common.
 
 218 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I do not mean to deny that there may be 
 faces of good men which bear the stamp of 
 goodness stx'ongly hnpressed upon them, and 
 that there may be faces of scoundrels strongly 
 marked with the stamp of wickedness ; but I 
 maintain, that in many the expression is doubt- 
 ful. 
 
 Old Schiller having made some progress in 
 my favor, I observed him more attentively than 
 at first, and he was no longer unpleasant to me. 
 In truth, his conversation, notwithstanding a 
 certain degree of roughness, bore marks even 
 of a noble mind. 
 
 "Being a corporal," said he, "they have 
 given me the wretched office of gaoler as an 
 easier duty ; but God knows that it costs me 
 much more suffering than it would to risk my 
 life in battle." 
 
 I repented of having asked him for water so 
 haughtily a short time before. " My dear Schil- 
 ler," said I to him, pressing his hand, " you 
 deny it in vain ; I know that you are a good 
 man, and, since I have fallen into this adver- 
 sity, I thank Heaven for having given me you 
 for my keeper."
 
 BIY PRISONS. 
 
 219 
 
 He listened to my words, shook his head, 
 and then replied, rubbing his forehead like one 
 who has an unpleasant thought : 
 
 " I am a harsh man, Sir ; I was made to 
 take an oath v/hich I will never break. I 
 am obliged to treat all prisoners, having no re- 
 gard to their rank, without indulgence, without 
 permitting any abuses, and particularly so pris- 
 oners of state. The Emperor knows what he 
 is doing; I must obey him." 
 
 "You are an honest man, and I shall re- 
 spect what you think due to conscience. He 
 who acts conscientiously may err ; but he is 
 pure before God." 
 
 " Poor gentleman ! have patience and pity me. 
 I shall be hard as iron in the performance of 
 my duties ; but my heart ... my heart is full 
 of regret that I cannot relieve the unhappy. 
 This is what I meant." 
 
 We were both affect'cd. He begged me to 
 be quiet, not to become furious, as condemned 
 persons often do ; not to force him to treat 
 me with severity. 
 
 He then assumed a rough manner, as if to 
 conceal from mc in part the pity which he felt, 
 and said,
 
 220 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " Now I must go." 
 
 Then he turned back, asking me how long I 
 had coughed so badly, and vented a hearty curse 
 against the physician, for not having come that 
 very evening to visit me." 
 
 "You have a raging fever," he added; "I 
 can perceive that. You need a straw bed at 
 least ; but, till the physician has ordered it, we 
 cannot give you one." 
 
 He went out and shut the door ; and I laid 
 myself upon the hard boards, feverish, and with 
 severe pain in the breast ; but less irritated, 
 less at enmity with men, less distant from God.
 
 MY PRISONS. 221 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 Is the evening the superintendent came, ac- 
 companied by Schiller, another corporal, and 
 two soldiers, to make an examination. 
 
 Three daily examinations were prescribed j 
 one in the morning, one in the evening, and 
 one at midnight. They examined every corner 
 of the prison, every trifling article ; then the 
 inferiors went out, and the superintendent (who 
 never failed to come morning and evening) 
 stopped to converse a little with me. 
 
 The first time that I saw this troop, a strange 
 thought came into my head. Being as yet ig- 
 norant of those vexatious usages, and delirious 
 from fever, I fancied they were coming to kill 
 me, and grasped the long chain which was near 
 me, to break the head of the first who should 
 approach me. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " said the superinten- 
 dent ; " we have not come to injure you. This 
 is a formal visit to all the prisoners, to assure 
 ourselves that there is nothing irregular."
 
 222 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I hesitated ; but when I saw Schiller ad- 
 vance, and in a friendly manner extend his 
 hand to me, his paternal aspect inspired me 
 with confidence ; I dropped the chain, and took 
 his hand between mine. 
 
 " Oh ! how it burns ! " said he to the su- 
 perintendent ; " a straw bed might at least be 
 given him ! " 
 
 He pronounced these words with an expres- 
 sion of such genuine, affectionate sympathy, that 
 I was touched by it. 
 
 The superintendent felt my pulse, and com- 
 passionated me. He was a man of courteous 
 manners, but dared not take any responsibility. 
 
 " All is rigorous here, even for me," he 
 said. " If I do not execute what is prescribed 
 to the letter, I run the risk of being removed 
 from my place." 
 
 Schiller thrust out his lips, and, I would 
 have ventured, thought within himself : " If I 
 were superintendent, I would not carry my ap- 
 prehensions so far ; nor could the taking a re- 
 sponsibility, so justified by necessity, and so 
 harmless to the government, ever be consid- 
 ered as a great ofl^ence."
 
 MY PRISONS. 223 
 
 When I was alone, my heart, which had been 
 for some time incapable of deep religious feel- 
 ings, was softened, and I prayed. It was a 
 prayer for blessings upon the head of Schiller ; 
 and I added, " Grant, that I may discern in 
 others some qualities which may attach me to 
 them ; I accept all the torments of my prison ; 
 but oh ! let rne love ! Oh ! deliver me from 
 the torment of hating my fellow-creatures ! 
 
 At midnight I heard many steps in the pas- 
 sage ; the keys grated, the door was opened. 
 It was the corporal with two guards for the 
 visit. 
 
 " Where is my old Schiller ? " said I earn- 
 estly. He had remained in the corridor. 
 
 " I am here, I am here," he answered. 
 
 And he came to the boards on which I was 
 lying, felt my pulse again, and bent down anx- 
 iously to look at me, like a father over the bed 
 of his sick son. 
 
 " And now I remember it, to-morrow is 
 Thursday ! " he muttered ; "yes, Thursday, too 
 surely ! " 
 
 "And wliat do you mean by tliat ? " 
 
 " Why, the physician does not commonly 
 'come except on Monday, Wednesday, and Fri-
 
 224 MY PRISONS. 
 
 day morning, and to-morrow, too surely, he 
 will not come." 
 
 "Do not disturb yourself about that." 
 
 " Not disturb myself ! Not disturb myself ! 
 Through the whole city there is nothing spoken 
 of, but the arrival of you gentlemen ; the phy- 
 sician cannot be ignorant of it. Why the 
 devil has he not made the extraordinary effort 
 to come once oftener than usual ? " 
 
 " Who knows but he may come to-morrow, 
 though it is Thursday.''" 
 
 The old man said nothing more ; but he 
 pressed my hand with such brute force as al- 
 most to maim me. But though I was hurt, I 
 took pleasure in it. Like the pleasure which 
 a lover feels, if by chance his mistress, as she 
 dances, treads upon his toe ; his first impulse 
 may be to cry out with the pain, but he smiies 
 instead, and esteems himself happy.
 
 MY PRISONS. 225 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 0-V Thursday morning, after a very bad night, 
 weak, and with my bones aching from lying on 
 the boards, I was seized with a profuse perspi- 
 ration. The visitation was made. The super- 
 intendent was not present ; as that hour was 
 inconvenient to him, he came somewhat later. 
 
 I said to Schiller ; " You perceive how wet 
 I am with perspiration ; but it is growing cold 
 on my skin. I must change my linen imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " It cannot be I " he exclaimed in a rougii 
 tone. 
 
 But he secretly made a sign to me with his 
 eyes and hand. The corporal and the guai'ds 
 went out, and, just as he shut the door, he 
 turned to make me another sign. 
 
 Shortly after he came back, bringing me one 
 of his own shirts, twice the length of my body. 
 
 " It is a little too long for you," said he, 
 "but I have no other here now." 
 
 " I thank you, friend ; but, as I brought to 
 Spielberg a trunk full of linen, I hope that the
 
 226 MY PRISONS. 
 
 use of my shirts will not be refused me ; have 
 the kindness to go and ask the superintendent 
 for one of them," 
 
 " It is not permitted us to allow you the use 
 of any of your linen. Every Saturday one of 
 the prison shirts will be given to you, as to 
 the other convicts." 
 
 "Good old man," said I, "you see in what 
 a state I am ; it is little likely that I shall ever 
 go alive from this place. I can never make 
 you any recompense." 
 
 " For shame ! " he exclaimed, " for shame ! 
 to speak of recompense to one, who can ren- 
 der you no services ! to one, who can scarcely 
 by stealth lend a sick man wherewith to dry 
 his body, when dripping with perspiration ! " 
 
 And he ungraciously drew his long shirt over 
 me, went out muttering, and shut the door with 
 the violence of an angry man. 
 
 About two hours after he brought me a piece 
 of brown bread. 
 
 "This," said he, "is your portion for two 
 days." 
 
 Then he began to walk about in a passion. 
 
 "What ails you ?" said I. "Are you an- 
 gry with me ? I have accepted the shirt you 
 favored me with."
 
 MY PRISONS. 227 
 
 " I am angry with the physician, who might 
 have deigned to come, although it is Thurs- 
 day ! " 
 
 "Patience ! " said I. 
 
 I said "Patience!" but I strove in vain to 
 rest upon boards without even a pillow ; all 
 my bones ached. 
 
 At eleven o'clock dinner was brought me by 
 one of the criminals, accompanied by Schiller. 
 It was contained in two ii'on pots, in one of 
 which was some very bad broth ; in the other 
 a mess of beans, dressed with a kind of sauce 
 of which the mere smell was disgusting. 
 
 I attempted to swallow some spoonfuls of the 
 broth ; but it was impossible." 
 
 Schiller kept saying, " Take courage, try to 
 accustom yourself to this food ; or it will be 
 with you as it has been with others, who, eat- 
 ing nothing but a little bread, have in that way 
 died of exhaustion. 
 
 At last on Friday morning Dr. Bayer came. 
 He found mo feverish, ordered me a straw 
 bed, and insisted that I should be taken from 
 that subterraneous cell, and carried to the floor 
 above. It could not be ; there was no room 
 vacant. But, a report being made to Count
 
 228 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Mitrowski, governor of the two provinces of Mo- 
 ravia and Silesia, resident at Briinnj he replied, 
 that, considering the severity of my illness, the 
 directions of the physician must be followed. 
 
 Some light shone into the room that was 
 now given me ; and climbing up to the bars 
 of the narrow window, I saw the valley be- 
 neath, a part of the city of Briinn, a suburb 
 with many small gardens, the cemetery, the 
 little lake of the Carthusian convent, and the 
 woody hills which separated us from the famous 
 field of Austerlitz. 
 
 The view enchanted me. Oh ! how delight- 
 ed I should have been, could I have shared it 
 with Maroncelli !
 
 MY PRISONS. 229 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 Meanwhile our prison dresses were making. 
 About five days from this time mine was brought 
 me. 
 
 It consisted of a pair of pantaloons of coarse 
 cloth, the right side grey, the left of orange 
 color ; a waistcoat of the two colors, disposed 
 in the same way ; and a jacket, likewise of 
 these colors, but arranged in the opposite way, 
 that is to say, the orange on the right, and 
 the grey on the left. The stockings were of 
 coarse wool, the shirt of tow cloth full of 
 shives, a real sack-cloth ; round the neck was 
 a piece of cloth like the shirt. The shoes were 
 of uncolored leather, laced. The hat was white. 
 
 This livery was completed by chains on the 
 feet, that is to say, a chain from one leg to 
 the other, the links of which were secured by 
 rivets, which were fastened on an anvil. The 
 smith who performed this operation on me said 
 to a guard, supposing that I did not under- 
 stand German, " 111 as he is, he might have 
 been spared this sport ; two months will not
 
 230 MY PRISONS. 
 
 pass before the angel of death will come to 
 deliver him." 
 
 '^ Mochte es seyn ! (May it be so !) " said I 
 to him, tapping him on the shoulder with my 
 hand. 
 
 The poor man started and was confused ; 
 then he said ; 
 
 " I hope I may not be a true prophet, and 
 I wish you may be delivered by quite another 
 angel." 
 
 " Does it not seem to you, that rather than 
 live thus, even the angel of death would be 
 welcome ? " 
 
 He gave a nod of assent, and went out, com- 
 miserating me. 
 
 In truth I should have willingly ceased to 
 live ; but I was not tempted to commit suicide. 
 I confidently expected that the disease of my 
 lungs would soon afford me release. But this 
 was not the will of God, The fatigue of the 
 journey had made me very ill ; repose gave 
 me some relief 
 
 A moment after the smith had gone, I heard 
 his hammer sound upon the anvil in one of the 
 subterranean dungeons. Schiller was still in 
 my room.
 
 MY PRISONS. 231 
 
 "Hear those strokes," said I ; "they are 
 surely putting the fetters on poor Maroncelli." 
 And, as I said this, my heart was so op- 
 pressed, that I staggered and should have fallen, 
 if the good old man had not supported me. I 
 remained more than half an hour in a state 
 that appeared like fainting, yet was not. I 
 could not speak, my pulse scarcely beat, a cold 
 sweat covered me from head to foot ; yet I 
 heard all Schiller's words, and had a most lively 
 remembrance of the past and knowledge of the 
 present. 
 
 The orders of the superintendent and the 
 vigilance of the guards had hitherto preserved 
 silence in all the neighbouring cells. Three 
 or four times I had heard the sound of an 
 Italian air ; but it was quickly suppressed by 
 the calls of the sentinels. Of these there were 
 several placed on the terrace under our win- 
 dows, and one in the corridor, who went back 
 and forth listening continually at the doors, and 
 looking through the openings in them to prohibit 
 all noise. 
 
 One day, towards evening, (every time I 
 think of it the palpitations I then felt are re- 
 newed,) the sentinels by some liai)py accident
 
 232 MY PRISONS. 
 
 were less attentive, and I heard an air from 
 beginning to end, sung in rather a low but 
 clear voice, in the cell adjoining my own. 
 
 Oh ! what joy, what agitation I felt ! 
 I rose from my straw bed, listened atten- 
 tively, and when it ceased I could not restrain 
 my tears. 
 
 "Who are you, unfortunate man?" I ex- 
 claimed ; " who are you ? Tell me your name. 
 I am Silvio Pellico." 
 
 "Oh Silvio!" cried my neighbour. "I do 
 not know you personally, but I have loved you 
 for a long time. Come near to the window, 
 and let us talk to each other in spite of the 
 ruffians." 
 
 I climbed up to the window ; he told me his 
 name, and we exchanged a few words of kind- 
 ness. 
 
 It was Count Antonio Oi'oboni, a native of 
 Fratta, near Rovigo, a young man twenty-nine 
 years of age. 
 
 Alas ! we were soon interrupted by the men- 
 acing shouts of the sentinels; The one who 
 was in the corridor knocked loudly with the 
 but-end of his musket, first at Oroboni's door, 
 then at mine. We would not, we could not
 
 MY PRISONS. 233 
 
 obey ; but soon the curses of those guards 
 compelled us to cease, after agreehig to re- 
 sume our conversation when the sentinels should 
 be changed.
 
 234 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 We hoped, and so in fact it happened, that 
 if we spoke lower we should be able to hear 
 each other, and that sometimes there would be 
 compassionate sentinels, who would feign not 
 to perceive our talking. By repeated trials we 
 learned to speak in a voice so low, that, al- 
 though it was sufficient for our ears, it either 
 was not overheard, or might be suffered to go 
 unnoticed. Sometimes, indeed, it happened, 
 that we had listeners of more acute hearing, 
 and sometimes we forgot to be discreet in 
 regulating our voices. Then the sentinels again 
 began to shout at us, and to knock at our 
 doors ; and what was worse than this, was the 
 anger of poor Schiller and of the superinten- 
 dent. 
 
 By degrees we perfected ourselves in all the 
 necessary precautions 5 that is to say, we con- 
 versed at certain times of the day rather than 
 at others, only when particular guards were on 
 duty, and always in a very low voice. Either 
 from the skill we had acquired, or from a habit
 
 MY PRISONS. 235 
 
 of indulgence in others which had been gradu- 
 ally formed, we were able at last to converse 
 a great deal every day, with little further re- 
 proof from those who were placed over us. 
 
 We formed a tender friendship. He gave me 
 an account of his life, and I gave him an ac- 
 count of mine. The sufferings and consola- 
 tions of one became the sufferings and con- 
 solations of the other. Oh ! what comfort we 
 gave to each other ! How often in the morn- 
 ing, after a sleepless night, each of us would go 
 to the window and salute his friend, and at the 
 sound of that welcome voice feel the sadness 
 of his heart alleviated, and his courage re- 
 doubled ! We were mutually persuaded of our 
 usefulness to each other, and this assurance 
 made us strive to outdo each other in kind 
 thoughts, and gave us that satisfaction which 
 man has, even in misery, when he can benefit 
 his fellow creatures. 
 
 After every conversation we felt a desire of 
 renewing it and entering into further explana- 
 tions. Our intercourse was a vital, perennial 
 stimulus to the intellect, the memory, the im- 
 agination, and the heart.
 
 236 MY PRISONS. 
 
 At first, recollecting Julian, I distrusted the 
 constancy of this new friend. " Hitherto," 
 thought I, " nothing has occurred, to produce 
 disagreement ; but, one day or other, I may 
 in some way displease him, and then he will 
 give me up. 
 
 This suspicion very soon vanished. Our opin- 
 ions coincided upon all essential points. Ex- 
 cept that to a noble soul, glowing with gen- 
 erous feelings, unconquered by misfortune, he 
 united the most sincere and entire faith in Chris- 
 tianity ; while in me this faith had become wa- 
 vering, and sometimes I thought it entirely ex- 
 tinct. 
 
 He combated my doubts with the most just 
 reflections, and with great affection. I felt that 
 he was right, and yielded to him ; but my 
 doubts returned. This happens to all who have 
 not the Gospel in their hearts, to all who hate 
 others, and grow proud of themselves. The 
 mind perceives the truth for an instant ; but, 
 as the truth is not agreeable, it disbelieves it 
 an instant after, forcing itself to turn its view 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Oroboni powerfully directed my attention to 
 the motives, which man has for indulgence to-
 
 MY PRISONS. 237 
 
 wards his enemies. I never spoke to him of 
 any one I disUked, that he did not skilfully 
 undertake to defend him ; and he influenced 
 me not only by words, but by his example. 
 Several individuals had injured him ; he la- 
 mented it, but he forgave them all ; and if 
 it were possible to tell me something praise- 
 worthy of any one of them, he did so willingly. 
 The irritation which had mastered me, and 
 had made me irreligious from the time of my 
 condemnation, still lasted for some weeks ; then 
 it entirely ceased. The virtue of Oroboni had 
 charmed me. Earnestly endeavouring to attain 
 it, I at least began to follow in his steps. Then 
 I could again pray sincerely for all men, and 
 no longer hated any one ; my doubts about re- 
 ligion vanished. Ubi charitas ct amor, Dens ibi 
 est. (Where charity and love are, there is 
 God.)
 
 238 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 To say the truth, if our punishment was very 
 severe, and likely to irritate us, it was at the 
 same time our rare fortune to see none but 
 well-disposed persons. They could not better 
 our condition except by their kind and respect- 
 ful manners ; but these were practised by all. 
 If there was some roughness in old Schiller, 
 how was it compensated for by the nobleness 
 of his heart ! Even the miserable Kunda, (one 
 of the convicts, who brought us dinner, and 
 three times a day water,) would fain have us see 
 that he pitied us. He swept our rooms twice 
 a week. One morning, while he was sweeping, 
 he seized the moment when Schiller had gone 
 a few steps from the door, to offer me a piece 
 of white bread. I did not accept it, but cor- 
 dially pressed his hand. My pressing his hand 
 affected him. He said to me in bad German, 
 (he was a Pole,) " Sir, they give you so little 
 to eat now, that you surely must suffer from 
 hunger." 
 
 I assured him that I did not ; but I assured 
 him of what was incredible.
 
 MY PRISONS. 239 
 
 The physician, seeing that none of us could 
 eat the kind of food that had been first given 
 us, put us all upon what was called a quarter 
 'portion, that is, the food of the hospital. This 
 was, some very thin soup, three times a day, 
 a small piece of roast lamb that might be swal- 
 lowed at a mouthful, and perhaps three ounces 
 of white bread. As my health went on improv- 
 ing, my appetite' increased, and that quarter 
 was really too little. I tried to return to the 
 food for the healthy, but I gained nothing by 
 the exchange ; since this was so disgusting 
 that I could not eat it. It was absolutely ne- 
 cessary that I should keep to the quarter. For 
 more than a year I knew by experience what 
 are the torments of hunger. And these torments 
 some of my companions suffered still more se- 
 verely ; because, being more robust than I, they 
 had been accustomed to take a greater quan- 
 tity of food. I know from some of them, that 
 they accepted bread from Schiller and from the 
 other two guards wlio were employed about us, 
 and even .from the good Kunda. 
 
 The barber, a young man who attended us 
 as surgeon, said to me one day, " It is reported 
 in the city that they give you gentlemen but 
 little to cat."
 
 240 MY PRISONS. 
 
 "It is very true," said I frankly. 
 
 The following Saturday, (he came every Sat- 
 urday,) he wanted to give me secretly a large 
 loaf of white bread. Schiller pretended not to 
 see him offer it. Had I listened to my stom- 
 ach, I should have accepted it ; but I refused 
 decidedly, that the poor young man might not 
 be tempted to repeat his gift, which in time 
 might have occasioned him inconvenience. 
 
 For the same reason I refused the offers of 
 Schiller. Many times he brought me a piece 
 of boiled meat, begging me to eat it, and pro- 
 testing that it cost him nothing, that it had 
 been left, that he knew not what to do with it, 
 that he should have to give it to some one 
 else, if I would not take it. I could have 
 seized and devoured it ; but if I had taken it, 
 would he not have wished to give me some- 
 thing every day ? 
 
 Only twice, once when he brought me a plate 
 of cherries, and once some pears, the sight of 
 the fruit fascinated me irresistibly. But I re- 
 pented of having taken them, for the very rea- 
 son, that from that time he never ceased to 
 make me similar offers.
 
 MY PRISONS. 241 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 It was from the first an established rule, 
 that each of us should be permitted to walk for 
 an hour twice a week. This relaxation was 
 afterwards granted every other day, and at a 
 later period, every day, except the holidays. 
 
 We were each taken to walk separately, be- 
 tween two guards with muskets on their shoul- 
 ders. I, being at the head of the corridor, 
 passed, when I went out, the cells of all the 
 Italian state criminals, except Maroncelli, who 
 alone languished below. 
 
 " A pleasant walk to you ! " each whispered 
 through the opening in his door ; but I was not 
 allowed to stop to salute any one. 
 
 Wo descended a staircase, passed through 
 a large court, and went upon a terrace, situ- 
 ated to the south, whence the city of Briinn, 
 and much of the surrounding country, were to be 
 seen. 
 
 In the court above mentioned there were 
 always many of the common criminals, going 
 to or returning from their labor, and talking 
 16
 
 242 MY PRISONS. 
 
 together as they passed along in company. 
 Among them were several Italian robbers, who 
 saluted me with great respect, and said among 
 themselves, " He is not a rogue like us ; yet 
 his imprisonment is more severe than ours." 
 
 In fact, they had much more liberty than I 
 had. 
 
 I heard these and other expressions, and I 
 returned their salutations with cordiality. One 
 of them once said to me, " Your greeting, Sig- 
 noi'e, does me good. Perhaps you see some- 
 thing in my face that is not very bad. An 
 unhappy passion led me to commit a crime ; but 
 oh Signore, I am not, indeed I am not a vil- 
 lain ! " 
 
 And he burst into tears. I held out my hand 
 to him, but he could not take it. My guards, 
 not from bad feeling, but in obedience to their 
 orders, repulsed him. They might not allow 
 any one to approach me. The words that those 
 criminals intended for me, they for the most 
 part said, as it were, among themselves ; and, 
 if my two soldiers perceived that they were 
 directed to me, they ordered silence. 
 
 Men of various conditions, not resident in the 
 castle, who came to visit the superintendent.
 
 MY PRISONS. 243 
 
 or the chaplain, or the sergeant, or some of 
 the corporals, likewise passed through the court. 
 "There is one of the Italians ! There is one 
 of the Italians ! " said they in a low voice, 
 stopping to look at me ; and often I heard 
 them say in German, which they thought I 
 did not understand, " That poor gentleman will 
 never grow old; he has death in his face." 
 
 In fact, after being at first in better health, 
 I languished from the want of food, and again 
 suffered from frequent attacks of fever. I was 
 scarcely able to drag my chain to the place 
 for walking, and there I threw myself upon the 
 turf, where I commonly remained till my hour 
 was passed. 
 
 The guards stood or seated themselves near 
 me, and wc talked together. One of them, 
 named Krai, was a Bohemian, who, although be- 
 longing to a poor peasant's family, had received 
 a certain degree of education, and luul im- 
 proved himself, as much as he had been able ; 
 reflecting with great discernment upon the things 
 of the world, and reading all the books which 
 fell into his hands. He was acquainted with 
 Klopstock, Wieland, Goethe, and Schiller, and 
 with many other good German writers. He
 
 244 MY PRISONS. 
 
 knew a great number of passages by heart, and 
 repeated them with intelligence and feeling. 
 The other guard was a Pole, named Kubitski, 
 ignorant, but respectful and cordial. Their 
 company was very pleasant to me.
 
 MY PRISONS. 245 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 
 At one end of this terrace were the rooms 
 of the superintendent ; at the other, a corporal 
 lived with his wife and infant son. Whenever 
 I saw any one come out of these dwellings, I 
 rose up and approached the person or persons 
 who appeared, and was loaded with tokens of 
 courtesy and compassion. 
 
 The wife of the superintendent had long been 
 ill, and was slowly declining. Sometimes she 
 was brought upon a sofa into the open air. It 
 is impossible to describe how much she was 
 affected, while expressing to me the compassion 
 she felt for us all. Her countenance was sweet 
 and timid ; yet, although timid, she now and 
 then fixed her eyes with intense inquiring con- 
 fidence upon the face of him who spoke to her. 
 
 I once said to her smiling, " Do you know. 
 Madam, that you resemble a person who was 
 dear to me ^ " 
 
 She blushed, and answered with serious and 
 lovely simplicity, " Do not then forget me when
 
 246 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I am dead ; pray for my poor soul, and for the 
 little children that I leave upon earth." 
 
 From that day she could not quit her bed ; 
 I saw her no more. She languished for some 
 months, and then died. 
 
 She had three children, beautiful as Loves, 
 and one yet an infant. Their poor mother 
 often embraced them in my presence and said ; 
 "Who knows who will become their mother 
 after me ! Whoever she may be, the Lord give 
 her the heart of a mother even for children 
 to whom she did not give birth!" — And she 
 wept. 
 
 A thousand times I have remembered that 
 prayer and those tears. 
 
 When she was no more, I often embraced 
 those children, I was affected, and repeated 
 that maternal prayer. I thought of my own 
 mother, and of the ardent prayers, which, with- 
 out doubt, her affectionate heart was offering 
 for me, and I exclaimed with sobs ; " Oh ! 
 how much more happy is the mothei', who, dy- 
 ing, leaves her children young, than she, who, 
 after having brought them up with infinite care, 
 sees them torn from her ! "
 
 MY PRISONS. 247 
 
 Two good old women were commonly with 
 those children ; one was the mother of the su- 
 perintendent, the other his aunt. They were 
 desirous to know all my story, and I related it 
 to them briefly. 
 
 "How sorry we are," said they, with an 
 expression of real feeling, " that we can do 
 nothing to help you ! But you may be certain 
 that we shall pray for you, and should you at 
 any time receive your pardon, it will be a 
 holiday for all our family." 
 
 The former of them, whom I saw most fre- 
 quently, possessed a sweet and uncommon power 
 of eloquence in giving consolation. I listened 
 to her with filial gratitude, and her words re- 
 mained fixed in my heart. 
 
 She said things with which I was familiar, 
 yet they struck me as new ; " That misfortune 
 does not degrade man, but rather elevate him, 
 if he be true to himself; that, if we could enter 
 into the counsels of God, we should often see 
 that the conqueror was to be compassionated 
 rather than the conquered, the joyful rather 
 than the sad, and the rich rather than he who 
 is despoiled of all ; that the especial friendship 
 shown by the God-man for the unhappy is the
 
 248 MY PRISONS. 
 
 expression of a great truth, and that we should 
 glory in the cross, since it was borne by a di- 
 vine being." 
 
 But these two good old women, whom I saw 
 with so much pleasure, were obliged in a short 
 time, for family reasons, to leave Spielberg ; the 
 children too no longer came upon the terrace. 
 How much these losses afflicted me !
 
 MY PRISONS. 249 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII. 
 
 The inconvenience of the chains on my feet, 
 by preventing me from sleeping, contributed to 
 destroy my health. Schiller wished that I should 
 protest against them, and declared that the phy- 
 sician ought to have them taken off. 
 
 For a little while I did not listen to him, 
 then I yielded to his advice, and said to the 
 physician, that, in order to enjoy again the 
 benefit of sleep, I begged him to have me un- 
 chained, at least for a few days. 
 
 The physician replied, that my fever had not 
 yet reached such a height as to put it in his 
 power to gratify me ; and that it was necessary I 
 should accustom myself to the fetters. 
 
 I was indignant at this answer, and vexed 
 that I had made the useless request. 
 
 " See what I have gained by following your 
 urgent advice," said I to Schiller. 
 
 I must have said these words uncivilly 
 enough ; the rough, honest fellow was offended 
 by them.
 
 250 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " It displeases you," he exclaimed, " to be 
 exposed to a refusal, and it displeases me that 
 you should be so haughty towards me." 
 
 Then he went on with a long sermon. " The 
 proud make their greatness consist in not ex- 
 posing themselves to refusals, in not accepting 
 favors, and in being ashamed of a thousand 
 trifles. Mle Eseleyen ! It is all nonsense ! vain 
 pride ! ignorance of ti'ue dignity ! True dig- 
 nity consists in great part in being ashamed 
 only of bad actions." 
 
 This said, he went out, and made an infer- 
 nal noise with his keys. 
 
 I was amazed ! — "Yet this rough sincerity," 
 said I, " pleases me. It flows from his heart, 
 like his offers, his advice, and his compassion ; 
 and did he not preach the truth to me ^ To 
 how many weaknesses do I not give the name 
 of dignity, while they are nothing but pride ! " 
 
 At the dinner hour Schiller left it to the 
 convict Kunda to bring in the little iron pots 
 and the water, while he remained at the door. 
 
 I called him. 
 
 " I have not time," he replied very drily. 
 
 I got down from my bed, went to him, and 
 said, " If you wish my dinner to do me good, 
 do not make that ugly face at me."
 
 MY PRISONS. 251 
 
 "And how would you have me look?" he 
 asked, clearing up. 
 
 " Like a pleasant man, like a friend," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Let us be merry, then ! " he exclaimed. 
 " And if, in order that your dinner may do you 
 good, you would like too to see me dance, 
 come, you shall have your wish." 
 
 And he began to kick about his slender 
 shanks with so much good will, that I laughed 
 heartily. I laughed, but my heart was touched.
 
 252 MY PRISONS 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIII. 
 
 One evening Oroboni and I were at our 
 windows, complaining to each other of being 
 famished. We raised our voices somewhat, and 
 the sentinels shouted. The superintendent, who 
 by ill luck was passing that way, thought pro- 
 per to have Schiller called, and harshly repri- 
 manded him for not watching better to keep us 
 silent. 
 
 Schiller came in great anger to complain of 
 it to me, and desired me never again to speak 
 from the window. He wished me to promise 
 him that I would not. 
 
 "No," I replied, "I will not promise you." 
 
 " Oh ! der Teufel ! cler Teufel ! " he exclaim- 
 ed, " can you say to me, ' I will not ! ' to me, 
 who have received a cursed scolding on your 
 account ! " 
 
 " I am sorry, dear Schiller, for the repri- 
 mand you have received, I am truly sorry for 
 it ; but I will not promise what I feel I shall 
 not perform." 
 
 " And why will you not perform it ? "
 
 MY PRISONS. 253 
 
 " Because I cannot ; because continual soli- 
 tude is such a cruel torment to me, that I can 
 never resist the necessity of uttering a few 
 words, and of asking my neighbour to reply 
 to me ; and if he should be silent, I should 
 speak to the bars of my window, to the hills 
 that rise before me, to the birds as they fly." 
 " Dcr Teufel ! and you will not promise me ? " 
 "No, no, no ! " I exclaimed. 
 He threw his noisy bunch of keys on the 
 ground, and repeated, " Der Tetiftl ! der Teu- 
 fel ! " then embracing me he burst out ; 
 
 " Well ! must I cease to be a man for 
 those vile keys ? You are a gentleman ev- 
 ery way, and I am pleased that you will not 
 promise what you cannot perform. I would do 
 the same too." 
 
 I took up the keys, and gave them to him. 
 " These keys," said I, " are not, after all, so 
 very vile, since they cannot turn an honest 
 corporal like you into a hard-hearted villain." 
 "If I thought they could do tliat," he re- 
 plied, " I would carry them to my superiors 
 and say, ' If you will give me no other bread, 
 than that of a hangman, I will go a begging.' "
 
 254 MY PRISONS. 
 
 He drew his handkerchief from his pocket, 
 wiped his eyes, then raising them, clasped his 
 hands in the attitude of prayer. I clasped mine, 
 and prayed like him in silence. He under- 
 stood that I w^as praying for him, and I that 
 he was praying for me. 
 
 As he went away, he said to me in an 
 under-tone ; " When you talk with Count Oro- 
 boni, speak as low as possible. This will be 
 well on two accounts ; you will save me the 
 reprimands of the superintendent, and you will 
 prevent any one from overhearing some remarks 
 . . . shall I say it .'' . . . some remarks, which, if 
 repeated, would only further irritate him who 
 can punish." 
 
 I assured him, that not a word should ever 
 come from our lips, which could give offence, 
 if reported to any one whomsoever. 
 
 In fact we had no need of warnings to make 
 us cautious. Two prisoners, who succeed in 
 communicating with each other, can easily form 
 a language for themselves, by which any thing 
 may be said, without danger of its being un- 
 derstood by listeners.
 
 MY PRISONS. 255 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 One morning I was returning from walking ; 
 it was the 7th of August. The door of Oro- 
 boni's cell stood open ; Schiller was within, 
 and had not heard me coming. My guards were 
 passing forward to close the door. I anticipated 
 them, I sprang into the room, and was in the 
 arms of Oroboni. 
 
 Schiller was confounded ; he said, " Der 
 Teiiftl ! der Teiifcl ! " and raised his finger to 
 menace me. But his eyes filled with tears, 
 and he exclaimed, sobbing, " O my God, have 
 mercy on these poor young men, and on me, 
 and on all the unhappy. Thou, who didst suflTer 
 so much upon earth ! " 
 
 The guards shed tears also. The sentinel of 
 the corridor, who ran to the spot, was equally 
 moved. Oroboni said to me, " Silvio, Silvio, 
 this is one of llic most precious days of my 
 life ! " I know not what I said to him ; I was 
 beside myself with joy and tender emotion. 
 
 When Schiller conjured u.s to separate, and 
 we were forced to obey him, Oroboni burst into 
 a flood of tears, and said ;
 
 256 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " Shall we never again see each other upon 
 earth ? " 
 
 I never did see him more ! A few months 
 after, his room was empty, and Oroboni lay in 
 that cemetery, which was before my window ! 
 
 From the time of this brief interview, it 
 seemed as if we loved each other yet more 
 affectionately, more strongly, than before ; it 
 seemed as if we were mutually more necessary 
 to each other. 
 
 He was a fine-looking young man, of noble 
 aspect, but pale, and in miserable health. His 
 eyes only were full of life. My affection for 
 him was increased by the pity, which his ema- 
 ciation and paleness excited ; and so was his 
 for me. We both felt how probable it was 
 that one would soon be the survivor of the 
 other. 
 
 A few days after, he became ill. I could 
 only grieve and pray for him. After an attack 
 of fever, he regained a little strength, and was 
 able to return to our friendly conversations. 
 Oh how it consoled me to hear the sound of 
 his voice again ! 
 
 " Do not deceive yourself," said he to me, 
 " it will be but for a short time. Have strength
 
 MY PRISONS. 257 
 
 to jn-epare yourself to lose me ; let your cour- 
 age inspire courage in me." 
 
 At this time the walls of our cells were to 
 be whitewashed, and meanwhile we were re- 
 moved to the subterranean dungeons. Unfortu- 
 nately, during this interval, we were not placed 
 near each other. Schiller said, that Oroboni 
 continued well ; but I doubted whether he 
 was willing to tell me the truth, and feared 
 that the health of my friend, already so fee- 
 ble, would become worse in those subterranean 
 vaults. 
 
 Would that at least I had had the good for- 
 tune to be near my dear Maroncelli ! I how- 
 ever heard his voice. We saluted each other 
 by singing, in spite of the scolding of the 
 guards. 
 
 At this time the principal physician of BrLinn 
 came to visit us, in consequence perhaps of 
 the report, which the superintendent had sent 
 to Vienna, of the extreme weakness to which 
 such scarcity of food had reduced us all ; or 
 because an epidemic scurvy prevailed in the 
 prison. 
 
 Not knowing the cause of this visit, 1 ima- 
 gined it was on account of Oroboni's increased 
 17
 
 258 MY PRISONS. 
 
 illness. The fear of losing him gave me in- 
 describable uneasiness, A deep melancholy, 
 and a strong desire to die, then seized upon 
 me. The idea of suicide again presented it- 
 self to me. I struggled against it ; but I was 
 like a fainting traveller, who, whilst he says, 
 " I must go on to the end," feels an almost 
 overpowering necessity of throwing himself on 
 the ground to rest. 
 
 I had been told, that not long since, in one 
 of these dark cells, an old man, a Bohemian, 
 had killed himself by dashing his head against 
 the wall. I could not drive from my thoughts 
 the temptation of following his example. I do 
 not know whether my delirium might not have 
 reached that point, if a discharge of blood from 
 my lungs had not made me believe that my 
 death was at hand. I thanked God for granting 
 me death in this manner, and for saving me 
 from an act of desperation, which my judgment 
 condemned. 
 
 But instead of this, it was God's will that I 
 should still live. This discharge of blood al- 
 leviated my sufferings. In the mean time I 
 was brought back to the upper cells ; and the 
 greater light, and my being once more near 
 Oroboni, again attached me to life.
 
 MY PRISONS. 259 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 I COMMUNICATED to him the dreadful melan- 
 choly I had suffered while parted from him ; 
 and he told me that he too had been obliged 
 to struggle against the thought of suicide. 
 
 "Let us take advantage," said he, " of the 
 short time that has been granted us anew, to 
 console each other by religion. Let us speak 
 of God ; let us excite each other to love him ; 
 let us remember, that He is justice, wisdom, 
 goodness, beauty ; that he is every thing ex- 
 cellent which has been the object of our love. 
 I tell you truly that my death is not far distant. 
 I shall be eternally grateful to you, if you will 
 contribute to make me as religious in these 
 my last days, as I ought to have been through 
 life." 
 
 And our conversations now turned only on 
 Christian philosophy, and the comparison of 
 this with the wretchedness of tlic sensual phi- 
 losophy. We both rejoiced in perceiving the 
 conformity between Ciiristianity and reason ; 
 we .saw on comparing the different forms of
 
 260 MY PRISONS. 
 
 belief which have been founded on the Gospel, 
 that the Catholic alone could abide the test of 
 criticism, and that the Catholic doctrine con- 
 sists of the purest precepts and the purest mo- 
 rality, not in wretched additions, the offspring 
 of human ignorance. 
 
 "And if, by some chance but little to be 
 hoped, we should return to society," said Oro- 
 boni, " shall we be so pusillanimous as not to 
 confess the Gospel ? Shall we remain firm, 
 should any one conceive that imprisonment has 
 weakened our minds, and that, in consequence 
 of this weakness, we have become more estab- 
 lished in our faith." 
 
 "My dear Oroboni," said I, "your question 
 discloses to me your answer, and mine is the 
 same. It is the greatest cowardice to be the 
 slave of others' opinions, Avhen one is persuaded 
 that they are false. I do not believe that either 
 you or I shall ever be guilty of it." 
 
 In these confidential communications I com- 
 mitted one fault. I had pledged myself to Ju- 
 lian, never, by revealing his real name, to in- 
 form any one of the connexion we had had 
 with each other. I gave an account of it to 
 Oroboni, saying to him, " If I were in the
 
 MY PRISONS. 261 
 
 world, such a communication should never pass 
 my lips ; but here we are in a sepulchre, and 
 even should you be liberated, I know that I 
 may trust in you." 
 
 My high-minded friend was silent. 
 
 " Why do you not reply to me .' " said I. 
 
 At length he began seriously to blame me 
 for having betrayed this secret. His reproof 
 was just. No friendship, however intimate it 
 may be, however strengthened by virtue, can 
 authorize such a breach of faith. 
 
 But, the fault having been committed, Oroboni 
 turned it to my advantage. He had known Ju- 
 lian, and was acquainted with many circum- 
 stances of his life which were honorable to him. 
 He related them to me, and said, "That man 
 has so often acted like a Christian, that it is 
 scarcely possible he should carry his anti- 
 religious phrensy to the tomb. Let us cherish 
 the hope that he will not ! And do you, Sil- 
 vio, take care heartily to forgive his bad tem- 
 per, and to pray for him ! " 
 
 His words were sacred to me.
 
 262 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXI. 
 
 The conversations of which I speak, with 
 Oroboni, Schiller, and others, occupied alto- 
 gether but a small part of the twenty-four hours 
 of my long day ; and circumstances were not 
 unfrequently such, as to render any conversa- 
 tion with Oroboni impossible. 
 
 How did my time pass in such solitude ? 
 
 The whole amount of my life during those 
 days was as follows. I always rose at dawn, 
 and standing on the head of my bed, grasping 
 the bars of my window, I prayed. Oroboni was 
 either already at his window, or soon came. 
 We greeted each other, and silently continu- 
 ed our devotions. The wretchedness of our 
 cells made the view without appear to us more 
 beautiful. The sky, the country, the distant 
 motion of the animals in the valley, the 
 voices of the peasant girls, their laughter and 
 their songs, exhilarated us, and made us feel 
 more intimately the presence of Him, who is so 
 munificent in his goodness, and of whom we 
 so much stood in need.
 
 MY PRISONS. 263 
 
 Then came the morning visit of the guards. 
 They gave a glance round the room, to see that 
 every thing was right, and examined my chain, 
 link by link, to assure themselves that it had not 
 been broken by accident or design ; or, rather, 
 since it was impossible to break it, in order to 
 conform to the prescribed rules of the prison. 
 If it was one of the days on which the physician 
 made his visits, Schiller asked if I wished to 
 speak with him, and took note accordingly. 
 
 The tour of our cells being finished, Schiller 
 returned, accompanied by Kunda, whose busi- 
 ness it was to clean the rooms. 
 
 After a short interval, breakfast was brought 
 us. Tliis was a small pot half full of reddish 
 broth, with three very thin slices of bread ; I 
 ate the bread, but did not drink the broth. 
 
 After this, I prepared to study. Maroncelli 
 had brougiit many books from Italy, and our 
 companions had each brought a number, some 
 more, .some less. Altogether, they formed a 
 good little library. We hoped, besides, to be 
 able to increase it from our own funds. No an- 
 swer to our request to l)e allowed to icad our 
 own books, and to purchase other.s, had yet 
 come from the Emperor ; but, in the mean time,
 
 264 ^ MY PRISONS. 
 
 the governor of Briinn allowed each of us pro- 
 visionally to keep two books with him, and to 
 change them whenever we pleased. Towards 
 nine o'clock the superintendent came, and the 
 physician, if requested, accompanied him. 
 
 I had then another interval for study till 
 eleven o'clock, which was the hour for dinner. 
 
 Until sunset I had no more visits, and re- 
 turned to study. Then Schiller and Kunda came 
 to change the water, and, a short time after- 
 ward, the superintendent, with some guards, 
 for the evening inspection of every part of my 
 room and of my irons. 
 
 We walked for an hour in the course of 
 the day, either before or after dinner, at the 
 pleasure of the guards. 
 
 The abovementioned evening- visit beine; over, 
 Oroboni and I began to converse, and this was 
 usually our longest conversation. Others took 
 place irregularly in the morning, or just after 
 dinner ; but, for the most part, they were very 
 brief 
 
 Sometimes the sentinels were so compassion- 
 ate that they would say to us, " A little lower, 
 Signori, or we shall be punished." 
 
 At other times, they pretended not to notice
 
 MY PRISONS. 265 
 
 that we were talking ; then, seeing the ser- 
 geant appear, they begged us to be silent till 
 he had gone, and, as soon as he went, they 
 said, ^'Signori patroni, now you may go on, 
 but as low as possible." 
 
 Occasionally, some of those soldiers made 
 bold even to talk with us, to answer our ques- 
 tions, and give us some intbrmation about Italy. 
 To certain remarks we did not reply, except 
 by begging them to be silent. It was natural 
 that we should doubt, whether what they said 
 were entirely the overflowing of simple hearts, 
 or whether there were not some artifice in it 
 for the purpose of discovering our thoughts. I 
 am, however, much disposed to believe, that 
 they spoke with sincerity.
 
 266 MY PRISONS 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 One evening we had very kind sentinels, so 
 that Oroboni and I gave ourselves no trouble 
 to suppress our voices. Maroncelli, in his sub- 
 terranean cell, having climbed up to the win- 
 dow, heard us, and distinguished my voice. 
 He could not restrain himself ; he saluted me 
 by singing. He asked me how I was, and 
 expressed to me, in the tenderest words, his re- 
 gret at not having yet obtained permission that 
 we should be together. This favor I too had 
 requested ; but neither the superintendent of 
 Spielberg, nor the governor of Briinn, had the 
 power of granting it. Our mutual desire had 
 been signified to the Emperor ; but no answer 
 had yet come. 
 
 Besides the time that we saluted each other 
 by singing in our subterranean dungeons, I 
 had repeatedly, in my cell above, heard him 
 singing, but without understanding the words, 
 and only for a few moments, because he was 
 not permitted to go on.
 
 MY PRISONS. 267 
 
 Now he raised his voice much higher ; he 
 was not immediately interrupted, and I under- 
 stood the whole. There are no terms to ex- 
 press the emotion which I felt. 
 
 I replied to him, and we continued the dia- 
 logue about a quarter of an hour. At last the 
 sentinels were changed upon the terrace, and 
 the new comers were not so complaisant. We 
 were disposed to resume our singing ; but they 
 uttered furious exclamations and curses, and 
 we were obliged to attend to them. 
 
 I pictured to myself Maroncelli, lying for so 
 long a time in that cell, far worse than mine ; 
 I imagined the sadness which must often op- 
 press him, and the injury which his health must 
 suffer from it, and I was overwhelmed with 
 anguish. 
 
 At length I was able to weep ; but tears 
 were no relief to me. A severe headache, 
 with violent fever, seized me. I could not sup- 
 port myself on my feet, but threw myself upon 
 the straw bed. My agitation increased, pro- 
 ducing pain in my breast, with dreadful spasms. 
 I believed that I should die that night. 
 
 The following day the fever ceased, and I 
 felt less pain in uiy breast ; but it seemed to
 
 268 MY PRISONS. 
 
 me that my brain was on fire, and I could 
 scarcely move my head without great suffering. 
 I told Oroboni of my situation. He, too^ 
 felt himself more ill than usual. 
 
 " Friend," said he, " the day is not distant 
 when one of us two will no longer be able to 
 come to the window. Whenever we salute each 
 other, it may be for the last time. Let each, 
 then, prepare himself, either to die, or to sur- 
 vive his friend." 
 
 His voice was tremulous ; I could not reply 
 to him ; both were silent for an instant, and 
 he then went on : 
 
 " How happy you are in understanding Ger- 
 man ! You can at least confess yourself. I 
 have asked for a priest who understands Ital- 
 ian ; they tell me there is none. But God sees 
 my desire ; and since I confessed at Venice, 
 it really does not appear to me, that I have 
 bui'dened my conscience with any new sin." 
 
 "I also confessed at Venice," said I, "but 
 with my soul full of rancor ; and I did worse 
 than if I had refused the sacraments. But now, 
 if I were allowed to see a priest, I assure you 
 that I should confess from my heart, forgiving 
 every one."
 
 MY PRISONS. 269 
 
 "Heaven bless you ! " he exclaimed ; "you 
 give me great consolation. Let us do, let us 
 both do, all in our power to be eternally united 
 in happiness, as we have been in these days 
 of misfortune." 
 
 The next day I expected him at the window, 
 but he did not come. I learned fi'om Schiller 
 that he was seriously ill. 
 
 Eight or ten days afterward he was better, 
 and came again to salute me. I was suffer- 
 ing, but able to support myself Thus several 
 months passed, during which each was alter- 
 nately better and worse.
 
 270 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 I WAS able to keep up until the eleventh of 
 January, 1823. The morning of that day I 
 rose with a headache, not severe, but accom- 
 panied by a tendency to faintness. My legs 
 trembled, and my breathing was laborious. 
 
 Oroboni, likewise, had been ill for two or 
 three days, and had not risen from his bed. 
 
 Some soup was brought me ; I had scarcely 
 tasted a spoonful, when I fell senseless. Some 
 time after, the sentinel in the corridor looked 
 accidentally through the opening in my door, 
 and seeing me lying on the floor, with the iron 
 pot overturned near me, thought I was dead, 
 and called Schiller. 
 
 The superintendent came also ; the physician 
 was immediately sent for, and I was put in 
 bed. I was with difficulty recovered. 
 
 The physician said that I was in danger, 
 and had my irons taken off. He ordered me 
 some cordial, I know not what, but my stom- 
 ach could retain nothing. The pain in my head 
 increased terribly.
 
 MY PRISONS. 271 
 
 A report was immediately made to the gov- 
 ernor, who sent a courier to Vienna, to know 
 how I should be treated. The reply Avas, that 
 I should not be put into the infirmary ; but 
 that I should be attended in prison with the 
 same care as if I were in the infirmary. The 
 superintendent was, moreover, authorized to 
 supply me with broth and soup from his own 
 kitchen, while my illness continued severe. 
 
 This last provision was at first useless to 
 jne. I could take neither food nor drink. I 
 grew worse for a whole week, and was delirious 
 day and night. 
 
 Krai and Kubitzki were appointed to nurse 
 me, and they both performed the office with 
 kindness. 
 
 Whenever I recovered my senses a little, 
 Krai would repeat to me, 
 
 "Have faith in God ; God only is good." 
 
 "Pray for me," said I to him ; "not that 
 God may restore me to health, but that he 
 may accept my misfortunes and my death, as 
 an expiation for my sins." 
 
 He suggested to mc to ask for the sacra- 
 ments.
 
 272 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " If I have not asked for them," I repHed, 
 " attribute it to the weakness of my head 5 it 
 would be a great comfort to me to receive 
 them." 
 
 Krai related my woi*ds to the superintendent, 
 and the chaplain of the prison was sent. 
 
 I confessed, partook of the communion, and 
 received extreme unction. I was pleased with 
 the priest. His name was Sturm. The re- 
 flections which he made upon the justice of 
 God, upon the injustice of men, upon the duty 
 of forgiveness, upon the vanity of the things of 
 the world, were not mere commonplaces ; they 
 bore the impress of a high and cultivated mind, 
 and of a warm feeling of true love to God and 
 man.
 
 MY PRISONS. 273 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 It seemed at first, as if the efibrt of atten- 
 tion, which I made to receive the sacraments, 
 had exhausted the remains of life ; but, on the 
 contrary, it benefited me, by throwing me into 
 a deep sleep which lasted for several houx's. 
 
 I awoke somewhat relieved ; and seeing Schil- 
 ler and Krai near me, I took their hands and 
 thanked them for their care of me. 
 
 Schiller said to me, " My eyes are used to 
 seeing the sick ; I would lay a wager that 
 you will not die." 
 
 " Does not that seem to you a bad prognos- 
 tic ? " said I. 
 
 "No," he replied; "the miseries of life are 
 great, it is true ; but he who supports them 
 with nobleness of soul and with humility, is 
 always a gainer by living." 
 
 Then he added, " If you live, I hope that 
 in a few days you will have a great consola- 
 tion. Have you asked to sec Signor Maron- 
 celli .' " 
 
 18
 
 274 31 Y PRISONS. 
 
 " I have asked it so many times in vain, 
 that I no longer dare to hope for it." 
 
 " Hope, hope, Sir, and repeat the request." 
 
 I repeated it that very day. The superin- 
 tendent, likewise, bade me hope ; and added 
 that it was very probable that Maroncelli might 
 not only see me, but that he would be ap- 
 pointed to be my attendant while I was ill, and 
 afterwards my constant companion. 
 
 As the health of all the prisoners of state 
 was more or less injured, the governor had 
 requested at Vienna, that we might all be put 
 two and two together, in order to assist each 
 other. 
 
 I had also asked the privilege of writing a 
 last adieu to my family. 
 
 Toward the end of the second week, there 
 was a crisis in my illness, and the danger was 
 over. 
 
 I had begun to sit tip, when, one morning, 
 my door opened, and I saw the superinten- 
 dent, Schiller, and the physician enter, full of 
 animation. The first ran toward me and said, 
 " We have permission to give you Maroncelli 
 for your companion, and to allow you to write 
 to your relations."
 
 MY PRISONS. 275 
 
 Joy deprived me of breath, and the poor 
 superintendent, who from the impulse of a good 
 heart had been deficient in prudence, thought 
 I was dead. 
 
 When I recovered my senses, and recollect- 
 ed the news I had heard, I begged that so 
 great a blessing might not be delayed. The 
 physician consented, and Maroncelli was con- 
 ducted to my arms. 
 
 Oh ! what a moment was that ! " Are you yet 
 alive .' " we both exclaimed. "Oh friend ! Oh 
 brother ! what a happy day have we been per- 
 mitted to see. God be blessed for it ! " 
 
 But great as was our joy, it was mingled 
 with much mutual commiseration. Maroncelli 
 must have been less struck by my appearance 
 than I was by his ; for, though he found me in 
 so wretched a state, he knew what a severe ill- 
 ness I had passed through. But I, though my 
 thoughts had dwelt upon his afflictions, had not 
 imagined him so changed from what he was 
 before. He was scarcely to be recognised. 
 That countenance, once so fine, so blooming, 
 how was it wasted by suffering, by hunger, 
 and by the noxious air of his dark dungeon !
 
 278 MY PRISONS. 
 
 study, and that of using our money to pur- 
 chase books. Neither was ever granted. 
 
 The governor continued, meanwhile, to per- 
 mit us to read our own books. 
 
 Through his kindness likewise, there was some 
 change for the better in our food ; but, alas ! it 
 was only for a short time. He had consented 
 that we should be furnished from the kitchen 
 of the superintendent, instead of that of the 
 victualler of the prison. Some additional funds 
 had been assigned by him for this use. The 
 arrangement was not sanctioned ; but, while it 
 lasted, I experienced some benefit from it. Ma- 
 roncelli also regained a little strength. But 
 for poor Oroboni it was too late. 
 
 He had received as a companion, first the 
 advocate Solera, and then the priest Don For- 
 tini. 
 
 After two of us had been put together in 
 each cell, the prohibition to speak at the 
 windows was renewed, with the threat, that 
 whoever should infringe it, should be again 
 placed in solitude. To tell the truth, we some- 
 times violated the prohibition to salute each 
 other ; but we had no more long conversations. 
 
 The disposition of Maroncelli and my own
 
 M V P R I S O JN S . 279 
 
 perfectly harmonized. The courage of one sus- 
 tained the courage of the other. If either of 
 us was seized by melancholy, or irritated by 
 anger, at the hardships of our situation, the 
 other cheered him by some joke, or by some 
 well-adapted reasoning. Thus a sweet smile 
 almost always tempered our sufferings. 
 
 As long as we had books, although we had 
 read them so often that we knew them by heart, 
 they were agreeable food for the mind, as 
 they always gave occasion to new examina- 
 tions, comparisons, judgments, corrections, &c. 
 We read or meditated a great part of the day 
 in silence, and conversed during dinner, while 
 walking, and all the evening. 
 
 Maroncclli, in his subterranean cell, had 
 composed many verses of great beauty. He 
 recited them to me, and composed others. I 
 also composed verses, and recited them to him, 
 and our memory was thus in constant ex- 
 ercise. We acquired a wonderful capacity 
 of forming in our minds long poetical com- 
 positions ; correcting and re-conecting them 
 continually, and bringing tiiein to as great a 
 degree of finish, as wo should have been able 
 to attain, had we committed them to writing.
 
 280 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Maroncelli thus composed by degrees, retaining 
 them in his memory, several thousand lyric 
 and epic verses. I composed the tragedy of 
 Leoniero da Dertona and various other things.
 
 MY PRISONS. 281 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 
 Oroboni, after having suffered a great deal 
 in the winter and Sjiring, found himself much 
 worse in the summer. He raised blood, and 
 became dropsical. 
 
 I leave our affliction to be imagined, when 
 he was dying so near us, without our being 
 able to break down the cruel wall which pre- 
 vented us from seeing him, and from performing 
 for him the offices of friendship. 
 
 Schiller brought us news of him. The un- 
 happy young man suffered extremely ; but his 
 fortitude never gave way. He had the spirit- 
 ual aid of the chaplain, (who fortunately un- 
 derstood French.) 
 
 He died on his Saint's day, the 13th of 
 June, 1823. Some hours before he expired, 
 he spoke of his father, who was eigiity years 
 old ; he was affected and wept. Then he re- 
 covered himself, and said, " ]?ut why do I weep 
 for the most fortunate of those I love, since he 
 is on the eve of joining me in eternal peace .'* " 
 His last words were, " 1 forgive from my 
 heart all my enemies."
 
 282 MY PRISONS. 
 
 His eyes were closed by Don Fortini, his 
 friend from infancy, a most religious and ami- 
 able man. 
 
 Poor Oroboni ! what a chill ran through our 
 veins, when we were told he was no more ! 
 We heard the voices and the steps of those 
 who came to take away the corpse ; and we 
 saw from the window the cai't in which it was 
 carried to the cemetery ! Two common con- 
 victs drew the cart ; four guards followed 
 it. We accompanied with our eyes the sad 
 procession to the cemetery. It entered the 
 enclosure. It stopped in a corner : there was 
 the grave. 
 
 A few moments afterwards, the cart, the con- 
 victs, and the guards returned. Among them 
 was Kubitzki. He said to me, (a refined 
 thought, extraordinary in an uncultivated man,) 
 " I have carefully marked the place of his bu- 
 rial, so that, if any relation or friend should 
 ever obtain permission to take his bones, and 
 carry them to his country, it may be known 
 where they lie." 
 
 How many times Oroboni had said to me, 
 as he looked at the cemetery from his window, 
 " I must accustom myself to the idea of moul-
 
 MY PRISONS. 283 
 
 dering in that place ; yet I confess it makes 
 me shudder. It seems to me that I shall not 
 rest so well in this country, as in our own 
 dear peninsula." 
 
 Then he would smile, and exclaim, " How 
 childish ! When a dress is worn out, and must 
 be discarded, of what consequence is it where 
 it may be thrown ? " 
 
 Another time he said ; " I am constantly pre- 
 paring for death ; but I should resign myself 
 to it more willingly on one condition ; just to 
 enter beneath my paternal roof, embrace the 
 knees of my father, receive one blessing from 
 him, and die ! " 
 
 He sighed and added, " If this cup may not 
 pass from me, O my God, may thy will be 
 done ! " 
 
 And the last morning of his life, he again 
 said, as he kissed a crucifix which Krai held 
 toward him ; 
 
 " Thou who wert divine, yet hadst a horror 
 of death, and saidst, Si possibile est, transcut a 
 mc calix isle,* forgive, if I say it also. I?ut I 
 also repeat thy other words, Vcrumlamen non 
 sicut ego volo, scd sicul /w .' " "f 
 
 " If it be possible, let this cup pass from me. 
 ■f Nevertheless, not as I will; but as thou will.
 
 284 MY PRISONS, 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVII. 
 
 After Oroboni's death I was again taken ill. 
 I believed that I should soon rejoin my depart- 
 ed friend ; and this I desired. Only, could I 
 have parted from Maroncelli without pain ? 
 
 Many a time as he was seated on his straw 
 bed, reading, or composing poetry, or, perhaps, 
 like myself, pretending to be thus occupied, 
 while he was meditating on our misfortunes, I 
 have watched him with solicitude, and thought, 
 " How much more sad will your life become 
 when the stroke of death shall have fallen upon 
 me, when you shall see me borne away from 
 this room, and when, looking towards the cem- 
 etery, you will say, ' Silvio too is there ! ' " And 
 I was moved with compassion at the thought 
 of his surviving me, and prayed that another 
 companion might be given him, capable of ap- 
 preciating him as I did, or that the Lord would 
 prolong my sufferings, and allow me the grate- 
 ful office of tempering those of my unhappy 
 friend by sharing them with him. 
 
 I will not note my alternations of disease 
 and recovery. Maroncelli nursed me with all
 
 MY PRISONS. 283 
 
 a brother's tenderness. He perceived when it 
 was not well for me to converse, and then he 
 was silent ; he perceived when his conversa- 
 tion would relieve me, and then he always 
 found some subject suited to my state of mind, 
 sometimes followinfj the train of my thouorhts, 
 and sometimes seeking gradually to change it. 
 One of nobler spirit than his, I have never 
 known, and but few that equal him. A great 
 love of justice, great tolerance, great faith in 
 human virtue and in the aids of Providence, a 
 most lively perception of the beautiful in all the 
 arts, an imagination rich in poetry, all the most 
 pleasing qualities of mind and heart, combined 
 to render him dear to me. 
 
 I did not forget Oroboni, and every day I 
 mourned his death ; but my heart often took 
 pleasure in the thought, that this dear friend, 
 freed from all evil, and in the bosom of the 
 Divinity, might number among his joys that of 
 seeing mo with another friend, no less affec- 
 tionate than himself. 
 
 A voice from within seemed to assure me 
 that Oroboni was no longer in a |>lacc of ex- 
 piation ; yet I contitiuod to pray for him. Often 
 I dreamt that I saw liiin ; that he was praying
 
 236 MY PRISONS. 
 
 for me ; and I loved to persuade myself, that 
 my dreams were not accidental, but were real 
 manifestations of him, permitted by God for my 
 consolation. It would seem ridiculous, were I 
 to describe the vividness of those dreams, and 
 the serenity of mind that followed them, contin- 
 uing for whole days together. 
 
 But my affliction was gradually alleviated 
 by religious feeling and by my friendship for 
 Maroncelli. The only idea which alarmed me 
 was the possibility that my unfortunate friend, 
 whose health was ruined, though his danger 
 seemed less imminent than my own, might 
 precede me to the tomb. Whenever he was 
 ill, I trembled ; when I saw that he was bet- 
 ter, it was a day of joy to me. 
 
 This apprehension of losing him added strength 
 to my affection, and the fear of losing me pro- 
 duced the same effect on him. 
 
 Ah, there is a charm even in these alterna- 
 tions of anxiety and hope for the last friend 
 that remains to us ! Our lot was certainly 
 one of the most miserable upon earth ; yet to 
 esteem and love each other so entirely, formed 
 amid all our sufferings a kind of happiness ; 
 and we truly felt it.
 
 MY PRISONS. 287 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVIII. 
 
 It was my wish that we should be allow- 
 ed to have as our confessor the chaplain, with 
 whom I was so much pleased at the time of my 
 first illness, and that we should have liberty 
 to see him now and then, even when we were 
 not seriously ill. Instead of giving this charge 
 to him, the governor appointed for us an Au- 
 gustine monk, named Father Battista, the ap- 
 pointment being provisional till it should be 
 confirmed, or another person nominated, at Vi- 
 enna. 
 
 I feared we might lose by the exchange ; 
 but I was mistaken. Father Battista was an 
 angel of charity ; his manners were cultivated 
 and even elegant ; he reasoned profoundly on 
 the duties of man. 
 
 We entreated him to visit us frequently. 
 He came every month, and oftcncr if he was 
 able. With the governor's permission he also 
 brought us some books, and assured us, in the 
 name of his abl)ot, tliat the wlioh' library of 
 the convent was at our service. This would
 
 288 MY PRISONS. 
 
 have been a great acquisition to us, had the 
 permission continued. As it was, we availed 
 ourselves of it for several months. 
 
 After confession, he would remain some time 
 to converse with us ; and all his remarks gave 
 evidence of an upright and noble mind, full of 
 enthusiasm for the greatness and holiness of 
 man. For about a year, we had the good 
 fortune to enjoy the benefit of his intelligence 
 and affection, and he never disappointed us. 
 He never uttered a syllable, which could lead 
 us to suspect him of forgetting the duties of his 
 ministry, and having some political purpose. He 
 invariably treated us with the utmost delicacy 
 and consideration. 
 
 At first, to tell the truth, I distrusted him, 
 and expected to find him employing the acute- 
 ness of his mind in unbecoming investigations. 
 Such distrust is but too natural in a prisoner 
 of state ; but how greatly is he relieved when 
 this feeling passes away, when he discovers in 
 the interpreter of God's will a single-hearted 
 devotion to the cause of God and of mankind. 
 
 He had a peculiar and most efficacious man- 
 ner of giving consolation. I accused myself, 
 for example, of angry feelings on account of
 
 MY PRISONS. 289 
 
 the severity of our prison discipline. He mor- 
 alized awhile on the virtue of suffering with 
 a calm and forgiving spirit ; and then proceed- 
 ed to depict, in the liveliest manner, the mise- 
 ries endured in situations different from mine. 
 He had lived both in the city and in the 
 country, had known the high and the low, 
 had meditated on human injustice, and was 
 well qualified to describe the feelings and hab- 
 its of the various classes of society. He show- 
 ed me everywhere the strong and the weak, 
 the oppressors and the oppressed ; and the ne- 
 cessity that everywhere exists of either hat- 
 ing our fellow men, or of loving them from a 
 principle of generous indulgence and compas- 
 sion. The cases that he brought forward to re- 
 mind me of the universality of misfortune, and 
 the good effects that may be derived from it, 
 had nothing singular in them ; on the contrary, 
 they were very common ; but he related them 
 in words so just and powerful, as to make me 
 deeply feel the inferences to be drawn from 
 them. 
 
 Never did I hear those affectionate reproofs, 
 and those noble counsels, without glowing with 
 the love of virtue. I no longer iiatcd any one ; 
 19
 
 290 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I could have given my life for the least of my 
 fellow creatures ; I blessed God for having 
 made me a man. 
 
 Ah ! how unhappy is he who knows not the 
 elevating influences of confession ! how unhap- 
 py is he who thinks himself bound to regard 
 it with scorn, that he may not appear one of the 
 vulgar ! Every one knows, that it is necessary 
 to be good ; but it is not therefore true, that 
 it is useless to hear this said, or that our own 
 reflections and appropriate reading are suffi- 
 cient. No ! the living voice has a power which 
 reading and reflection have not. The mind is 
 more strongly moved by it ; the impressions 
 we receive are more profound. In the words 
 of the brother who speaks to us, there is a 
 living energy and an appropriateness that we 
 often vainly seek in books and in our own 
 thoughts.
 
 MY PRISONS. 291 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 In the beginning of the year 1824, the su- 
 perintendent, who had his office at one end of 
 our corridor, removed elsewhere, and the rooms 
 of the office, with others adjoining, were turned 
 into cells. Alas ! we perceived that new pi*is- 
 oners of state were expected from Italy. 
 
 In fact, those who had been condemned un- 
 der a third process soon arrived ; all of them 
 my friends and acquaintances ! What was my 
 sorrow when I learnt their names ! Borsieri was 
 one of my oldest friends. To Confalonieri I 
 had not been so long attached, but still with 
 all my heart. If I had been able, by submitting 
 to the severest imprisonment, or by any sup- 
 posable suffering, to have delivered them from 
 punishment and set them free, God knows that 
 I would have done it ! I do not say merely, 
 that I would have given my life for them : 
 what is it to give one's life t to suffer is much 
 
 more 
 
 I 
 
 I might at this time have derived great ben- 
 efit from the consolations of Father Battista ; 
 but he was no longer permitted to come.
 
 292 MY PRISONS. 
 
 New orders arrived for the maintenance of 
 the severest discipline. The terrace which 
 served us for a walk was first enclosed by a 
 palisade, so that no one might any longer see 
 us, even from a distance with a telescope ; 
 and thus we lost the beautiful prospect of the 
 surrounding hills and the city beneath. But 
 this was not enough. In going to the terrace, 
 it was necessary, as I have said, to cross the 
 court, and there many persons had an oppor- 
 tunity of observing us. That we might be 
 hidden from all eyes, we were deprived of that 
 walk, and another was assigned us ; a very 
 small one, contiguous to our corridor, and, like 
 our rooms, looking towards the north. 
 
 I cannot express how much we were afflicted 
 by this change of our walk. I have not men- 
 tioned all that was agreeable in the place just 
 taken from us. The sight of the superintend- 
 ent's children, their affectionate embraces on 
 the spot where we had seen their poor mother 
 during her last illness ; a little talk with the 
 smith, who had his quarters there ; the cheer- 
 ful songs of one of the corporals, accompanied 
 by his guitar ; and in the last place an innocent 
 attachment, — not on my part, nor on the part
 
 MY PRISONS. 293 
 
 of my companion, but on that of a good, simple 
 girl, the daughter of an Hungarian corporal, — 
 a fruitseller. She was in love with Maroncelli. 
 
 Before he was placed with me they had form- 
 ed something of a friendship, from seeing each 
 other here almost every day. He was so up- 
 right, honorable, and simple in his intentions, 
 that he was quite unconscious of having won the 
 heart of the compassionate creature. I warned 
 him of it. He was slow to believe me ; yet, 
 while doubting if I were in the right, he deter- 
 mined to treat her with more coldness. His 
 greater reserve, instead of extinguishing her 
 love, seemed to increase it. 
 
 As the window of her room was scarcely an 
 arm's length above the level of the terrace, she 
 used to spring to our side, under the pretence 
 of spreading some linen in the sun, or of doing 
 some other trifling thing, and there she would 
 remain to look ;it us, and, if she could, engage 
 us in conversation. 
 
 Our [)()f)r guards, always weary from having 
 slept little or not at all during the niglit, wil- 
 lingly seized the opportunity of being in a cor- 
 ner, where they could sit on the grass and 
 doze, without being seen by their .superiors.
 
 294 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Maroncelli was then greatly embarrassed, so 
 evident Avas the love of this unfortunate girl. 
 My embarrassment was still greater. Although 
 such scenes might have been matter of laughter, 
 if we had felt but little respect for her, yet to 
 us they were serious, and, I might say, touch- 
 ing. The unhappy Hungarian had one of those 
 countenances, which clearly announce virtuous 
 habits and the necessity of being esteemed. 
 She was not handsome, but had such an ex- 
 pression of refinement, that the features of her 
 countenance, though somewhat irregular, seem- 
 ed to acquire beauty with every smile and every 
 motion of the muscles. 
 
 If it were my intention to write of love, I 
 should still have much to relate of that un- 
 fortunate and virtuous young woman, — now 
 no more. But it is sufficient to have thus 
 briefly mentioned one of the few incidents of 
 our prison life.
 
 MY PRISONS. 295 
 
 CHAPTER LXXX. 
 
 The increased severity of our imprisonment 
 rendered our life every day more monotonous. 
 The whole of 1824, of 1825, of 1826, and of 
 1827 ; how did those years pass with us ? We 
 were deprived of that use of our books, which 
 had been granted provisionally by the governor. 
 The prison became like a tomb, except that 
 the tranquillity of the tomb was not permitted 
 us. Every month, but not on regular days, the 
 director of the police, accompanied by a lieu- 
 tenant and guards, came to make a thorough 
 examination. They stripped us naked, exam- 
 ined all the seams of our garments, and ripped 
 open and thrust their hands into our straw beds, 
 to see if any paper or other article was conceal- 
 ed in them. Although nothing clandestine could 
 ever be found upon us, yet there was some- 
 thing in these hostilo and unexpected visits, re- 
 peated without end, that irritated and put me in 
 a fever whenever thoy occurred. 
 
 Unhappy as the preceding years had seemed 
 to mc, yet I now thought of them with regret,
 
 296 MY PRISONS. 
 
 as a time of precious enjoyments. Where were 
 the hours when I was engrossed by the study 
 of the Bible, or of Homer ? By reading Homer 
 in the original, the little knowledge that I had 
 of Greek was increased, and I was passionately 
 fond of the language. How much I regretted 
 that I could not continue the study of it ! Dante, 
 Petrarch, Shakspeare, Byron, Walter Scott, 
 Schiller, Goethe, &c., how many friends were 
 taken from me ! Among them I remembered 
 also some books of Christian wisdom, such as 
 Bourdaloue, Pascal, The Imitation of Jesus 
 Christ, The Filotea* &c., books, which, if read 
 with a narrow and illiberal spirit of ci'iticism, 
 exulting in every defect of taste that may be dis- 
 covered, and in every thought which is not 
 just, may be thrown aside and never resumed ; 
 but which, if read without prejudice, and with- 
 out taking offence at their weak parts, discover 
 a high philosophy, and afford strong nourish- 
 ment for the heart and for the intellect. 
 
 Some such religious books were afterwards 
 sent us as a gift from the Emperor, but with 
 
 * A work on the Love of God, by St. Francis de 
 Sales.
 
 MY PRISONS. 297 
 
 the absolute exclusion of -works of any other 
 kind, suitable for literary studies. 
 
 This gift of devotional books was obtained for 
 us in 1825, by a Dalmatian confessor, sent to 
 us from Vienna, Father Stephen Paulowich, who 
 two years afterwards was made bishop of Cat- 
 taro. To him we were likewise indebted for at 
 last hearing mass, a privilege which had hith- 
 erto been denied us, on the ground that we 
 could not be conducted to church and kept sep- 
 arate in pairs, as was directed. 
 
 As it was not possible that v/e should be thus 
 separated in attending mass, wc were divided 
 into three companies, one in the organ gallery, 
 another beneath the gallery, so as not to be 
 seen, and the third in a small oratory, which 
 looked into the church through a grate. 
 
 Maroncelli and I had then for companions 
 six persons, who had ])ccn condemned by a 
 sentence prior to our own ; but each couple 
 was prohibited from speaking to the others. 
 Two of these individuals had been my neigh- 
 bours in the Piomhi of Venice. We were 
 conducted by guards to the place assigned for 
 us, and, after mass, each pair was reconducted 
 in the same manner to their cell. A capuchin
 
 298 MY PRISONS. 
 
 came to say mass. This good man always 
 ended the service with an Oremiis,* imploring 
 our liberation from chains ; and his voice was 
 moved. When he came from the altar, he cast 
 a look of compassion on each of the three com- 
 panies of prisoners, and mournfully inclined his 
 head in prayer. 
 
 * A prayer introduced with the word, Oremus, " Let us 
 pray."
 
 MY PRISONS. 299 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXI. 
 
 I.v 1825, Schiller was considered as so much 
 weakened by the infirmities of old age, that the 
 custody of other convicts was given him, for 
 whom it seemed so much vigilance was not re- 
 quired. How grieved we were to lose him, 
 and how it grieved him to leave us ! 
 
 Krai was his immediate successor, a man not 
 inferior to him in kindness. But, in a short time, 
 he too was otherwise employed, and a person 
 was put in his place, who was not bad, but 
 crabbed, and without any expression of feeling. 
 
 These changes afflicted me deeply, Schiller, 
 Krai, and Kubitzki, particularly the first two, 
 had taken care of us in our illnesses, as a father 
 and a brother might have done. Incapable of 
 failing in their duty, they knew how to perform 
 it witliout hardness of heart. If there was a 
 little harshness of manner, it was almost always 
 involuntary, and the affection they manifest- 
 ed towards us was a full compensation for it. 
 I was sometimes angry with them, — but liow 
 cordially they forgave me ! how eagerly they
 
 300 MY PRISONS. 
 
 desired to persuade us, that they were not with- 
 out affection for us, and how they rejoiced to 
 perceive that we were persuaded of it, and that 
 we considered them as worthy men ! 
 
 After he was separated from us, Schiller was 
 repeatedly attacked by illness, from which he 
 recovered. We inquired for him with filial anx- 
 iety. When he was convalescent, he sometimes 
 came to walk under our window. We saluted 
 him by coughing, and he looked up with a mel- 
 ancholy smile, and said to the sentinel, so that 
 we could hear him ; Da sind meine Sdhne ! 
 (There are my sons !) 
 
 Poor old man ! what pain it gave me to see 
 you slowly dragging along your feeble limbs, and 
 to be unable to support you with my arm ! 
 
 Sometimes he seated himself on the grass, 
 and read. The books were the same which 
 he had lent me. And that I might recognise 
 them, he mentioned their titles to the sentinel, 
 or repeated some passages from them. For the 
 most part, they were tales from annuals, or 
 other romances of little literary value, but 
 
 moral. 
 
 After several attacks of apoplexy, he was 
 carried to the military hospital. He was already
 
 MY PRISONS. 301 
 
 in a wretched state, and shortly afterwards died. 
 He possessed a few hundred florins, the fruit of 
 his long savings. These he had lent to some 
 of his fellow-soldiers. When he found himself 
 near his end, he called those friends to him and 
 said ; " I have no relations ; let each of you 
 keep what he has in his hands. I only ask you 
 to pray for me." 
 
 One of these friends had a daughter, eigh- 
 teen years old, who was the god-daughter of 
 Schiller. A few hours before his death, the 
 good old man sent for her. He could no lon- 
 ger speak distinctly ; he took from his finger a 
 silver ring, the last of his wealth, and put it on 
 hers. Then he kissed her, and as he kissed 
 her, he wept. The girl broke out into lamenta- 
 tions, and covered him with her tears. He 
 wiped them away with his handkerchief, took her 
 hands, and placed them on his eyes. Those 
 eyes were closed for ever.
 
 302 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXII. 
 
 Human consolations were departing from us 
 one after another ; our troubles continually in- 
 creased. I resigned myself to the will of God, 
 but while I resigned myself, I mourned ; and my 
 soul, instead of becoming inured to suflering, 
 seemed to feel it more and more sensibly. 
 
 One day, a sheet of the Augsburg gazette 
 was clandestinely brought to me, in which a 
 very strange statement was published concern- 
 ing me, in connexion with an account of one 
 of my sisters having taken the veil. 
 
 It said, "The Signora Maria Angiola Pellico, 
 daughter, &c., on the day &c., took the veil in 
 the Convent of La Visitazione, in Turin, &c. 
 She is sister of the author of Francesca da 
 Rimini, Silvio Pellico, recently liberated from 
 the fortress of Spielberg, through the favor of 
 His Majesty the Emperor ; an act of clemency 
 worthy of so magnanimous a sovereign, and 
 which rejoices all Italy. Since," &c. 
 
 And here followed a panegyric upon me.
 
 MY PRISONS. 303 
 
 I could not imagine why this fable about the 
 favor of His Majesty should have been invented. 
 That it was the mere sport of a journalist did 
 not seem likely. Was it then some aitifice of 
 German policy ? Who can tell ? But the name 
 Maria Angiola was precisely that of my young- 
 est sister. It must, without doubt, have been 
 copied into other gazettes from the Turin ga- 
 zette. Had then that excellent girl really be- 
 come a nun .^ "Ah," thought I, "she has per- 
 haps chosen that state because she has lost her 
 parents ! Poor girl ! she was not willing that 
 I alone should suffer the misery of imprison- 
 ment ! she has determined to seclude herself 
 likewise ! May the Lord grant her more 
 patience and self-renunciation, than he has 
 granted me ! How often in her cell will that 
 angel think of me ! How often will she undergo 
 severe penance to obtain from God some alle- 
 viation of the sorrows of her brother ! " 
 
 These thoughts aHccted and distressed me. 
 " My misfortunes may then have shortened the 
 days of my father, or of my mother, or of 
 both !" The more I thought of it, the more it 
 appeared to mc impossible that, without such a 
 loss, my dear Marietta should have abandoned
 
 304 MY PRISONS. 
 
 her home. This idea oppressed me, as if it were 
 a certainty, and I consequently sunk into the 
 deepest sorrow. 
 
 Maroncelli was not less affected than myself. 
 Some days after, he began to compose a po- 
 etical lament, on " The Sister of the Pris- 
 oner." He produced a beautiful little poem, 
 breathing melancholy and sympathy. When it 
 was finished, he recited it to me. Oh, how 
 grateful was I to him for his kindness ! Among 
 so many millions of verses, of which, up to 
 this time, nuns have been the subject, proba- 
 bly these were the first that were composed 
 in a dungeon, for the brother of the nun, by 
 his companion in chains. What an assemblage 
 of pathetic and religious ideas. 
 
 Thus friendship softened my sorrows. But, 
 from that time, not a day passed in which my 
 thoughts did not long wander in a convent of 
 virgins, dwelling upon one among those virgins 
 with peculiar tenderness ; and I earnestly pray- 
 ed Heaven to give a charm to her solitude, 
 and not to suflfer her imagination to paint my 
 prison in too horrible colors.
 
 RIY PRISONS. 305 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIII. 
 
 From the fact that this gazette came to me 
 clandestinely, the reader must not imagine that 
 I succeeded in obtaining frequent intelligence 
 from the world. No ; all around me were kind, 
 but they were restrained by strong fear. Noth- 
 ing, however trifling, was done clandestinely, 
 except when it was evident that there was 
 really no hazard. And seldom, indeed, could 
 this be the case in the midst of so many ex- 
 aminations, ordinary and extraordinary. 
 
 I was never able to obtain secret infor- 
 mation of my dear friends at a distance, ex- 
 cept the abovcmentioned notice relative to my 
 sister. 
 
 My apprehension that my parents were no 
 lonacr livintj was some time afterward rather 
 increased than diminished by the manner in 
 which the director of police announced to mc 
 that my family were well. 
 
 " His Majesty the Emperor commands mc," 
 said he, " to inform you that your relations at 
 Turin are well." 
 
 20
 
 306 MY PRISONS. 
 
 I trembled with pleasure and surprise at this 
 information, now given me for the first time, 
 and asked for further particulars. 
 
 "I left," said I, "my parents, brothers, and 
 sisters at Turin. Are they all living ? Oh, if 
 you have a letter from any of them, I entreat 
 you to show it to me ! " 
 
 " I can show you nothing. You must be 
 satisfied with what I have told you. It is a 
 proof of the Emperor's clemency, that he al- 
 lows these consoling words to be spoken. It 
 is a favor which has not before been granted to 
 any one." 
 
 " I acknowledge it to be a proof of the Em- 
 peror's clemency ; but you must feel that it 
 is impossible for me to derive any consolation 
 from words so vague. Which of my relations 
 are well ^ Have I not lost any of them ? " 
 
 " I regret. Sir, that I cannot tell you more 
 than I have been directed to do." 
 
 And, saying this, he went away. 
 
 This information was certainly intended to 
 afibrd me consolation. But I persuaded myself 
 that the Emperor, though he had yielded to 
 the urgency of some of my relations, and con- 
 sented that this information should be given
 
 MY PRISONS. 307 
 
 me, had, at the same time, forbidden that any 
 letter should be shown me, as I might learn 
 from it who of my dear friends had been taken 
 away. 
 
 A few months after, a similar announcement 
 concerning my family was again made to me, 
 but it was unaccompanied by any letter, or any 
 further explanation. 
 
 It was perceived that this was not enough to 
 satisfy me, that I was still more afflicted in 
 consequence ; and nothing further was ever said 
 to me of my family. 
 
 The idea that my parents were dead, that my 
 brothers perhaps were dead also, and Giusep- 
 pina, my other dearly loved sister, and that 
 perhaps Marietta, the sole survivor, miglit soon 
 die under the anguish of solitude and the aus- 
 terities of penance, detached me more and 
 more from life. 
 
 Sometimes, when violently seized by new 
 attacks of illness, resembling those I had pre- 
 viously suffered, such as dreadful colics, with 
 the most painful symptoms, like those of the 
 chohra-morbus, I hoped to die. Yes, the ex- 
 pression is correct, / hoped.
 
 308 JMY PRISONS. 
 
 And yet, oh the contradictions of human na- 
 ture ! as I gave a glance at my languishing 
 companion, my heart bled at the thought of 
 leaving him alone, and I desired life anew !
 
 MY PRISONS. 309 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIV. 
 
 Three times, persons of high rank came from 
 Vienna to visit our prison, in order to ascer- 
 tain that there were no abuses of discipline. 
 The first visit was by the Baron von Miinch, 
 who compassionated us for our want of light, 
 and said that he would ask permission to pro- 
 long our day, by causing a lamp to be put up, 
 outside of the small opening in our door, for 
 some hours in the evening. His visit was in 
 1825. A year afterwards his charitable pur- 
 pose was carried into effect. From that time, 
 this sepulchral light enabled us to see the walls, 
 and to avoid breaking our heads as we walked. 
 
 The second visit was by the Baron von 
 Vogel. He found me in a wretched state of 
 health, and hearing that, although the physician 
 thought coffee would l)c beneficial to me, he 
 had not ventured to order it, because it was a 
 lu.xury, he spoke a word in my favor, and the 
 coffee was given me. 
 
 The third visit was by some other noble- 
 man of tiie Court, I know not whom, a man
 
 310 MY PRISONS. 
 
 between fifty and sixty, who manifested in his 
 words and manners the most generous com- 
 passion. He could do nothing for us ; but the 
 expression of his kindness was a favor for which 
 we were grateful. 
 
 Oh, how ardently does a prisoner desire to 
 see beings of his own species ! The Christian 
 religion, so full of humanity, has not forgotten to 
 enumerate, among the works of mercy, the visit- 
 ing of prisoners. Our sufferings are lightened by 
 the presence of those who compassionate our 
 misfortunes, even when they give us no other 
 relief 
 
 Entire solitude may be useful for the amend- 
 ment of some characters ; but I believe that, 
 in general, seclusion would be much more 
 beneficial if not pushed to an extreme, but 
 combined with some intercourse with society. 
 At least, it is so with those constituted like me. 
 Unless I see my fellow-creatures, I concentrate 
 my love on too small a number, and dislike 
 all others. If I can see, I will not say a great 
 many, but a reasonable number, I feel a tender 
 affection for the whole human race. 
 
 A thousand times I have found my heart so 
 exclusively attached to a very few, and so full
 
 MY PRISONS. 311 
 
 of hatred towards the rest of men, that I have 
 been shocked by it. Then I would go to the 
 window, sighing to see some new face, and 
 thought myself happy if the sentinel did not 
 pass too near the wall ; if he were at such a 
 distance from it that I could see him ; if he 
 raised his head on hearing me cough ; if his 
 physiognomy were good. When I thought I 
 could perceive in him any sentiments of compas- 
 sion, I felt a pleasing emotion, as if that un- 
 known soldier were an intimate friend. When 
 he walked away, I waited for his return with 
 eager solicitude ; and if he looked at me as he 
 came back, I rejoiced as for a great kindness. 
 If he did not pass again, so that I could see 
 him, I was mortified, like him who loves, and 
 knows that his love is disregarded.
 
 312 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXV. 
 
 In the adjoining cell, formerly occupied by 
 Oroboni, were now confined Don Marco Fortini 
 and Signer Antonio Villa. The latter, once 
 as robust as Hercules, suffered much from hun- 
 ger during the first year, and when more food 
 was given him, he no longer had the power of 
 digesting it. He languished for a long time, 
 and when reduced almost to extremity, he ob- 
 tained a more airy cell. The mephitic atmo- 
 sphere of a narrow, tomb-like cell was without 
 doubt very injurious to him, as it was to all 
 the rest of us. But the remedy he had asked 
 for was not sufficient. In that larger room he 
 lingered for some months longer, and then, 
 after repeatedly raising blood, he died. 
 
 He was attended by his fellow-prisoner, Don 
 Fortini, and by the Abbe Paulowich, who came 
 in haste from Vienna, when it was known that 
 he was dying. 
 
 Although I was not connected with him so 
 closely as I had been with Oroboni, yet his 
 death greatly afflicted me. I knew he was
 
 MY PRISONS. 313 
 
 loved with the utmost tenderness by his par- 
 ents and his wife. As for him, he was more 
 to be envied than lamented ; but alas for those 
 survivors ! 
 
 He had likewise been my neighbour in the 
 Piombi. Tremerello had brought me several 
 of his poems, and had carried some of mine to 
 him. In his there was occasionally an expres- 
 sion of deep sentiment. 
 
 After his death my feelings seemed to be 
 more strongly excited for him, than during his 
 life, upon hearing from the guards how miser- 
 ably he had suffered. The unhappy man, 
 though very religious, could not resign himself 
 to death. He experienced the greatest degree 
 of horror at that awful transition, though al- 
 ways blessing the Lord, and exclaiming with 
 tears ; — "I know not how to bend my will to 
 thine, yet I wish to do so ; work thou this 
 miracle in me ! " 
 
 He had not Oroboni's courage ; but he imi- 
 tated him in declaring his forgiveness of liis 
 enemies. 
 
 About the close of that year (it was 182G), we 
 heard one evening an ill-sup[)resscd sound of 
 several persons moving about in the corridor.
 
 314 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Our ears had become very quick in distinguish- 
 ing a thousand different kinds of noises. A 
 door was opened ; we knew it to be that of 
 the advocate Solera. Another door was opened ; 
 it was Fortini's. Among several low voices we 
 distinguished that of the director of police. — 
 What can it be ? An examination at so late 
 an hour ? And why ? 
 
 In a short time, they came again into the 
 corridor. We heard the beloved voice of For- 
 tini ; — " Oh, unlucky ! excuse me, I have for- 
 gotten one volume of my breviary." 
 
 He ran quickly back to get the book, and 
 then rejoined the company. The door of the 
 staircase was opened ; we heard their footsteps 
 to the bottom ; we were assured that those two 
 happy men had received their pardon, and, 
 though we were sorry not to follow them, we 
 rejoiced in their liberation.
 
 MV PRISONS . 315 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVl. 
 
 Might no inferences with regard to our- 
 selves be drawn from the liberation of two of 
 our companions ? Why were they released, 
 who had been sentenced like us, one to twen- 
 ty years, the other to fifteen, while no favor 
 was extended to us and to many others ? 
 
 Were there stronger prejudices against those 
 who were not liberated ? Or was there a dis- 
 position to pardon all, but at short intervals, 
 two at a time ? perhaps every month ? per- 
 haps every two or three months ? 
 
 We remained for some time in this uncer- 
 tainty. But more than three months passed 
 and no one else was set at liberty. Towards 
 the close of 1827, we thought that December 
 might be determined on as the annual period 
 for pardons. But Deceml)er passed and noth- 
 ing happened. 
 
 We cherished these expectations till the sum- 
 mer of 182fj, when the seven years and a half 
 of punishment, equivalent according to the Em- 
 peror's word to fifteen years, would terminate.
 
 316 MY PRISONS. 
 
 if the period were to be calculated from the 
 time of my arrest ; though if the time of the 
 trial were not to be included, (and this was 
 the more probable supposition,) but the pun- 
 ishment to commence from the publication of 
 the sentence, the seven years and a half would 
 not be finished till 1829. 
 
 But all calculable periods passed, and no 
 pardon came. In the mean time, even before 
 Solera and Fortini were released, a tumor 
 had appeared on the left knee of my poor friend 
 Maroncelli. At first the pain was slight, and 
 only obliged him to limp. Then he suffered 
 from dragging his chain, and rarely went to 
 walk. One morning in the autumn, he was dis- 
 posed to go out with me to breathe a little 
 fresh air ; there was snow already, and in a 
 fatal moment, when I was not supporting him, 
 he stumbled and fell. The shock immediately 
 caused the pain in his knee to become acute. 
 We carried him to his bed, for he was no lon- 
 ger able to stand. When the physician saw 
 him, it was at last decided that his irons should 
 be taken off". The tumor grew worse from 
 day to day, becoming very large, and more 
 and more painful. Such were the sufferings of
 
 MY PRISONS. 317 
 
 the poor invalid, that he could have no rest, 
 either in or out of his bed. 
 
 When it was necessary for him to change 
 his place, to rise, or to lie down, I was ob- 
 liged to take hold of the diseased limb with the 
 greatest possible delicacy, and move it very 
 slowly in the direction required. The slightest 
 change of position would sometimes produce 
 spasms, which lasted for a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Leeches, issues, caustics, fomentations of dif- 
 ferent kinds were all tried by the physician. 
 They only increased his sufferings. After the 
 application of caustics, suppuration took place. 
 The whole tumor became one sore ; but the 
 swelling did not diminish, and the opening of 
 the sore brought no relief from pain. 
 
 Maroncelli was a thousand times more unfor- 
 tunate than myself; but yet how much I suf- 
 fered with him ! The duties of a nurse were 
 a pleasure to me, since they were performed 
 for so worthy a friend. But to behold him thus 
 perishing under such acute and protracted tor- 
 ments, and to be unable to restore him to 
 health ; to foresee tliat liis knee would never 
 be healed ; to perceive tlmt he himself consid- 
 ered death more probable tlian recovery ; all
 
 •^18 MY PRISONS. 
 
 this, while constantly admiring his fortitude and 
 and serenity ; — oh ! it filled me with unspeak- 
 able anguish.
 
 MY PRISONS. 319 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVII. 
 
 I.\ this deplorable condition he still compos- 
 ed verses, he sang, he conversed, he did every 
 thing to beguile me as to his state, to conceal 
 from me part of his sufferings. He could no 
 longer digest, nor sleep ; his flesh wasted away 
 frightfully ; he frequently fainted ; yet some- 
 times the powers of life would rally for a short 
 time, and he strove to encourage me. 
 
 What he suffered for nine long months is 
 indescribable. At last permission was given for 
 a consultation to be held. The chief physician 
 came, he approved all that the other physician 
 had done, and then, without pronouncing his 
 opinion upon the disease, or upon what further 
 means were to be used, went away. 
 
 A moment after, the sub-intendant came and 
 said to Maroncclli ; " The chief physician did 
 not venture to explain himself in your pres- 
 ence ; lie feared you might not have strength 
 enough to hoar a hard necessity announced. 
 I have assured him that you arc not wanting 
 in courage."
 
 320 MY PRISONS. 
 
 " I hope," said Maroncelli, " that I have 
 given some proof of it, in enduring these tor- 
 ments without complaint. Would they pro- 
 pose . . . ? " 
 
 " Yes, amputation. But the chief physician, 
 seeing you so reduced, hesitates to advise it. 
 In so weak a state, do you feel able to endure 
 amputation ? Are you willing to expose your- 
 self to the danger ... ? " 
 
 " Of dying ? And shall I not equally die in 
 a short time^ if an end is not put to this evil ^ " 
 
 " Then we will immediately send a statement 
 of every thing to Vienna, and as soon as per- 
 mission comes for the amputation ..." 
 
 " What ? is permission necessary } " 
 
 "Yes, Signore." 
 
 Eight days from that time, the expected per- 
 mission arrived. 
 
 The sick man was carried into a larger room ; 
 he requested that I might follow him. 
 
 " I may expire under the operation," he said ; 
 " let me at least find myself in the arms of my 
 friend." 
 
 My attendance was permitted. 
 
 The Abbe Wrba, our confessor (successor 
 to Paulowich), came to administer the sacra-
 
 MY PRISONS. 321 
 
 ments to the unhappy sufferer. When this act 
 of religion was accomplished, we Avaited for the 
 surgeons, but they did not come. Maroncelli 
 then began to sing some extemporary verses. 
 
 At last, the surgeons arrived : there were 
 two. One was the ordinary surgeon of the 
 house, that is to say, our barber, who, when- 
 ever an operation was to be performed, had the 
 right of doing it with his own hands, and would 
 not yield the honor to any one else. The other 
 was a young surgeon, a pupil of tlie school of 
 Vienna, already enjoying the reputation of great 
 ability. He was sent by the Governor to assist 
 at, and direct the operation, and was desirous 
 of performing it himself ; but he was obliged to 
 be content with watching over its execution. 
 
 The sick man was seated upon the side of the 
 bed with his legs down : I supported him in my 
 arms. A ligature was bound round the limb, 
 above the knee, where it was in a healthy state, 
 to mark where the incision was to be made. 
 The old surgeon cut all around, about half an 
 inch deep, then he drew up the skin, and con- 
 tinued to cut the bared muscles. The blood 
 flowed in torrents from the arteries, but they 
 21
 
 322 MY PRISONS. 
 
 were quickly tied with a silk thread. Lastly 
 the bone was sawed. 
 
 Maroncelli did not utter a cry. When he 
 saw them carrying away the amputated limb, 
 he cast upon it one look of compassion ; then, 
 turning to the operating surgeon, he said : 
 
 " You have freed me from an enemy, and I 
 have no means of rewarding you," 
 
 In a glass upon the window, there was a 
 rose. 
 
 " I beg you to bring me that rose," he said 
 to me. 
 
 I brought it to him. He offered it to the old 
 surgeon, saying ; " I have nothing else to pre- 
 sent to you as a testimony of my gratitude." 
 
 He took the rose, and wept.
 
 MV PRISONS. 323 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVIII, 
 
 The surgeons had supposed that the infirm- 
 ary of Spielberg would supply all that was requi- 
 site, except the instruments which they brouo-ht 
 with them. But after the operation they found 
 that several necessary articles were wanting ; 
 cerecloth, ice, bandages, &.c. 
 
 The poor mutilated patient was obliged to 
 wait two hours, till all these things were brought 
 from the city. At last, he was able to lie down 
 on the bed ; and ice was applied to the stump. 
 
 The next day they removed the clotted blood 
 from the stump, washed it, drew the skin over 
 it, and bound it up. 
 
 For several days nothing was given to the 
 patient, but half a cup-full of broth, with the 
 yolk of an egg beaten up. When the danger 
 of fever was over, they began to strengthen 
 him gradually with more nourishing food. The 
 Emperor had ordered, that, till his health should 
 be reestablished, good food should be given him 
 from the kitchen of the superintendent.
 
 324 MY PRISONS. 
 
 The limb was healed in forty days. We 
 were then carried back to our cell, which had, 
 however, been enlarged by making an opening 
 in the wall, so as to unite our old den with 
 that formerly occupied by Oroboni and after- 
 wards by Villa. 
 
 I removed my bed to the spot where that 
 of Oroboni had stood, and where he had died. 
 This identity of place was dear to me ; it 
 seemed to bring me nearer to him. I fre- 
 quently dreamt of him ; and, in ti'uth, his spirit 
 seemed to visit me and cheer me with heavenly 
 consolations. 
 
 The horrible sight of Maroncelli's sufferings 
 before his leg was cut off, during the operation, 
 and afterwards, strengthened my mind. God had 
 given me sufficient health at the time of his 
 illness, because my care was necessary to him ; 
 but He took it from me when Maroncelli was 
 able to support himself on crutches. 
 
 I had several very painful glandular swel- 
 lings. I recovered from them, and they were 
 followed by pains in the breast, such as I had 
 had before, but more suffocating than ever, ver- 
 tigo, and attacks of spasmodic dysentery. 
 
 " My turn has come," I said to myself 
 " Shall I be less patient than my companion ? "
 
 MY PRISONS. 325 
 
 I then endeavoured to imitate his virtue, as 
 far as I could. 
 
 There is no doubt that every situation, in 
 which man may be placed, has its peculiar 
 duties. Those of the sick man are patience, 
 fortitude, and constant exertion not to appear 
 unamiable to those around him. 
 
 Poor Maroncelli, on his crutches, had not the 
 activity of other days ; and he regretted it, 
 fearing that he might not attend upon me so 
 well. He also feared, that, in order to spare 
 him motion and fatigue, I might not avail myself 
 of his services as much as I needed them. 
 
 And so it sometimes happened, but I tried 
 to prevent his perceiving it. 
 
 Although he had recovered strength, he was 
 not free from suffering. He felt, as all do, who 
 have undergone a similar operation, painful 
 sensations in the nerves, as if the amputated 
 limb were yet living. Tlic foot, the leg, and the 
 knee, which ho no linger had, still pained him. 
 Beside this, the bone, having been badly 
 sawed, pushed into the new flesh, and caused 
 frequent sores. It was not till about a year 
 after, that the stump became thoroughly sound 
 and opened no more.
 
 326 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIX. 
 
 But new maladies attacked my unfortunate 
 friend, and almost without intermission. At first, 
 he suffered from pains in the joints, which be- 
 gan in those of his hands, and then extended 
 through all his limbs. These continued for many 
 months, and were followed by the scurvy. In 
 a short time his body was covered with livid 
 spots, presenting a frightful appearance. 
 
 I sought to console myself by the reflec- 
 tion ; — " Since we are to die here, it is best 
 that one of us should be attacked by the scur- 
 vy ; it is a contagious disease, and will carry 
 us to the tomb, if not together, at least within 
 a short time of each other." 
 
 We both prepared ourselves for death, and 
 were tranquil. Nine years of imprisonment and 
 of severe suffering had at last reconciled us to 
 the idea of the dissolution of our bodies, so 
 worn out as they were, and in need of rest. 
 And our souls trusted in the goodness of God, 
 and looked forward to a reunion, where the 
 wrath of man would cease, and where we pray-
 
 MY PRISONS. 327 
 
 ed that we might hereaftei' meet in peace even 
 with those who had not loved us. 
 
 In former years, the scurvy had made great 
 havoc in this prison. The Governor, when 
 he knew that Maroncelli was affected by that 
 terrible disease, feared it might again become 
 epidemic, and complied with the direction of 
 the physician, who, upon the ground that there 
 was no effectual remedy for Maroncelli but the 
 open air, advised that he should be kept in his 
 room as little as possible. 
 
 I, being his room-mate, and likewise suffering 
 from a diseased state of the humors, enjoyed 
 the same advantage. 
 
 We were out during all those hours, when 
 the walk was not occupied by others ; that is 
 to say, from half an hour before dawn, for two 
 hours ; then during dinner time if we pleased, 
 and afterward for three hours before sunset. 
 This was on ordinary days. On holidays, the 
 walk not being frequented by others, we were 
 out from morning till niglit, except at the din- 
 ner hour. 
 
 Another sufferer, about seventy years old, 
 whose health was much impaired, was associated 
 with us, it being thought that the open air
 
 328 MY PRISONS. 
 
 might be beneficial to him likewise. It was 
 Signor Costantino Munari, an amiable old man, 
 a lover of literary and philosophical studies, 
 whose society was very agreeable to us. 
 
 Computing my punishment, not from the pe- 
 riod of my arrest, but from that of my con- 
 demnation, the seven years and a half ended on 
 the 1st of July, 1829, reckoning from the date 
 of the imperial signature of my sentence, or 
 on the 22d of August, reckoning from the date 
 of its publication. But these periods also pass- 
 ed, and every hope died away. 
 
 Until now Maroncelli, Munari, and I some- 
 times indulged the thought that we might again 
 behold the world, our country, and our families ; 
 and this gave rise to conversations, full of 
 longing, of piety, and of love. 
 
 August having passed, then September, and 
 then the whole of that year, we accustomed 
 ourselves to hope for nothing more upon earth, 
 except the unalterable continuance of our mu- 
 tual friendship, and the assistance of God to 
 accomplish worthily the remainder of our long 
 sacrifice. 
 
 How inestimable are the blessings of friend- 
 ship and religion ! They shed a charm over
 
 MY PRISONS. 329 
 
 the hours of the prisoner, on whom the hope 
 of pardon no longer beams ! Truly, God is 
 with the unhappy ; — with the unhappy who 
 love !
 
 330 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XC. 
 
 After the death of Villa, the Abbe Paulo- 
 wich was made a bishop. The Abbe Wrba, a 
 Moravian, professor of the New Testament at 
 Briinn, a distinguished scholar of the High 
 Institute at Vienna, succeeded him as our con- 
 fessor. 
 
 This Institute is a society founded by the 
 celebrated Frint, while chaplain of the Court. 
 The members are all priests, who having al- 
 ready taken their degrees in theology, prose- 
 cute their studies here under severe discipline, 
 in order to acquire the greatest amount of at- 
 tainable knowledge. The design of the founder 
 was excellent : it was to provide for the constant 
 dissemination of true and solid science among 
 the Catholic clergy of Germany. And this 
 object is in general accomplished. 
 
 As Wrba resided at Briinn, he was able to 
 give us a much greater portion of his time 
 than Paulowich. He became to us what Fa- 
 ther Battista had been, except that he was not 
 allowed to lend us books. We often had long
 
 MY PRISONS." 331 
 
 conferences together, which were of great ser- 
 vice to my reUgious character ; or, if this is 
 saying too much, they at least appeared so to 
 me, and great was the comfort I derived from 
 them. 
 
 In the year 1829, he fell sick ; and being 
 afterwards summoned to other duties, he could 
 no longer visit us. This caused us much re- 
 gret, but, happily for us, he was succeeded by 
 another learned and excellent man, the Abbe 
 Ziak, a vice-curate. 
 
 Of all the German priests, who were appoint- 
 ed to visit us, not one proved to be bad. We 
 did not discover one who was disposed to make 
 himself a political agent (a fact easily ascer- 
 tained), not one who did not possess the com- 
 bined excellences of much learning, a decided 
 Catholic faith, and profound philosophy. How 
 truly respectable arc such ministers of the 
 Church ! 
 
 The few with whom I was acquainted, made 
 me conceive a iiigh opinion of llic German 
 Catholic clergy. 
 
 The Al)bc Ziiik likewise held long confer- 
 ences with us. He also gave me an example
 
 332 MY PRISONS. 
 
 of suffering pain with serenity. He was tor- 
 mented continually by colds affecting his teeth, 
 throat, and ears, and yet he was always 
 cheerful. 
 
 Meanwhile the open air gradually caused Ma- 
 roncelli's scorbutic spots to disappear, and Mu- 
 nari and myself were better.
 
 MY PRISONS. 333 
 
 CHAPTER XCI. 
 
 The 1st of August, 1830, arrived. The 
 tenth year was passing away since I had lost 
 my liberty ; I had been suffering severe im- 
 prisonment for nearly eight years and a half. 
 
 It was Sunday. We went, as on other holi- 
 days, to the usual enclosure. We again beheld, 
 from the projection along the lower part of the 
 prison wall, the valley beneath, and the ceme- 
 tery where lay Oroboni and Villa ; we again 
 spoke of the rest that our bones might one 
 day find there. We again seated ourselves on 
 the accustomed bench, to wait till the poor 
 female convicts should come to their mass, which 
 was said before ours. They were taken to the 
 same oratory into which we were to go for the 
 following mass. It was adjoining the walk. 
 
 It id customary in Germany for tlie people 
 to sing hymns in tlicir own language during 
 mass. As the Austrian empire is a country in 
 which Germans and Schivonians are mingled, 
 and as at Spielberg the greater number of the 
 common convicts belongs to one or the other of
 
 334 MY PRISONS. 
 
 those nations, the hymns are sung on one holi- 
 day in German, and on another in Sclavonic. 
 So, on every holiday, two sermons are preach- 
 ed, alternately in the two languages. It was 
 a great pleasure to us to hear those hymns, 
 and the organ that accompanied them. 
 
 There were some of the women whose voices 
 went lo the heart. Unhappy creatures ! Some 
 of them were very young. Love, jealousy, or 
 bad example had drawn them into crime. — 
 Their devotional hymn of the Sanctus I seem 
 yet to hear : — Heilig ! heilig ! heilig ! (Holy ! 
 holy ! holy !) It affected me even to tears. 
 
 At ten o'clock the women withdrew, and we 
 went to mass, I again saw those of my com- 
 panions in misfortune, who heard mass in the 
 organ gallery, separated from us only by a 
 grate, all pale and emaciated, dragging their 
 chains with difficulty. 
 
 After mass we returned to our cells. In a 
 quarter of an hour dinner was brought us. 
 We had prepared our table, which consisted 
 of a board laid on one of our beds, and had 
 taken up our wooden spoons, when the sub- 
 intendent, Wegrath, entered the cell.
 
 MY PRISONS. 335 
 
 " I am sorry to disturb your dinner," said 
 he, " but be pleased to follow me j the direc- 
 tor of police is here." 
 
 As he commonly came on unpleasant busi- 
 ness, to examine or search, we followed the 
 good sub-intendent in ill-humor into the hall 
 of audience. 
 
 There we found the director of police and 
 the superintendent ; the former bowed to us 
 with more than usual civility. He took a pa- 
 per in his hand, and as he spoke, paused be- 
 tween his words, through fear perhaps of causing 
 us too great a surprise, if he expressed himself 
 more directly. 
 
 " Gentlemen, ... I have the pleasure ... I 
 have the honor ... of informing you . . . that His 
 Majesty the Emperor has again granted ... a 
 favor ..." 
 
 He hesitated to tell us what the favor was. 
 We thought it might be some mitigation of 
 punishment ; such as being exempted from the 
 vexation of labor, or having more books, or 
 less disgusting food. 
 
 " But do you not understand ? " said he. 
 
 "We do not. Have the goodness to exjilain 
 to us what the favor may be."
 
 336 MY PRISONS. 
 
 "It is liberty for both of you, and for a third, 
 whom you will shortly embrace." 
 
 It may seem as if this intelligence ought to 
 have made us break forth into joy. But our 
 thoughts instantly turned to our relatives, of 
 whom, for so long a time, we had received no 
 information ; and the fear that we might never 
 see them again on earth distressed us so much, 
 that it destroyed the pleasure excited by the 
 announcement of our liberty. 
 
 "Are you struck dumb ?" said the director 
 of police. " I expected to see you transported 
 with joy." 
 
 "I beg you," replied I, "to inform the Em- 
 peror of our gratitude ; but, until we shall have 
 news from our families, it is impossible for us 
 not to fear that we may have been deprived 
 of some of those whom we most tenderly love. 
 This uncertainty oppresses us, even at a mo- 
 ment which should be one of the greatest joy." 
 
 He then gave to Maroncelli a letter from his 
 brother, which alleviated his anxiety. To me 
 he said, that there was nothing from my fam- 
 ily ; and this made me fear still more that 
 some misfortune had happened in it.
 
 MY PRISONS. 337 
 
 "Return to your room," he added, "and I 
 will shortly send to you the third person, who 
 has also been pardoned." 
 
 We went, and expected our companion with 
 anxiety. We could have wished that all should 
 join us, yet there could be but one. — Would 
 it were poor old Munari ! would it were this 
 one ! would it were that ! There was not one 
 for whom we did not make this wish. 
 
 At last the door opened, and we saw that 
 our companion was to be Signer Andrea To- 
 nelli of Brescia. 
 
 We embraced each other. We could eat 
 no dinner. 
 
 We talked till evening, compassionating the 
 friends who were to be left behind. 
 
 At sunset the director of police returned to 
 take us from that wretched abode. Our hearts 
 were pained as we passed by the cells of be- 
 loved friends, whom we were unable to take 
 with us. Who could tell how much longer they 
 would still languish there ? Who could tell 
 how many of them would there be tlie prey 
 of a lingering death ? 
 
 A soldier's cloak and cap were ))ut on each 
 of us, and thus, in our dress of galley-slaves, 
 22
 
 338 MY PRISONS. 
 
 but unchained, we descended the ill-fated mount, 
 and were carried into the city to the prison 
 of the police. 
 
 It was a most beautiful moonlight evening. 
 How pleasing and how strange did the streets, 
 the houses, the peo{ile whom we met, every 
 thing we beheld, appear to me after the many 
 years in which I had seen no such spectacle !
 
 M V P R I S O K S . 339 
 
 CHAPTER XCII. 
 
 We waited in the prison of the police for 
 an imperial commissary, who was to come from 
 Vienna to accompany us to the frontier. In 
 the mean time, as our trunks had been sold, 
 we provided ourselves with linen and other 
 clothes, and put off the livery of the prison. 
 
 At the end of five days the commissary ar- 
 rived ; and the director of police consigned us 
 to him, putting into his hands at the same 
 time the money which we had brought to Spiel- 
 berg, and that which was received from the 
 sale of our trunks and books ; which money 
 was afterwards returned to us when Ave reach- 
 ed the frontier. 
 
 The expense of our journey was liberally de- 
 frayed by the Emperor. 
 
 The commissary was named Von Noe, a gen- 
 tleman employed in the office of the minister 
 of police. We could not have been committed 
 to the charge of a man more thoroughly well- 
 bred. He always treated us with tlie greatest 
 consideration.
 
 340 MY PRISONS. 
 
 But I left Brunn with a very painful difficulty 
 of breathing, and the motion of the carriage 
 increased this so much, that in the evening it 
 became alarming, and it was feared every 
 moment that I should be suffocated. Beside 
 this, I was all night in a burning fever, and in 
 the morning the commissary was uncertain if I 
 were able to continue the journey as far as 
 Vienna. I said, " Yes," and we set out ; but 
 my suffering was extreme ; I could neither 
 eat, drink, nor speak. 
 
 I arrived at Vienna half dead. A comfortable 
 lodging was provided for us at the general 
 directory of police. I was put to bed, and a 
 physician was called, who ordered me to be 
 bled. This afforded me relief; and, by means 
 of careful dieting and a great deal of digitalis 
 for eight days, I recovered. Dr. Singer was 
 my physician ; and his attentions to me were 
 very friendly. 
 
 I had the greatest anxiety to continue our 
 journey, particularly because the news of the 
 three days at Paris had reached us. 
 
 On the very day when that revolution broke 
 out, the Emperor had signed the decree for our 
 liberation. Certainly, he would not now revoke
 
 MY PRISONS. 341 
 
 it. But yet it was not improbable, that, in such 
 a critical state of things throughout Europe, 
 popular movements might be apprehended even 
 in Italy ; and that Austria might not choose, 
 at that moment, to allow us to return to our 
 country. We were well persuaded that we 
 should not be carried back to Spielberg ; but 
 we feared that some one might suggest to the 
 Emperor to send us to some city of the empire 
 at a distance from the Peninsula. 
 
 I therefore tried to appear better than I 
 really was, and begged that our departure 
 might be hastened. Meanwhile it was my ar- 
 dent desire to present myself to His Excellency 
 the Count of Pralormo, envoy from the court of 
 Turin to the court of Austria, to whose goodness 
 I knew how much I was indebted. He had 
 labored with tlie most generous and constant 
 earnestness to obtain my liberation. But I was 
 prohibited from seeing any one, and the order 
 admitted of no exception. 
 
 I was scarcely convalescent, when a carriage 
 was graciously sent us fnr several days, that 
 we niiiibt drive a little ;il)(>iit N'icnna. The 
 commissary was lefpiircd to accompany us, and 
 not to allow us to speak with any one. We
 
 342 MY PRISONS. 
 
 saw the beautiful church of St, Stephen, the 
 delightful walks of the city, the neighbouring 
 villa of Lichtenstein, and, lastly, the imperial 
 villa of Schonbrunn. 
 
 While we were in the magnificent avenues of 
 Schonbrunn, the Emperor passed, and the com- 
 missary made us retire, that the sight of our 
 emaciated figures might not sadden him.
 
 MY PRISONS. 343 
 
 CHAPTER XCIII. 
 
 At last we left Vienna, and I was able to 
 hold out as far as Bruck. Here the asthma 
 returned with violence. We summoned a phy- 
 sician, a certain Dr. Judmann, a very respect- 
 able man. He ordered me to be bled, to remain 
 in bed, and to continue the digitalis. After two 
 days, I entreated that we might pursue our 
 journey. 
 
 We traversed Austria and Styria, and entered 
 Carinthia without any particular occurrence ; 
 but when we arrived at a village called Feld- 
 kirchen, a short distance from Klagcnfurt, a 
 counter order arrived. We were to remain 
 there till new directions were sent, 
 
 I leave it to l)c imagined how unpleasant this 
 circumstance was to us. I had tiic additional 
 grief of reflecting, flmt, should my companions 
 not return to their country, my unfortunate 
 illness would be the cause of their suffering 
 such a privation. 
 
 We remained five days at Foldkirchen, where 
 the commissary did all iii his power (o amuse
 
 344 MY PRISONS. 
 
 US. There was a small theatre in the place, 
 to which he took us. One day he entertained 
 us with a hunt. Our host, and several young 
 men of the country, with the proprietor of a 
 fine forest, were the hunters, and we enjoyed 
 the spectacle from a convenient situation. 
 
 At last a courier came from Vienna with 
 orders to the commissary to proceed with us to 
 our place of destination. I rejoiced with my 
 companions at this happy news ; but at the 
 same time I trembled, lest the day of a sad 
 discovery might be drawing near ; the discovery, 
 that my father, my mother, or others of my 
 dear family were no more. 
 
 And my melancholy increased as we ap- 
 proached Italy. 
 
 The entrance into Italy on that side is not 
 pleasing to the eye. You descend to its plains 
 from the beautiful mountains of Germany, 
 through a long tract of sterile and uninteresting 
 countiy ; so that when travellers, unacquainted 
 with our Peninsula, take this road, they smile 
 at the magnificent ideas they had formed, and 
 suspect that they have been deceived by those, 
 from whom they have heard its praises.
 
 MY PRISONS. 345 
 
 The absence of beauty in the scenery con- 
 tributed to render me more sad. To see the 
 sky of Italy once more, to meet human faces 
 without the northern contour, to hear from every 
 mouth the sounds of my native tongue, affected 
 me ; but it was an emotion more allied to tears 
 than joy. How many times, in the carriage, did 
 I cover my face with my hands, pretending to 
 sleep, and wept ! How many feverish nights 
 did I pass without closing my eyes ; now, be- 
 stowing with my whole soul the warmest bene- 
 dictions on my beloved country, and thanking 
 Heaven for having restored me to it ; now, 
 tormenting myself, because I had no news from 
 my family, and imagining various disasters ; 
 now, thinking that in a little while I should be 
 forced to part, perhaps for ever, from a friend 
 who had suffered so much with mc, and had 
 given me so many proofs of fraternal love ! 
 
 Ah ! long years of burial had not exhausted 
 the strength of my feelings ! but liow much 
 more susceptible were they of sorrow than of 
 
 joy ' 
 
 How I could liavc wished to sec Udine once 
 more, and the inn where those two generous
 
 346 MY PRISONS. 
 
 friends had pretended to be servants, and by 
 stealth had pressed our hands ! 
 
 We passed that city on our left, and went on.
 
 MY PRISONS. 347 
 
 CHAPTER XCIV. 
 
 PoRDENONE, Conegliano, Ospedaletto, Vi- 
 cenza, Verona, Mantua, — how much did they 
 recall to my mind ! Pordenone was the native 
 city of an excellent young man, who had been 
 my friend, and who perished in the campaign in 
 Russia ; Conegliano was the place, to which 
 the secondini of the Piombi told me that Zanze 
 had been taken ; in Ospedaletto had been 
 married, but was now no more, an angelic and 
 unhappy being, whom in times past I had vene- 
 rated, and whom I venerated still. In all those 
 places remembrances more or less dear to me 
 rose to my mind ; and above all in Mantua. It 
 appeared to me but yesterday, that I was there 
 with Lodovico di Breme in I8I0 ! it appeared 
 but yesterday, that I was there with I*orro in 
 1820 ! — Tliere were the same streets, the same 
 squares, the same palaces, hut wli;it changes in 
 society ! How many of my acrjuaintance had 
 been taken away by death ! how many were in 
 exile ! a generation luni sprung up ol" young 
 people whom I had seen in infancy ! And I
 
 348 MY PRISONS. 
 
 might not visit a single house ; I might not 
 inquire of any one respecting those I had 
 known ! 
 
 To complete my affliction, Mantua was the 
 place where Maroncelli and I were to part. 
 We both passed a very sad night. I was agi- 
 tated like a man on the eve of hearing his 
 condemnation. 
 
 In the morning I washed my face, and looked 
 in the glass, to see if any traces of tears 
 remained. I assumed, as well as I could, an 
 air of tranquillity and cheerfulness ; I address- 
 ed a short prayer to Heaven, but in truth 
 with wandering thoughts ; and hearing Maron- 
 celli now moving on his cx'utches, and speaking 
 to the servants, I went to embrace him. We 
 both seemed to have collected all our fortitude 
 for this separation ; we spoke to each other, not 
 without emotion, but with unfaltering voices. 
 The officer of gendarmerie, who was to conduct 
 him to the borders of Romagna, arrived ; we 
 were obliged to part ; we scarcely knew what 
 to say to each other ; an embrace, a kiss, yet 
 one more embrace. — He entered the carriage, 
 he disappeared ; and I remained as if anni- 
 hilated.
 
 MY PRISONS. 349 
 
 I returned to my room. I threw myself on 
 my knees, and prayed for that poor mutilated 
 man, separated from his friend. I burst into 
 tears and sobs. 
 
 I have known many excellent men, but none 
 more affectionately social than Maroncelli ; none 
 more thoroughly versed in all the ways of kind- 
 ness, more exempt from all inequalities of tem- 
 per, or more continually mindful, that virtue 
 consists in the habitual practice of forbearance, 
 generosity, and good sense. May Heaven bless 
 thee, companion of so many years of sorrow, 
 wherever thou art, and give thee friends, who 
 will equal me in love, and excel me in good- 
 ness !
 
 350 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XCV. 
 
 We left Mantua the same morning for Bre- 
 scia. My other fellow-captive, Andrea Tonelli, 
 was here left at liberty. The unhappy man 
 learnt that he had lost his mother, and his tears 
 of anguish wrung my heart. 
 
 But, amid all my suffering from so many 
 causes, I was somewhat amused by the follow- 
 ing incident. 
 
 On a table in the inn there was a play-bill. 
 I took it up and read: — Francesca da Rimini, 
 an opera, ^c. 
 
 " Whose opera is this ? " said I to the ser- 
 vant. 
 
 " I cannot tell," he replied, " who has put it 
 into rhyme, or who has set it to music ; but 
 it is neither more nor less than that Francesca 
 da Rimini, which everybody knows. " 
 
 " Everybody ? You are mistaken. I who 
 have just come from Germany, what should I 
 know about your Francescas ! " 
 
 The servant (he was a young man with
 
 MY PRISONS. 351 
 
 a rather scornful countenance, truly Brescian,) 
 looked at me with contemptuous pity. 
 
 " What should you know i Signore, we do 
 not talk about Francescas. There is only one 
 Francesca da Rimini, that is spoken of. I mean 
 the tragedy of Signor Silvio Pellico. Here they 
 have made an opera of it, spoiling it a little, 
 but still it is the same thing after all. " 
 
 " Ah ! Silvio Pellico ? I think I have heard 
 of him. Is he not that good-for-nothing fellow 
 who was condemned to death, and then to 
 severe imprisonment, eight or nine years ago r " 
 
 Would I had not uttered that joke ! He 
 looked round, then looked at me, then, with an 
 angry grin, showed thirty-two fine teeth, and 
 if he had not heard a noise, I believe he would 
 have knocked me down. 
 
 He went out muttering, " Good-for-nothing 
 fellow ! " — But before I went away, he discov- 
 ered who I was. From that time he could 
 neither ask questions, nor answer them, nor 
 attend to his business. He could do nothing 
 but fix liis eyes on mo, rub his hands, and say 
 to every body, without any meaning ; Sior si, 
 Sior si ! (Yes, Sir ; yes. Sir,) which .sounded 
 as if he were sneezing.
 
 352 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Two days after, on the ninth of September, 
 I arrived with the commissary at Milan. On 
 approaching this city, on seeing once more the 
 cupola of the Cathedral, on passing through the 
 avenue of Loreto, once my accustomed and 
 favorite walk, on reentering the Eastern Gate, 
 and finding myself again in the Corso ; on aorain 
 seeing those houses, those temples, those streets, 
 I experienced the most agreeable and the most 
 painful emotions ; a passionate desire to remain 
 some time in Milan, and again to embrace the 
 friends whom I might still have found there ; 
 the deepest sorrow at the thought of those whom 
 I had left at Spielberg, of those who were wan- 
 dering in foreign lands, of those who were 
 dead ; lively gratitude, as I remembered the 
 attachment which the Milanese had in general 
 shown to me ; and some feelings of anger to- 
 wards individuals who had calumniated me, 
 though they had always been the objects of my 
 good-will and esteem. 
 
 We went to lodge at the Bella Vcnezia. 
 
 Here I had often been present at cheerful, 
 friendly entertainments ; here I had visited 
 many distinguished foreigners ; here a respect- 
 able old lady urged me, but in vain, to follow
 
 MY PRISONS. 353 
 
 her into Tuscany, foreseeing that if I remained 
 in Milan, misfortunes would befall me. What 
 affecting recollections ! Oh departed days, so 
 chequered with pleasures and pains, and so 
 rapid in your flight ! 
 
 The servants of the inn soon discovered who 
 I was. The report spread, and towards evening 
 I saw many persons stop in the square, and 
 gaze at the windows. One, I know not who 
 he was, appeared to recognise me, and saluted 
 me by raising both his arms. 
 
 Ah ! where were the sons of Porro, my song ? 
 Why did I not see them ? 
 
 23
 
 354 31 y PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XCVI. 
 
 The commissary took me to the police, to 
 present me to the director. What were my 
 sensations on again seeing that building, my 
 first prison ! How many sorrows it brought 
 back to my recollection ! With what emotion 
 did I think of you, Melchiorre Gioja ; of the 
 hurried steps with which I saw you traverse 
 your narrow cell, and of the hours when you 
 remained immovable at your table, writing 
 your noble thoughts ; of the signs you made 
 me with your handkerchief, and of the sadness 
 with which you looked at me, when you were 
 forbidden to make them ! And I thought of 
 your grave, unknown perhaps to the greater 
 part of those who love you, as it was to me ! — 
 and I implored peace for your spirit. 
 
 I recollected, too, the dumb boy, the pathetic 
 voice of Maddalena, my throbbings of compas- 
 sion for her, my neighbours the thieves, the 
 pretended Louis the Seventeenth, and the poor 
 convict on whom my note was found, and
 
 MY PRISONS. 355 
 
 whom I had thought I heard cry out as he was 
 beaten. 
 
 Those and other recollections oppressed me 
 like a distressing dream ; but, most of all, the 
 remembrance of the two visits made me here 
 by my poor father, ten years before. How the 
 good old man deceived himself with the hope 
 that I should soon rejoin him at Turin ! Could 
 he have supported the idea of a ten years' impris- 
 onment of his son, and such an imprisonment ? 
 But when these illusions vanished, had he, had 
 my mother, been able to bear up under such 
 heart-rending grief ? Would it be granted me 
 to see them both again ? or, perhaps, only one 
 of them ? and which } 
 
 O tormenting and ever-recurring doubts ! I 
 was, as I may say, at the door of my father's 
 house, and yet knew not if my parents were 
 living ; if even one of my family were living. 
 
 The director of police received me politely, 
 and allowed me to remain at the Bella Venczia 
 with the imperial commissary, instead of putting 
 me in custody elsewhere, I was projiibitcd, 
 however, from showing myself to any one, and 
 I therefore determined to proceed on the follow- 
 ing morning. I only obtained leave to see the
 
 356 MY PRISONS. 
 
 Piedmontese consul, that I might inquire of 
 him concerning my relatives. I should have 
 called on him, but being attacked by fever 
 and obliged to go to bed, I begged him to come 
 to me. 
 
 He had the kindness not to make me wait, 
 and oh how grateful I was to him ! 
 
 He gave me good news of my father, and of 
 my eldest brother. With regard to my mother, 
 my other brother, and my two sisters, I re- 
 mained in cruel uncertainty. 
 
 In part, but in part only, delivered from anx- 
 iety, I could have wished, in order to relieve 
 my mind, to prolong the conversation with the 
 consul. He was not sparing of his kindness, but 
 was obliged to leave me. 
 
 When left alone I had need of tears, but 
 they flowed not. Why is it that grief some- 
 times makes me burst into tears, but more 
 commonly, when it seems to me as if to weep 
 would be a great relief, I wish for tears in 
 vain } This inability of giving vent to my feel- 
 ings increased my fever ; my head ached vio- 
 lently. 
 
 I asked Stundberger to bring me some water. 
 This good man was a sergeant of police at
 
 MY PRISONS. 357 
 
 Vienna, acting as valet to the commissary. He 
 was not old, but it happened that he gave me 
 the water with a trembling hand. This trem- 
 bling reminded me of Schiller, my dear Schiller, 
 when, on the first day of my arrival at 
 Spielberg, I asked him haughtily for the pitcher 
 of water, and he gave it to me. 
 
 How strange ! This recollection, added to 
 all the rest, pierced the rock of my heart, 
 and my tears flowed.
 
 358 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XCVII. 
 
 On the morning of the 10th of September, I 
 embraced the excellent commissary, and de- 
 parted. We had known each other but a 
 month, and jet it seemed as if he had been 
 my friend for years. His soul, full of feeling 
 for the beautiful and the honorable, was devoid 
 of subtlety or artifice, not from want of talents, 
 but from that love of noble simplicity which 
 belongs to upright men. 
 
 During the journey, some one said to me 
 privately, at a place where we stopped ; " Be- 
 ware of that guardian angel ; if he were not 
 one of the wicked, he would not have been 
 given to you." 
 
 " You are deceived," said I ; " I am thor- 
 oughly persuaded that you are deceived." 
 
 " The most crafty," he replied, " are those 
 who appear the most simple." 
 
 " If it were so, we could never believe in 
 the virtue of any one." 
 
 " There are certain situations in society, 
 where the manners may be highly cultivated,
 
 MY PRISONS. 359 
 
 but where there is no virtue, no virtue, no 
 virtue ! " 
 
 I could only reply ; " Exaggeration, my 
 friend, exaggeration ! " 
 
 " I only draw necessary inferences," he per- 
 sisted. 
 
 But we were interrupted. And I called to 
 mind the Cave a consequentiariis* of Leibnitz. 
 
 Far too large a portion of mankind reason 
 according to this false and terrible logic ; " I 
 follow the standard A, which I am certain is 
 that of justice ; he follows the standard B, 
 which I am certain is that of injustice : there- 
 fore he is a villain." 
 
 Ah no, mad logicians ! to whatever stand- 
 ard you belong, do not reason thus inhumanly ! 
 Consider, that by setting out from some un- 
 favorable point of character, (and where is the 
 society, or the individual, in which such may 
 not be found ? ) and proceeding with fierce 
 rigor from inference to inference, it is easy for 
 any one to arrive at this conclusion ; " Every 
 mortal, except us four, deserves to be burned 
 alive." And if a more critical scrutiny be 
 
 " Beware of inferences.
 
 360 MY PRISONS. 
 
 made, each of the four will say ; " Every 
 mortal deserves to be burned alive except 
 myself." 
 
 This vulgar severity is highly unphilosophical. 
 Moderate distrust may be wise ; excessive dis- 
 trust, never. 
 
 After receiving this hint about my guardian 
 angel, I set myself to study him more carefully 
 than before, and every day strengthened my 
 conviction of his undesigning and generous 
 nature. 
 
 When society has assumed a settled form, 
 whether it be good or bad, any public office, 
 that is not universally felt to be infamous, any 
 one, the ostensible purpose of which is to pro- 
 mote the public welfare by honorable means, 
 and which is believed by many to accomplish 
 this purpose, any one, in which it were absurd 
 to deny that honest men have sometimes been 
 employed, may be filled by an honest man. 
 
 I have read of a Quaker who had a horror 
 of soldiers ; but, seeing one throw himself into 
 the Thames to save the life of a drowning man, 
 he said : " I shall always be a Quaker, but 
 still soldiers have some good in them."
 
 MY PRISONS. 361 
 
 CHAPTER XCVIII. 
 
 Stundberger attended me to the carriage, 
 which I entered with a brigadier of gendar- 
 merie, to whom I had been intrusted. It rained, 
 and the wind blew cold. 
 
 "Wrap yourself up well in your cloak," said 
 Stundberger, " cover your head better, take care 
 not to arrive at home sick ; a little thing will 
 give you a cold. How sorry I am I cannot 
 attend on you as far as Turin ! " 
 
 And all this he said cordially, and with a tone 
 of true feeling ! 
 
 " From this time forward," he added, " per- 
 haps you may never have a German near you ; 
 perhaps you may never again hear that language 
 which Italians think so harsh ; and, probably, 
 you will care very little for it. You have suf- 
 fered so much among the Germans, that you 
 will not be very desirous of remembering us. 
 Nevertheless I, whose name you will soon for- 
 get, I, Signorc, sli.ill alway.s pray for you," 
 
 "And I for you," I replied, taking his hand 
 for the last time.
 
 362 MY PRISONS. 
 
 The poor man called out again : Guten Mor- 
 gen ! gute Reise ! lehen Sie wohl ! (Good morn- 
 ing, a pleasant journey, farewell ! ) They were 
 the last German words I heard, and their sounds 
 were as pleasant to me, as those of my own 
 language. 
 
 I passionately love my own country, but I 
 have no hatred toward any other. There is a 
 diversity among nations as regards civilization, 
 riches, power, and glory ; but in all there are 
 souls obedient to the great vocation of man, to 
 love, to pity, and to do good. 
 
 The brigadier who accompanied me, told me 
 that he was one of those who arrested my most 
 unhappy friend, Confalonieri. He told me how 
 he had attempted to escape, how he had failed, 
 how he was torn from the arms of his wife, 
 and how both Confalonieri and she were agi- 
 tated, although they sustained this misfortune 
 with dignity. 
 
 I burned with fever as I listened to this 
 sad story, and an iron hand seemed to press 
 upon my heart. 
 
 The narrator, a well-meaning man, who 
 talked with confiding sociability, did not per- 
 ceive, that, although I had no fault to find with
 
 MY PRISONS. 363 
 
 him, yet I could not look without shuddering 
 upon the hands which had seized my friend. 
 
 At Buffalora he breakfasted ; I was too much 
 distressed, I could take nothing. 
 
 Once, in years long since past, when I Avaa 
 in the country at Arluno with Count Porro'a 
 sons, I used sometimes to walk to Buffalora 
 along the Ticino. 
 
 I rejoiced to observe the beautiful bridge 
 completed, the materials for which I had seen 
 scattered on the Lombard shore, with the belief, 
 then common, that the work would never be 
 finished. I rejoiced to cross that river, and 
 again touch the Piedmontese soil. Ah, though 
 I love all nations, God knows how greatly I 
 prefer Italy ; and though I so delight in Italy, 
 God knows how much dearer to me than the 
 name of any other Italian country, is that of 
 Piedmont, the land of my fathers !
 
 364 MY PRISONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XCIX. 
 
 Opposite to Buffalora is San Martino. Here 
 the Lombard brigadier spoke to some Pied- 
 montese carbineers ; he then saluted me and 
 re-crossed the bridge. 
 
 "Take the road to Novara," said I to the 
 vetturino. 
 
 " Have the goodness to wait a moment," 
 said a carbineer. 
 
 I saw that I was not yet free, and it grieved 
 me ; for I feared that it might delay my arrival 
 at home. 
 
 After more than a quarter of an hour, a gen- 
 tleman made his appearance, and asked per- 
 mission to go to Novara with me. He had 
 missed a former opportunity ; there was now no 
 carriage but mine ; he should be very happy, 
 if I would allow him to take advantage of it, 
 &.C. &c. 
 
 This carbineer in disguise was of an amiable 
 disposition, and kept me company agreeably as 
 far as Novara. When we arrived in that city, 
 under pretence of going to an inn, he directed
 
 MY PRISONS. 365 
 
 the carriage to the barrack of the carbineers ; 
 and here I was told that there was a bed for 
 me in the chamber of a brigadier, and that I 
 must wait for superior orders. 
 
 I thought I should be able to proceed on 
 the following day ; I lay down, and after having 
 talked awhile with my host, the brigadier, I 
 slept soundly. For a long time I had not rest- 
 ed so well. 
 
 I awoke towards morning, rose immediately, 
 and the early hours seemed long to me. I 
 took breakfast, talked, walked up and down the 
 room and on the terrace, gave a glance at the 
 books of my host ; till, finally, a visitor was 
 announced. 
 
 An officer politely came to give me news of 
 my father, and to tell me that there was a 
 letter from him in Novara, which would short- 
 ly be brought to me. I was greatly obliged to 
 him for this amiable courtesy. 
 
 Several hours passed, which seemed to me 
 without end, when at last the letter made its 
 appearance. 
 
 Oh what joy it was to see that dear hand- 
 writing once more ! what joy to hear that my 
 mother, my excellent mother, was still living, my
 
 366 MY PRISONS. 
 
 two brothers and my eldest sister ! Alas ! the 
 youngest, Marietta, who had become a nun of 
 La Visitazione, and of whom I had received 
 clandestine information while in prison, had 
 died nine months before. 
 
 It is delightful to me to believe, that I owe 
 my liberty to all those who loved me, and who 
 were continually interceding with God for me, 
 and in particular to a sister, whose death was 
 accompanied by evidences of great piety. May 
 God recompense her for all the anguish her 
 heart suffered on account of my misfortunes. 
 
 Day after day passed, and the permission to 
 leave Novara did not arrive. On the morning 
 of the 16th of September this permission was 
 finally granted, and all supervision on the part 
 of the carbineers ceased. Oh, how many years 
 it was since I had gone where I pleased, with- 
 out being accompanied by guards ! 
 . I obtained some money, received the civilities 
 of some of my father's acquaintance, and set 
 out about three in the afternoon. My travelling 
 companions were a lady, a merchant, an en- 
 graver, and two young painters, one of whom 
 was deaf and dumb. These painters came from 
 Rome ; and it gave me pleasure to understand
 
 MY PRISONS. 367 
 
 that they knew Maroncelh's family. How 
 agreeable it is to speak of those we love, with 
 one who is not indifferent to them ! 
 
 We passed the night at Vercelli. The hap- 
 py day, the ITth of September, arrived. We 
 continued our journey. How slowly did the 
 carriage move on ! We did not arrive at Turin 
 till evening. 
 
 Who can describe what I felt, and what was 
 felt by those dear to me, when I again saw 
 and embraced my father, my mother, and my 
 brothers ? My dear sister Giuscppina was not 
 there, for her duties detained her at Chieri ; 
 but, when she heard of my happiness, she came 
 in haste to pass a few days with us. Restored 
 to these five dearest objects of my affection, 
 I was, I am, the most enviable of mortals. 
 
 And now, for my past misfortunes, and for 
 my present happiness, as well as for all the 
 good and evil which may be reserved for me, 
 blessed be that Providence, in whose hands 
 men and things, wheth(;r they will or will it 
 not, arc the wonderful instruments for accom- 
 plishing purposes, wortliy of their Divine Au- 
 thor. 
 
 Tin; r,N[).
 
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