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My Ten Years' Imprisonment by Silvio Pellico

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"I am sorry, sir, that I cannot state more than I have been
directed." And he retired.

It must assuredly have been intended to console me by this
indefinite allusion to my family. I felt persuaded that the Emperor
had yielded to the earnest petition of some of my relatives to
permit me to hear tidings of them, and that I was permitted to
receive no letter in order to remain in the dark as to which of my
dear family were now no more. I was the more confirmed in this
supposition from the fact of receiving a similar communication a few
months subsequently; but there was no letter, no further news.

It was soon perceived that so far from having been productive of
satisfaction to me, such meagre tidings had thrown me into still
deeper affliction, and I heard no more of my beloved family. The
continual suspense, the distracting idea that my parents were dead,
that my brothers also might be no more, that my sister Giuseppina
was gone, and that Marietta was the sole survivor, and that in the
agony of her sorrow she had thrown herself into a convent, there to
close her unhappy days, still haunted my imagination, and completely
alienated me from life.

Not unfrequently I had fresh attacks of the terrible disorders under
which I had before suffered, with those of a still more painful
kind, such as violent spasms of the stomach, exactly like cholera
morbus, from the effects of which I hourly expected to die. Yes!
and I fervently hoped and prayed that all might soon be over.

At the same time, nevertheless, whenever I cast a pitying glance at
my no less weak and unfortunate companion--such is the strange
contradiction of our nature--I felt my heart inly bleed at the idea
of leaving him, a solitary prisoner, in such an abode; and again I
wished to live.


Thrice, during my incarceration at Spielberg, there arrived persons
of high rank to inspect the dungeons, and ascertain that there was
no abuse of discipline. The first visitor was the Baron Von Munch,
who, struck with compassion on seeing us so sadly deprived of light
and air, declared that he would petition in our favour, to have a
lantern placed over the outside of the pane in our dungeon doors,
through which the sentinels could at any moment perceive us. His
visit took place in 1825, and a year afterwards his humane
suggestion was put in force. By this sepulchral light we could just
catch a view of the walls, and prevent our knocking our heads in
trying to walk. The second visit was that of the Baron Von Vogel.
He found me in a lamentable state of health; and learning that the
physician had declared that coffee would be very good for me, and
that I could not obtain it, as being too great a luxury, he
interested himself for me, and my old, delightful beverage, was
ordered to be brought me. The third visit was from a lord of the
court, with whose name I am not acquainted, between fifty and sixty
years of age, and who, by his manners as well as his words,
testified the sincerest compassion for us; at the same time
lamenting that he could do nothing for us. Still, the expression of
his sympathy--for he was really affected--was something, and we were
grateful for it.

How strange, how irresistible, is the desire of the solitary
prisoner to behold some one of his own species! It amounts almost
to a sort of instinct, as if in order to avoid insanity, and its
usual consequence, the tendency to self-destruction. The Christian
religion, so abounding in views of humanity, forgets not to
enumerate amongst its works of mercy the visiting of the prisoner.
The mere aspect of man, his look of commiseration, and his
willingness, as it were, to share with you, and bear a part of your
heavy burden, even when you know he cannot relieve you, has
something that sweetens your bitter cup.

Perfect solitude is doubtless of advantage to some minds, but far
more so if not carried to an extreme, and relieved by some little
intercourse with society. Such at least is my constitution. If I
do not behold my fellow-men, my affections become restricted to too
confined a circle, and I begin to dislike all others; while, if I
continue in communication with an ordinary number, I learn to regard
the whole of mankind with affection.

Innumerable times, I am sorry to confess, I have been so exclusively
occupied with a few, and so averse to the many, as to be almost
terrified at the feelings I experienced. I would then approach the
window, desirous of catching some new features, and thought myself
happy when the sentinel passed not too closely to the wall, if I got
a single glance of him, or if he lifted up his head upon hearing me
cough--more especially if he had a good-natured countenance; when he
showed the least feeling of pity, I felt a singular emotion of
pleasure, as if that unknown soldier had been one of my intimate

If, the next time, he passed by in a manner that prevented my seeing
him, or took no notice of me, I felt as much mortified as some poor
lover, when he finds that the beloved object wholly neglects him.


In the adjoining prison, once occupied by Oroboni, D. Marco Fortini
and Antonio Villa were now confined. The latter, once as strong as
Hercules, was nearly famished the first year, and when a better
allowance was granted he had wholly lost the power of digestion. He
lingered a long time, and when reduced almost to the last extremity,
he was removed into a somewhat more airy prison. The pestilential
atmosphere of these narrow receptacles, so much resembling real
tombs, was doubtless very injurious to others as well as to him.
But the remedy sought for was too late or insufficient to remove the
cause of his sufferings. He had scarcely been a month in this
spacious prison, when, in consequence of bursting several blood-
vessels, and his previously broken health, he died.

He was attended by his fellow-prisoner, D. Fortini, and by the Abate
Paulowich, who hastened from Vienna upon hearing that he was dying.
Although I had not been on the same intimate terms with him as with
Count Oroboni, his death a good deal affected me. He had parents
and a wife, all most tenderly attached to him. HE, indeed, was more
to be envied than regretted; but, alas, for the unhappy survivors to
whom he was everything! He had, moreover, been my neighbour when
under the Piombi. Tremerello had brought me several of his poetical
pieces, and had conveyed to him some lines from me in return. There
was sometimes a depth of sentiment and pathos in his poems which
interested me. I seemed to become still more attached to him after
he was gone; learning, as I did from the guards, how dreadfully he
had suffered. It was with difficulty, though truly religious, that
he could resign himself to die. He experienced to the utmost the
horror of that final step, while he blessed the name of the Lord,
and called upon His name with tears streaming from his eyes.
"Alas," he said, "I cannot conform my will unto thine, yet how
willingly would I do it; do thou work this happy change in me!" He
did not possess the same courage as Oroboni, but followed his
example in forgiving all his enemies.

At the close of the year (1826) we one evening heard a suppressed
noise in the gallery, as if persons were stealing along. Our
hearing had become amazingly acute in distinguishing different kinds
of noises. A door was opened; and we knew it to be that of the
advocate Solera. Another! it was that of Fortini! There followed a
whispering, but we could tell the voice of the police director,
suppressed as it was. What could it be? a search at so late an
hour! and for what reason?

In a brief space, we heard steps again in the gallery; and ah! more
plainly we recognised the voice of our excellent Fortini:
"Unfortunate as I am! excuse it? go out! I have forgotten a volume
of my breviary!" And we then heard him run back to fetch the book
mentioned, and rejoin the police. The door of the staircase opened,
and we heard them go down. In the midst of our alarm we learnt that
our two good friends had just received a pardon; and although we
regretted we could not follow them, we rejoiced in their unexpected
good fortune.


The liberation of our two companions brought no alteration in the
discipline observed towards us. Why, we asked ourselves, were they
set at liberty, condemned as they had been, like us, the one to
twenty, the other to fifteen years' imprisonment, while no sort of
favour was shown to the rest?

Were the suspicions against those who were still consigned to
captivity more strong, or did the disposition to pardon the whole,
at brief intervals of time, and two together, really exist? We
continued in suspense for some time. Upwards of three months
elapsed, and we heard of no fresh instances of pardon. Towards the
end of 1827, we considered that December might be fixed on as the
anniversary of some new liberations; but the month expired, and
nothing of the kind occurred.

Still we indulged the expectation until the summer of 1828, when I
had gone through seven years and a half of my punishment--
equivalent, according to the Emperor's declaration, to the fifteen,
if the infliction of it were to be dated from the term of my arrest.
If, on the other hand, it were to be calculated, not from the period
of my trial, as was most probable, but from that of the publication
of my sentence, the seven years and a half would only be completed
in 1829.

Yet all these periods passed over, and there was no appearance of a
remittance of punishment. Meantime, even before the liberation of
Solera and Fortini, Maroncelli was ill with a bad tumour upon his
knee. At first the pain was not great, and he only limped as he
walked. It then grew very irksome to him to bear his irons, and he
rarely went out to walk. One autumnal morning he was desirous of
breathing the fresh air; there was a fall of snow, and unfortunately
in walking his leg failed him, and he came to the ground. This
accident was followed by acute pain in his knee. He was carried to
his bed; for he was no longer able to remain in an upright position.
When the physician came, he ordered his irons to be taken off; but
the swelling increased to an enormous size, and became more painful
every day. Such at length were the sufferings of my unhappy friend,
that he could obtain no rest either in bed or out of it. When
compelled to move about, to rise or to lie down, it was necessary to
take hold of the bad leg and carry it as he went with the utmost
care; and the most trifling motion brought on the most severe pangs.
Leaches, baths, caustics, and fomentations of different kinds, were
all found ineffectual, and seemed only to aggravate his torments.
After the use of caustics, suppuration followed; the tumour broke
out into wounds, but even these failed to bring relief to the
suffering patient.

Maroncelli was thus far more unfortunate than myself, although my
sympathy for him caused me real pain and suffering, I was glad,
however, to be near him, to attend to all his wants, and to perform
all the duties of a brother and a friend. It soon became evident
that his leg would never heal: he considered his death as near at
hand, and yet he lost nothing of his admirable calmness or his
courage. The sight of his sufferings at last was almost more than I
could bear.


Still, in this deplorable condition, he continued to compose verses,
he sang, and he conversed; and all this he did to encourage me, by
disguising from me a part of what he suffered. He lost his powers
of digestion, he could not sleep, was reduced to a skeleton, and
very frequently swooned away. Yet the moment he was restored he
rallied his spirits, and, smiling, bade me be not afraid. It is
indescribable what he suffered during many months. At length a
consultation was to be held; the head physician was called in,
approved of all his colleague had done, and, without expressing a
decisive opinion, took his leave. A few minutes after, the
superintendent entered, and addressing Maroncelli,

"The head physician did not venture to express his real opinion in
your presence; he feared you would not have fortitude to bear so
terrible an announcement. I have assured him, however, that you are
possessed of courage."

"I hope," replied Maroncelli, "that I have given some proof of it in
bearing this dreadful torture without howling out. Is there
anything he would propose?"

"Yes, sir, the amputation of the limb: only perceiving how much
your constitution is broken down, he hesitates to advise you. Weak
as you are, could you support the operation? will you run the risk--

"Of dying? and shall I not equally die if I go on, without ending
this diabolical torture?"

"We will send off an account, then, direct to Vienna, soliciting
permission, and the moment it comes you shall have your leg cut

"What! does it require a PERMIT for this?"

"Assuredly, sir," was the reply.

In about a week a courier arrived from Vienna with the expected

My sick friend was carried from his dungeon into a larger room, for
permission to have his leg cut off had just arrived. He begged me
to follow him: "I may die under the knife, and I should wish, in
that case, to expire in your arms." I promised, and was permitted
to accompany him. The sacrament was first administered to the
unhappy prisoner, and we then quietly awaited the arrival of the
surgeons. Maroncelli filled up the interval by singing a hymn. At
length they came; one was an able surgeon, to superintend the
operation, from Vienna; but it was the privilege of our ordinary
prison apothecary, and he would not yield to the man of science, who
must be contented to look on. The patient was placed on the side of
a couch; with his leg down, while I supported him in my arms. It
was to be cut above the knee; first, an incision was made, the depth
of an inch--then through the muscles--and the blood flowed in
torrents: the arteries were next taken up with ligatures, one by
one. Next came the saw. This lasted some time, but Maroncelli
never uttered a cry. When he saw them carrying his leg away, he
cast on it one melancholy look, then turning towards the surgeon, he
said, "You have freed me from an enemy, and I have no money to give
you." He saw a rose, in a glass, placed in a window: "May I beg of
you to bring me hither that flower?" I brought it to him; and he
then offered it to the surgeon with an indescribable air of good-
nature: "See, I have nothing else to give you in token of my
gratitude." He took it as it was meant, and even wiped away a tear.


The surgeons had supposed that the hospital of Spielberg would
provide all that was requisite except the instruments, which they
brought with them. But after the amputation, it was found that a
number of things were wanting; such as linen, ice, bandages, &c. My
poor friend was thus compelled to wait two hours before these
articles were brought from the city. At length he was laid upon his
bed, and the ice applied to the trunk of the bleeding thigh. Next
day it was dressed; but the patient was allowed to take no
nourishment beyond a little broth, with an egg. When the risk of
fever was over, he was permitted the use of restoratives; and an
order from the Emperor directed that he should be supplied from the
table of the superintendent till he was better.

The cure was completed in about forty days, after which we were
conducted into our dungeon. This had been enlarged for us; that is,
an opening was made in the wall so as to unite our old den to that
once occupied by Oroboni, and subsequently by Villa. I placed my
bed exactly in the same spot where Oroboni had died, and derived a
mournful pleasure from thus approaching my friend, as it were, as
nearly as possible. It appeared as if his spirit still hovered
round me, and consoled me with manifestations of more than earthly

The horrible sight of Maroncelli's sufferings, both before and
subsequently to the amputation of his leg, had done much to
strengthen my mind. During the whole period, my health had enabled
me to attend upon him, and I was grateful to God; but from the
moment my friend assumed his crutches, and could supply his own
wants, I began daily to decline. I suffered extremely from
glandular swellings, and those were followed by pains of the chest,
more oppressive than I had before experienced, attended with
dizziness and spasmodic dysentery. "It is my turn now," thought I;
"shall I show less patience than my companion?"

Every condition of life has its duties; and those of the sick
consist of patience, courage, and continual efforts to appear not
unamiable to the persons who surround them. Maroncelli, on his
crutches, no longer possessed the same activity, and was fearful of
not doing everything for me of which I stood in need. It was in
fact the case, but I did all to prevent his being made sensible of
it. Even when he had recovered his strength he laboured under many
inconveniences. He complained, like most others after a similar
operation, of acute pains in the nerves, and imagined that the part
removed was still with him. Sometimes it was the toe, sometimes the
leg, and at others the knee of the amputated limb which caused him
to cry out. The bone, moreover, had been badly sawed, and pushed
through the newly-formed flesh, producing frequent wounds. It
required more than a year to bring the stump to a good state, when
at length it hardened and broke out no more.


New evils, however, soon assailed my unhappy friend. One of the
arteries, beginning at the joints of the hand, began to pain him,
extending to other parts of his body; and then turned into a
scorbutic sore. His whole person became covered with livid spots,
presenting a frightful spectacle. I tried to reconcile myself to
it, by considering that since it appeared we were to die here, it
was better that one of us should be seized with the scurvy; it is a
contagious disease, and must carry us off either together, or at a
short interval from each other. We both prepared ourselves for
death, and were perfectly tranquil. Nine years' imprisonment, and
the grievous sufferings we had undergone, had at length familiarised
us to the idea of the dissolution of two bodies so totally broken
and in need of peace. It was time the scene should close, and we
confided in the goodness of God, that we should be reunited in a
place where the passions of men should cease, and where, we prayed,
in spirit and in truth, that those who DID NOT LOVE US might meet us
in peace, in a kingdom where only one Master, the supreme King of
kings, reigned for evermore.

This malignant distemper had destroyed numbers of prisoners during
the preceding years. The governor, upon learning that Maroncelli
had been attacked by it, agreed with the physician, that the sole
hope of remedy was in the fresh air. They were afraid of its
spreading; and Maroncelli was ordered to be as little as possible
within his dungeon. Being his companion, and also unwell, I was
permitted the same privilege. We were permitted to be in the open
air the whole time the other prisoners were absent from the walk,
during two hours early in the morning, during the dinner, if we
preferred it, and three hours in the evening, even after sunset.

There was one other unhappy patient, about seventy years of age, and
in extremely bad health, who was permitted to bear us company. His
name was Constantino Munari; he was of an amiable disposition,
greatly attached to literature and philosophy, and agreeable in

Calculating my imprisonment, not from my arrest, but from the period
of receiving my sentence, I had been seven years and a half (in the
year 1829), according to the imperial decree, in different dungeons;
and about nine from the day of my arrest. But this term, like the
other, passed over, and there was no sign of remitting my

Up to the half of the whole term, my friend Maroncelli, Munari, and
I had indulged the idea of a possibility of seeing once more our
native land and our relations; and we frequently conversed with the
warmest hopes and feelings upon the subject. August, September, and
the whole of that year elapsed, and then we began to despair;
nothing remained to relieve our destiny but our unaltered attachment
for each other, and the support of religion, to enable us to close
our latter prison hours with becoming dignity and resignation. It
was then we felt the full value of friendship and religion, which
threw a charm even over the darkness of our lot. Human hopes and
promises had failed us; but God never forsakes the mourners and the
captives who truly love and fear Him.


After the death of Villa, the Abate Wrba was appointed our
confessor, on occasion of the Abate Paulowich receiving a bishopric.
He was a Moravian, professor of the gospel at Brunn, and an able
pupil of the Sublime Institute of Vienna. This was founded by the
celebrated Frinl, then chaplain to the court. The members of the
congregation are all priests, who, though already masters of
theology, prosecute their studies under the Institution with the
severest discipline. The views of the founder were admirable, being
directed to the continual and general dissemination of true and
profound science, among the Catholic clergy of Germany. His plans
were for the most part successful, and are yet in extensive

Being resident at Brunn, Wrba could devote more of his time to our
society than Paulowich. He was a second father Battista, with the
exception that he was not permitted to lend us any books. We held
long discussions, from which I reaped great advantage, and real
consolation. He was taken ill in 1829, and being subsequently
called to other duties, he was unable to visit us more. We were
much hurt, but we obtained as his successor the Abate Ziak, another
learned and worthy divine. Indeed, among the whole German
ecclesiastics we met with, not one showed the least disposition to
pry into our political sentiments; not one but was worthy of the
holy task he had undertaken, and imbued at once with the most
edifying faith and enlarged wisdom.

They were all highly respectable, and inspired us with respect for
the general Catholic clergy.

The Abate Ziak, both by precept and example, taught me to support my
sufferings with calmness and resignation. He was afflicted with
continual defluxions in his teeth, his throat, and his ears, and
was, nevertheless, always calm and cheerful.

Maroncelli derived great benefit from exercise and open air; the
eruptions, by degrees, disappeared; and both Munari and myself
experienced equal advantage.


It was the first of August, 1830. Ten years had elapsed since I was
deprived of my liberty: for eight years and a half I had been
subjected to hard imprisonment. It was Sunday, and, as on other
holidays, we went to our accustomed station, whence we had a view
from the wall of the valley and the cemetery below, where Oroboni
and Villa now reposed. We conversed upon the subject, and the
probability of our soon sharing their untroubled sleep. We had
seated ourselves upon our accustomed bench, and watched the unhappy
prisoners as they came forth and passed to hear mass, which was
performed before our own. They were women, and were conducted into
the same little chapel to which we resorted at the second mass.

It is customary with the Germans to sing hymns aloud during the
celebration of mass. As the Austrian empire is composed partly of
Germans and partly of Sclavonians, and the greater part of the
prisoners at Spielberg consist of one or other of these people, the
hymns are alternately sung in the German and the Sclavonian
languages. Every festival, two sermons are preached, and the same
division observed. It was truly delightful to us to hear the
singing of the hymns, and the music of the organ which accompanied
it. The voices of some of these women touched us to the heart.
Unhappy ones! some of them were very young; whom love, or jealousy,
or bad example, had betrayed into crime. I often think I can still
hear their fervidly devotional hymn of the sanctus--Heilig! heilig!
heilig!--Holy of holies; and the tears would start into my eyes. At
ten o'clock the women used to withdraw, and we entered to hear mass.
There I saw those of my companions in misfortune, who listened to
the service from the tribune of the organ, and from whom we were
separated only by a single grate, whose pale features and emaciated
bodies, scarcely capable of dragging their irons, bore witness to
their woes.

After mass we were conveyed back to our dungeons. About a quarter
of an hour afterwards we partook of dinner. We were preparing our
table, which consisted in putting a thin board upon a wooden target,
and taking up our wooden spoons, when Signor Wagrath, the
superintendent, entered our prison. "I am sorry to disturb you at
dinner; but have the goodness to follow me; the Director of Police
is waiting for us." As he was accustomed to come near us only for
purposes of examination and search, we accompanied the
superintendent to the audience room in no very good humour. There
we found the Director of Police and the superintendent, the first of
whom moved to us with rather more politeness than usual. He took
out a letter, and stated in a hesitating, slow tone of voice, as if
afraid of surprising us too greatly: "Gentlemen, . . . I have . . .
the pleasure . . . the honour, I mean . . . of . . . of acquainting
you that his Majesty the Emperor has granted you a further favour."
Still he hesitated to inform us what this favour was; and we
conjectured it must be some slight alleviation, some exemption from
irksome labour,--to have a book, or, perhaps, less disagreeable
diet. "Don't you understand?" he inquired. "No, sir!" was our
reply; "have the goodness, if permitted, to explain yourself more

"Then hear it! it is liberty for your two selves, and a third, who
will shortly bear you company."

One would imagine that such an announcement would have thrown us
into ecstasies of joy. We were so soon to see our parents, of whom
we had not heard for so long a period; but the doubt that they were
no longer in existence, was sufficient not only to moderate--it did
not permit us to hail, the joys of liberty as we should have done.

"Are you dumb?" asked the director; "I thought to see you exulting
at the news."

"May I beg you," replied I, "to make known to the Emperor our
sentiments of gratitude; but if we are not favoured with some
account of our families, it is impossible not to indulge in the
greatest fear and anxiety. It is this consciousness which destroys
the zest of all our joy."

He then gave Maroncelli a letter from his brother, which greatly
consoled him. But he told me there was no account of my family,
which made me the more fear that some calamity had befallen them.

"Now, retire to your apartments, and I will send you a third
companion, who has received pardon."

We went, and awaited his arrival anxiously; wishing that all had
alike been admitted to the same act of grace, instead of that single
one. Was it poor old Munari? was it such, or such a one? Thus we
went on guessing at every one we knew; when suddenly the door
opened, and Signor Andrea Torrelli, of Brescia, made his appearance.
We embraced him; and we could eat no more dinner that day. We
conversed till towards evening, chiefly regretting the lot of the
unhappy friends whom we were leaving behind us.

After sunset, the Director of Police returned to escort us from our
wretched prison house. Our hearts, however, bled within us, as we
were passing by the dungeons of so many of our countrymen whom we
loved, and yet, alas, not to have them to share our liberty! Heaven
knows how long they would be left to linger here! to become the
gradual, but certain, prey of death.

We were each of us enveloped in a military great-coat, with a cap;
and then, dressed as we were in our jail costume, but freed from our
chains, we descended the funereal mount, and were conducted through
the city into the police prisons.

It was a beautiful moonlight night. The roads, the houses, the
people whom we met--every object appeared so strange, and yet so
delightful, after the many years during which I had been debarred
from beholding any similar spectacle!


We remained at the police prisons, awaiting the arrival of the
imperial commissioner from Vienna, who was to accompany us to the
confines of Italy. Meantime, we were engaged in providing ourselves
with linen and trunks, our own having all been sold, and defraying
our prison expenses.

Five days afterwards, the commissary was announced, and the director
consigned us over to him, delivering, at the same time, the money
which we had brought with us to Spielberg, and the amount derived
from the sale of our trunks and books, both which were restored to
us on reaching our destination.

The expense of our journey was defrayed by the Emperor, and in a
liberal manner. The commissary was Herr Von Noe, a gentleman
employed in the office of the minister of police. The charge could
not have been intrusted to a person every way more competent, as
well from education as from habit; and he treated us with the
greatest respect.

I left Brunn, labouring under extreme difficulty of breathing; and
the motion of the carriage increased it to such a degree, that it
was expected I should hardly survive during the evening. I was in a
high fever the whole of the night; and the commissary was doubtful
whether I should be able to continue my journey even as far as
Vienna. I begged to go on; and we did so, but my sufferings were
excessive. I could neither eat, drink, nor sleep.

I reached Vienna more dead than alive. We were well accommodated at
the general directory of police. I was placed in bed, a physician
called in, and after being bled, I found myself sensibly relieved.
By means of strict diet, and the use of digitalis, I recovered in
about eight days. My physician's name was Singer; and he devoted
the most friendly attentions to me.

I had become extremely anxious to set out; the more so from an
account of the THREE DAYS having arrived from Paris. The Emperor
had fixed the day of our liberation exactly on that when the
revolution burst forth; and surely he would not now revoke it. Yet
the thing was not improbable; a critical period appeared to be at
hand, popular commotions were apprehended in Italy, and though we
could not imagine we should be remanded to Spielberg, should we be
permitted to return to our native country?

I affected to be stronger than I really was, and entreated we might
be allowed to resume our journey. It was my wish, meantime, to be
presented to his Excellency the Count Pralormo, envoy from Turin to
the Austrian Court, to whom I was aware how much I had been
indebted. He had left no means untried to procure my liberation;
but the rule that we were to hold no communication with any one
admitted of no exception. When sufficiently convalescent, a
carriage was politely ordered for me, in which I might take an
airing in the city; but accompanied by the commissary, and no other
company. We went to see the noble church of St. Stephen, the
delightful walks in the environs, the neighbouring Villa
Lichtenstein, and lastly the imperial residence of Schoenbrunn.

While proceeding through the magnificent walks in the gardens, the
Emperor approached, and the commissary hastily made us retire, lest
the sight of our emaciated persons should give him pain.


We at length took our departure from Vienna, and I was enabled to
reach Bruck. There my asthma returned with redoubled violence. A
physician was called--Herr Judmann, a man of pleasing manners. He
bled me, ordered me to keep my bed, and to continue the digitalis.
At the end of two days I renewed my solicitations to continue our

We proceeded through Austria and Stiria, and entered Carinthia
without any accident; but on our arrival at the village of
Feldkirchen, a little way from Klagenfurt, we were overtaken by a
counter order from Vienna. We were to stop till we received farther
directions. I leave the reader to imagine what our feelings must
have been on this occasion. I had, moreover, the pain to reflect,
that it would be owing to my illness if my two friends should now be
prevented from reaching their native land. We remained five days at
Feldkirchen, where the commissary did all in his power to keep up
our spirits. He took us to the theatre to see a comedy, and
permitted us one day to enjoy the chase. Our host and several young
men of the country, along with the proprietor of a fine forest, were
the hunters, and we were brought into a station favourable for
commanding a view of the sports.

At length there arrived a courier from Vienna, with a fresh order
for the commissary to resume his journey with us to the place first
appointed. We congratulated each other, but my anxiety was still
great, as I approached the hour when my hopes or fears respecting my
family would be verified. How many of my relatives and friends
might have disappeared during my ten years' absence!

The entrance into Italy on that side is not pleasing to the eye; you
descend from the noble mountains of Germany into the Italian plains,
through a long and sterile district, insomuch that travellers who
have formed a magnificent idea of our country, begin to laugh, and
imagine they have been purposely deluded with previous accounts of
La Bella Italia.

The dismal view of that rude district served to make me more
sorrowful. To see my native sky, to meet human features no more
belonging to the north, to hear my native tongue from every lip
affected me exceedingly; and I felt more inclined to tears than to
exultation. I threw myself back in the carriage, pretending to
sleep; but covered my face and wept. That night I scarcely closed
my eyes; my fever was high, my whole soul seemed absorbed in
offering up vows for my sweet Italy, and grateful prayers to
Providence for having restored to her her captive son. Then I
thought of my speedy separation from a companion with whom I had so
long suffered, and who had given me so many proofs of more than
fraternal affection, and I tortured my imagination with the idea of
a thousand disasters which might have befallen my family. Not even
so many years of captivity had deadened the energy and
susceptibility of my feelings! but it was a susceptibility only to
pain and sorrow.

I felt, too, on my return, a strange desire to visit Udine, and the
lodging-house, where our two generous friends had assumed the
character of waiters, and secretly stretched out to us the hand of
friendship. But we passed that town to our left, and passed on our


Pordenone, Conegliano, Ospedaletto, Vicenza, Verona, and Mantua,
were all places which interested my feelings. In the first resided
one of my friends, an excellent young man, who had survived the
campaigns of Russia; Conegliano was the district whither, I was told
by the under-jailers, poor Angiola had been conducted; and in
Ospedaletto there had married and resided a young lady, who had more
of the angel than the woman, and who, though now no more, I had
every reason to remember with the highest respect. The whole of
these places, in short, revived recollections more or less dear; and
Mantua more than any other city. It appeared only yesterday that I
had come with Lodovico in 1815, and paid another visit with Count
Porro in 1820. The same roads, the same squares, the same palaces,
and yet such a change in all social relations! So many of my
connections snatched away for ever--so many exiled--one generation,
I had beheld when infants, started up into manhood. Yet how painful
not to be allowed to call at a single house, or to accost a single
person we met.

To complete my misery, Mantua was the point of separation between
Maroncelli and myself. We passed the night there, both filled with
forebodings and regret. I felt agitated like a man on the eve of
receiving his sentence.

The next morning I rose, and washed my face, in order to conceal
from my friend how much I had given way to grief during the
preceding night. I looked at myself in the glass, and tried to
assume a quiet and even cheerful air. I then bent down in prayer,
though ill able to command my thoughts; and hearing Maroncelli
already upon his crutches, and speaking to the servant, I hastened
to embrace him. We had both prepared ourselves, with previous
exertions, for this closing interview, and we spoke to each other
firmly, as well as affectionately. The officer appointed to conduct
us to the borders of Romagna appeared; it was time to set out; we
hardly knew how to speak another word; we grasped each other's hands
again and again,--we parted; he mounted into his vehicle, and I felt
as if I had been annihilated at a blow. I returned into my chamber,
threw myself upon my knees, and prayed for my poor mutilated friend,
thus separated from me, with sighs and tears.

I had known several celebrated men, but not one more affectionately
sociable than Maroncelli; not one better educated in all respects,
more free from sudden passion or ill-humour, more deeply sensible
that virtue consists in continued exercises of tolerance, of
generosity, and good sense. Heaven bless you, my dear companion in
so many afflictions, and send you new friends who may equal me in my
affection for you, and surpass me in true goodness.


I set out the same evening for Brescia. There I took leave of my
other fellow-prisoner, Andrea Torrelli. The unhappy man had just
heard that he had lost his mother, and the bitterness of his grief
wrung my heart; yet, agonised as were my feelings from so many
different causes, I could not help laughing at the following

Upon the table of our lodging-house I found the following theatrical
announcement:- Francesca da Rimini; Opera da Musica, &c. "Whose
work is this?" I inquired of the waiter.

"Who versified it, and composed the music, I cannot tell, but it is
the Francesca da Rimini which everybody knows."

"Everybody! you must be wrong there. I come from Germany, yet what
do I know of your Francescas?" The waiter was a young man with
rather a satirical cast of face, quite Brescian; and he looked at me
with a contemptuous sort of pity. "What should you know, indeed, of
our Francescas? why, no, sir, it is only ONE we speak of--Francesca
des Rimini, to be sure, sir; I mean the tragedy of Signor Silvio
Pellico. They have here turned it into an opera, spoiling it a
little, no doubt, but still it is always Pellico."

"Ah, Silvio Pellico! I think I have heard his name. Is it not that
same evil-minded conspirator who was condemned to death, and his
sentence was changed to hard imprisonment, some eight or ten years

I should never have hazarded such a jest. He looked round him,
fixed his eyes on me, showed a fine set of teeth, with no amiable
intention; and I believe he would have knocked me down, had he not
heard a noise close by us.

He went away muttering: "Ill-minded conspirator, indeed!" But
before I left, he had found me out. He was half out of his wits; he
could neither question, nor answer, nor write, nor walk, nor wait.
He had his eyes continually upon me, he rubbed his hands, and
addressing himself to every one near him; "Sior si, Sior si; Yes,
sir! Yes, sir!" he kept stammering out, "coming! coming!"

Two days afterwards, on the 9th of September, I arrived with the
commissary at Milan. On approaching the city, on seeing the cupola
of the cathedral, in repassing the walk by Loretto, so well known,
and so dear, on recognising the corso, the buildings, churches, and
public places of every kind, what were my mingled feelings of
pleasure and regret! I felt an intense desire to stop, and embrace
once more my beloved friends. I reflected with bitter grief on
those, whom, instead of meeting here, I had left in the horrible
abode of Spielberg,--on those who were wandering in strange lands,--
on those who were no more. I thought, too, with gratitude upon the
affection shown me by the people; their indignation against all
those who had calumniated me, while they had uniformly been the
objects of my benevolence and esteem.

We went to take up our quarters at the Bella Venezia. It was here I
had so often been present at our social meetings; here I had called
upon so many distinguished foreigners; here a respectable, elderly
Signora invited me in vain to follow her into Tuscany, foreseeing,
she said, the misfortunes that would befall me if I remained at
Milan. What affecting recollections! How rapidly past times came
thronging over my memory, fraught with joy and grief!

The waiters at the hotel soon discovered who I was. The report
spread, and towards evening a number of persons stopped in the
square, and looked up at the windows. One, whose name I did not
know, appeared to recognise me, and raising both his arms, made a
sign of embracing me, as a welcome back to Italy.

And where were the sons of Porro; I may say my own sons? Why did I
not see them there?


The commissary conducted me to the police, in order to present me to
the director. What were my sensations upon recognising the house!
it was my first prison. It was then I thought with pain of
Melchiorre Gioja, on the rapid steps with which I had seen him
pacing within those narrow walls, or sitting at his little table,
recording his noble thoughts, or making signals to me; and his last
look of sorrow, when forbidden longer to communicate with me. I
pictured to myself his solitary grave, unknown to all who had so
ardently loved him, and, while invoking peace to his gentle spirit,
I wept.

Here, too, I called to mind the little dumb boy, the pathetic tones
of Maddalene, my strange emotions of compassion for her, my
neighbours the robbers, the assumed Louis XVII., and the poor
prisoner who had carried the fatal letter, and whose cries under the
infliction of the bastinado, had reached me.

These and other recollections appeared with all the vividness of
some horrible dream; but most of all, I felt those two visits which
my father had made me ten years before, when I last saw him. How
the good old man had deceived himself in the expectation that I
should so soon rejoin him at Turin! Could he then have borne the
idea of a son's ten years' captivity, and in such a prison? But
when these flattering hopes vanished, did he, and did my mother bear
up against so unexpected a calamity? was I ever to see them again in
this world? Had one, or which of them, died during the cruel
interval that ensued?

Such was the suspense, the distracting doubt which yet clung to me.
I was about to knock at the door of my home without knowing if they
were in existence, or what other members of my beloved family were
left me.

The director of police received me in a friendly manner. He
permitted me to stay at the Bella Venezia with the imperial
commissary, though I was not permitted to communicate with any one,
and for this reason I determined to resume my journey the following
morning. I obtained an interview, however, with the Piedmontese
consul, to learn if possible some account of my relatives. I should
have waited on him, but being attacked with fever, and compelled to
keep my bed, I sent to beg the favour of his visiting me. He had
the kindness to come immediately, and I felt truly grateful to him.

He gave me a favourable account of my father, and of my eldest
brother. Respecting my mother, however, my other brother, and my
two sisters, I could learn nothing.

Thus in part comforted, I could have wished to prolong the
conversation with the consul, and he would willingly have gratified
me had not his duties called him away. After he left me, I was
extremely affected, but, as had so often happened, no tears came to
give me relief. The habit of long, internal grief, seemed yet to
prey upon my heart; to weep would have alleviated the fever which
consumed me, and distracted my head with pain.

I called to Stundberger for something to drink. That good man was a
sergeant of police at Vienna, though now filling the office of
valet-de-chambre to the commissary. But though not old, I perceived
that his hand trembled in giving me the drink. This circumstance
reminded me of Schiller, my beloved Schiller, when, on the day of my
arrival at Spielberg, I ordered him, in an imperious tone, to hand
me the jug of water, and he obeyed me.

How strange it was! The recollection of this, added to other
feelings of the kind, struck, as it were, the rock of my heart, and
tears began to flow.


The morning of the 10th of September, I took leave of the excellent
commissary, and set out. We had only been acquainted with each
other for about a month, and yet he was as friendly as if he had
known me for years. His noble and upright mind was above all
artifice, or desire of penetrating the opinions of others, not from
any want of intelligence, but a love of that dignified simplicity
which animates all honest men.

It sometimes happened during our journey that I was accosted by some
one or other when unobserved, in places where we stopped. "Take
care of that ANGEL KEEPER of yours; if he did not belong to those
neri (blacks), they would not have put him over you."

"There you are deceived," said I; "I have the greatest reason to
believe that you are deceived."

"The most cunning," was the reply, "can always contrive to appear
the most simple."

"If it were so, we ought never to give credit to the least goodness
in any one."

"Yes, there are certain social stations," he replied, "in which
men's manners may appear to great advantage by means of education;
but as to virtue, they have none of it."

I could only answer, "You exaggerate, sir, you exaggerate."

"I am only consistent," he insisted. We were here interrupted, and
I called to mind the cave a censequentariis of Leibnitz.

Too many are inclined to adopt this false and terrible doctrine. I
follow the standard A, that is JUSTICE. Another follows standard B;
it must therefore be that of INJUSTICE, and, consequently, he must
be a villain!

Give ME none of your logical madness; whatever standard you adopt,
do not reason so inhumanly. Consider, that by assuming what data
you please, and proceeding with the most violent stretch of rigour
from one consequence to another, it is easy for any one to come to
the conclusion that, "Beyond we four, all the rest of the world
deserve to be burnt alive." And if we are at the pains of
investigating a little further, we shall find each of the four
crying out, "All deserve to be burnt alive together, with the
exception of I myself."

This vulgar tenet of exclusiveness is in the highest degree
unphilosophical. A moderate degree of suspicion is wise, but when
urged to the extreme, it is the opposite.

After the hint thus thrown out to me respecting that angelo custode,
I turned to study him with greater attention than I had before done;
and each day served to convince me more and more of his friendly and
generous nature.

When an order of society, more or less perfect, has been
established, whether for better or worse, all the social offices,
not pronounced by general consent to be infamous, all that are
adapted to promote the public good, and the confidence of a
respectable number, and which are filled by men acknowledged to be
of upright mind, such offices may undeniably be undertaken by honest
men without incurring any charge of unconscientiousness.

I have read of a Quaker who had a great horror of soldiers. He one
day saw a soldier throw himself into the Thames, and save the life
of a fellow-being who was drowning. "I don't care," he exclaimed,
"I will still be a Quaker, but there are some good fellows, even
among soldiers."


Stundberger accompanied me to my vehicle, into which I got with the
brigadier of gens d'armes, to whose care I was entrusted. It was
snowing, and the cold was excessive.

"Wrap yourself well up in your cloak," said Stundberger; "cover your
head better, and contrive to reach home as little unwell as you can;
remember, that a very little thing will give you cold just now. I
wish it had been in my power to go on and attend you as far as
Turin." He said this in a tone of voice so truly cordial and
affectionate that I could not doubt its sincerity.

"From this time you will have no German near you," he added; "you
will no longer hear our language spoken, and little, I dare say,
will you care for that; the Italians find it very harsh. Besides,
you have suffered so greatly among us, that most probably you will
not like to remember us; yet, though you will so soon forget my very
name, I shall not cease, sir, to offer up prayers for your safety."

"I shall do the same for you," I replied; as I shook his hand for
the last time.

"Guten morgen! guten morgen! gute raise! leben sie wohl!"--farewell;
a pleasant journey! good morning he continued to repeat; and the
sounds were to me as sweat as if they had been pronounced in my
native tongue.

I am passionately attached to my country, but I do not dislike any
other nation. Civilisation, wealth, power, glory, are differently
apportioned among different people; but in all there are minds
obedient to the great vocation of man,--to love, to pity, and to
assist each other.

The brigadier who attended me, informed me that he was one of those
who arrested Confalonieri. He told me how the unhappy man had tried
to make his escape; how he had been baffled, and how he had been
torn from the arms of his distracted wife, while they both at the
same time submitted to the calamity with dignity and resignation.

The horrible narrative increased my fear; a hand of iron seemed to
be weighing upon my heart. The good man, in his desire of showing
his sociality, and entertaining me with his remarks, was not aware
of the horror he excited in me when I cast my eye on those hands
which had seized the person of my unfortunate friend.

He ordered luncheon at Buffalora, but I was unable to taste
anything. Many years back, when I was spending my time at Arluno,
with the sons of Count Porro, I was accustomed to walk thither (to
Buffalora), along the banks of the Ticino. I was rejoiced to see
the noble bridge, the materials of which I had beheld scattered
along the Lombard shore, now finished, notwithstanding the general
opinion that the design would be abandoned. I rejoiced to traverse
the river and set my foot once more on Piedmontese ground. With all
my attachment to other nations, how much I prefer Italy! yet Heaven
knows that however much more delightful to me is the sound of the
Italian name, still sweeter must be that of Piedmont, the land of my


Opposite to Buffalora lies San Martino. Here the Lombard brigadier
spoke of the Piedmontese carabineers, saluted me, and repassed the

"Let us go to Novara!" I said to the Vetturino.

"Have the goodness to stay a moment," said a carabineer. I found I
was not yet free; and was much vexed, being apprehensive it would
retard my arrival at the long-desired home. After waiting about a
quarter of an hour, a gentleman came forward and requested to be
allowed to accompany us as far as Novara. He had already missed one
opportunity; there was no other conveyance than mine; and he
expressed himself exceedingly happy that I permitted him to avail
himself of it.

This carabineer in disguise was very good-humoured, and kept me
company as far as Novara. Having reached that city, and feigning we
were going to an hotel, he stopt at the barracks of the carabineers,
and I was told there was a bed for me, and that I must wait the
arrival of further orders. Concluding that I was to set off the
next day, I went to bed, and after chatting some time with my host,
I fell fast asleep; and it was long since I had slept so profoundly.

I awoke towards morning, rose as quickly as possible, and found the
hours hang heavy on my hands. I took my breakfast, chatted, walked
about the apartment and over the lodge, cast my eye over the host's
books, and finally,--a visitor was announced. An officer had come
to give me tidings respecting my father, and inform me that there
was a letter from him, lying for me at Novara. I was exceedingly
grateful to him for this act of humane courtesy. After a few hours,
which to me appeared ages, I received my father's letter. Oh what
joy to behold that hand-writing once more! what joy to learn that
the best of mothers was spared to me! that my two brothers were
alive, and also my eldest sister. Alas! my young and gentle
Marietta, who had immured herself in the convent of the Visitazione,
and of whom I had received so strange an account while a prisoner,
had been dead upwards of nine months. It was a consolation for me
to believe that I owed my liberty to all those who had never ceased
to love and to pray for me, and more especially to a beloved sister
who had died with every expression of the most edifying devotion.
May the Almighty reward her for the many sufferings she underwent,
and in particular for all the anxiety she experienced on my account.

Days passed on; yet no permission for me to quit Novara! On the
morning of the 16th of September, the desired order at length
arrived, and all superintendence over me by the carabineers ceased.
It seemed strange! so many years had now elapsed since I had been
permitted to walk unaccompanied by guards. I recovered some money;
I received the congratulations of some of my father's friends, and
set out about three in the afternoon. The companions of my journey
were a lady, a merchant, an engraver, and two young painters; one of
whom was both deaf and dumb. These last were coming from Rome; and
I was much pleased by hearing from them that they were acquainted
with the family of my friend Maroncelli, for how pleasant a thing it
is to be enabled to speak of those we love, with some one not wholly
indifferent to them.

We passed the night at Vercelli. The happy day, the 17th of
September, dawned at last. We pursued our journey; and how slow we
appeared to travel! it was evening before we arrived at Turin.

Who would attempt to describe the consolation I felt, the nameless
feelings of delight, when I found myself in the embraces of my
father, my mother, and my two brothers? My dear sister Giuseppina
was not then with them; she was fulfilling her duties at Chieri; but
on hearing of my felicity, she hastened to stay for a few days with
our family, to make it complete. Restored to these five long-
sighed-for, and beloved objects of my tenderness,--I was, and I
still am, one of the most enviable of mankind.

Now, therefore, for all my past misfortunes and sufferings, as well
as for all the good or evil yet reserved for me, may the providence
of God be blessed; of God, who renders all men, and all things,
however opposite the intentions of the actors, the wonderful
instruments which He directs to the greatest and best of purposes.


{1} Piero Maroncelli da Forli, an excellent poet, and most amiable
man, who had also been imprisoned from political motives. The
author speaks of him at considerable length, as the companion of his
sufferings, in various parts of his work.

{2} A bailiff.

{3} A sort of scream peculiar to dumb children.

{4} Melchiorre Gioja, a native of Piacenza, was one of the most
profound writers of our times, principally upon subjects of public
economy. Being suspected of carrying on a secret correspondence, he
was arrested in 1820, and imprisoned for a space of nine months.
Among the more celebrated of his works are those entitled, Nuovo
prospetto delle Scienze Economiche, Trattato del Merito e delle
Ricompense, Dell' Ingiuria e dei Danni, Filosofia della Statistica,
Ideologia e Esercizo Logico, Delle Manifatture, Del Divorzio,
Elementi di Filosofia, Nuovo Galateo, Qual Governo convenga all'
Italia. This able writer died in the month of January, 1829.

{5} The Count Luigi Porro was one of the most distinguished men of
Milan, and remarkable for the zeal and liberality with which he
promoted the cultivation of literature and the arts. Having early
remarked the excellent disposition of the youthful Pellico, the
Count invited him to reside in his mansion, and take upon himself
the education of his sons, uniformly considering him, at the same
time, more in the light of a friend than of a dependent. Count
Porro himself subsequently fell under the suspicions of the Austrian
Government, and having betaken himself to flight, was twice
condemned to death (as contumacious), the first time under the
charge of Carbonarism, and the second time for a pretended
conspiracy. The sons of Count Porro are more than once alluded to
by their friend and tutor, as the author designates himself.

{6} This excellent tragedy, suggested by the celebrated episode in
the fifth canto of Dante's Inferno, was received by the whole of
Italy with the most marked applause. Such a production at once
raised the young author to a high station in the list of Italy's
living poets.

{7} The Cavalier Giovanni Bodoni was one of the most distinguished
among modern printers. Becoming admirably skilled in his art, and
in the oriental languages, acquired in the college of the Propaganda
at Rome, he went to the Royal Printing Establishment at Parma, of
which he took the direction in 1813, and in which he continued till
the period of his death. In the list of the numerous works which he
thence gave to the world may be mentioned the Pater Noster
Poligletto, the Iliad in Greek, the Epithalamia Exoticis, and the
Manuale Tipografico, works which will maintain their reputation to
far distant times.

{8} The Count Bolza, of the lake of Como, who has continued for
years in the service of the Austrian Government, showing inexorable
zeal in the capacity of a Commissary of Police.

{9} The learning of Ugo Foscolo, and the reputation he acquired by
his Hymn upon the Tombs, his Last Letters of Jecopo Ortis, his
Treatises upon Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, &c, are well-known in
this country, where he spent a considerable portion of his life, and
died in the year 1827.

{10} The Cavalier Vincenzo Monti stands at the head of the modern
poets of Italy. His stanzas on the Death of Uge Basville obtained
for him the title of Dante Redivivo. His works, both in verse and
prose, are numerous, and generally acknowledged to be noble models
in their several styles. His tragedy of Aristodemo, takes the lead
among the most admirable specimens of the Italian drama. He died at
Milan in the year 1829.

{11} Monsignor Lodovico di Breme, son of the Marquis of the same
name, a Piedmontese, an intimate friend of the celebrated Madame de
Stael, of Mons. Sismondi, &c, and a man of elevated sentiments,
brilliant spirit, high cultivation, and accomplishments.

{12} Don Pietro Borsieri, son of a judge of the Court of Appeal at
Milan, of which, previous to his receiving sentence of death, he was
one of the state secretaries. He is the author of several little
works and literary essays, all written with singular energy and
chasteness of language.

{13} La Signora Angiola.

{14} "Venezianina adolescente sbirra?"

{15} Tremerello, or the little trembler.

{16} Per capire che le lucciole non erano lanterne.
"To know that glowworms are not lanterns."

{17} Buzzolai, a kind of small loaf.

{18} Odoardo Briche, a young man of truly animated genius, and the
most amiable disposition. He was the son of Mons. Briche, member of
the Constituent Assembly in France, who for thirty years past, had
selected Milan as his adopted country.

{19} Respecting Pietro Borsieri, Lodovico di Breme, and Count
Porro, mention has already been made. The Count Federico
Confalonieri, of an illustrious family of Milan, a man of immense
intellect, and the firmest courage, was also the most zealous
promoter of popular institutions in Lombardy. The Austrian
Government, becoming aware of the aversion entertained by the Count
for the foreign yoke which pressed so heavily upon his country, had
him seized and handed over to the special commissions, which sat in
the years 1822 and 1823. By these he was condemned to the severest
of all punishments--imprisonment for life, in the fortress of
Spielberg, where, during six months of each weary year, he is
compelled by the excess of his sufferings to lie stretched upon a
wretched pallet, more dead than alive.

{20} The Count Camillo Laderchi, a member of one of the most
distinguished families of Faenza, and formerly prefect in the ex-
kingdom of Italy.

{21} Gian Domenico Romagnosi, a native of Piacenza, was for some
years Professor of Criminal Law, in the University of Pavia. He is
the author of several philosophical works, but more especially of
the Genesi del Diritto Penale, which spread his reputation both
throughout and beyond Italy. Though at an advanced age, he was
repeatedly imprisoned and examined on the charge of having belonged
to a lodge of Freemasons; a charge advanced against him by an
ungrateful Tyrolese, who had initiated him into, and favoured him as
a fellow-member of, the same society, and who had the audacity
actually to sit as judge upon his FRIEND'S trial.

{22} The Count Giovanni Arrivabene, of Mantua, who, being in
possession of considerable fortune, made an excellent use of it,
both as regarded private acts of benevolence, and the maintenance of
a school of mutual instruction. But having more recently fallen
under the displeasure of the Government, he abandoned Italy, and
during his exile employed himself in writing, with rare
impartiality, and admirable judgment, a work which must be
considered interesting to all engaged in alleviating the ills of
humanity, both here and in other countries. It is entitled, Delle
Societa di Publica Beneficenza in Londra.

{23} The Capitano Rezia, one of the best artillery officers in the
Italian army, son of Professor Rezia, the celebrated anatomist,
whose highly valuable preparations and specimens are to be seen in
the Anatomical Museum at Pavia.

{24} The Professor Ressi, who occupied, during several years, the
chair of Political Economy in the University at Pavia. He is the
author of a respectable work, published under the title of Economica
della Specie Umana. Having unfortunately attracted the suspicions
of the Austrian police, he was seized and committed to a dungeon, in
which he died, about a year from the period of his arrest, and while
the special examinations of the alleged conspirators were being

{25} Where charity and love are, God is present.

{26} The Devil! the Devil!

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