  On the 11th of January, 1822, about nine in the morning, Tremerello came into my room in no little agitation, and said, “Do you know, Sir, that in the island of San Michele, a little way from Venice, there is a prison containing more than a hundred Carbonari.” “You have told me so a hundred times. Well! what would you have me hear, speak out; are some of them condemned?” “Exactly.” “Who are they?” “I don’t know.” “Is my poor friend Maroncelli among them?” “Ah, Sir, too many . . . I know not who.” And he went away in great emotion, casting on me a look of compassion. Shortly after came the jailer, attended by the assistants, and by a man whom I had never before seen. The latter opened his subject as follows: “The commission, Sir, has given orders that you come with me!” “Let us go, then,” I replied; “may I ask who you are?” “I am jailer of the San Michele prisons, where I am going to take you.” The jailer of the Piombi delivered to the new governor the money belonging to me which he had in his hands. I obtained permission to make some little present to the under jailers; I then put my clothes in order, put my Bible under my arm, and departed. In descending the immense track of staircases, Tremerello for a moment took my hand; he pressed it as much as to say, “Unhappy man! you are lost.” We came out at a gate which opened upon the lake, and there stood a gondola with two under jailers belonging to San Michele. I entered the boat with feelings of the most contradictory nature; regret at leaving the prison of the Piombi, where I had suffered so much, but where I had become attached to some individuals, and they to me; the pleasure of beholding once more the sky, the city, and the clear waters, without the intervention of iron bars. Add to this the recollection of that joyous gondola, which, in time past, had borne me on the bosom of that placid lake; the gondolas of the lake of Como, those of Lago Maggiore, the little barks of the Po, those of the Rodano, and of the Sonna! Oh, happy vanished years! who, who then so happy in the world as I? The son of excellent and affectionate parents, in a rank of life, perhaps, the happiest for the cultivation of the affections, being equally removed from riches and from poverty; I had spent my infancy in the participation of the sweetest domestic ties; had been the object of the tenderest domestic cares. I had subsequently gone to Lyons, to my maternal uncle, an elderly man, extremely wealthy, and deserving of all he possessed; and at his mansion I partook of all the advantages and delights of elegance and refined society, which gave an indescribable charm to those youthful days. Thence returning into Italy, under the parental roof, I at once devoted myself with ardour to study, and the enjoyment of society; everywhere meeting with distinguished friends and the most encouraging praise. Monti and Foscolo, although at variance with each other, were kind to me. I became more attached to the latter, and this irritable man, who, by his asperities, provoked so many to quarrel with him, was with me full of gentleness and cordiality. Other distinguished characters likewise became attached to me, and I returned all their regard. Neither envy nor calumny had the least influence over me, or I felt it only from persons who had not the power to injure me. On the fall of the kingdom of Italy, my father removed to Turin, with the rest of his family. I had preferred to remain at Milan, where I spent my time at once so profitably and so happily as made me unwilling to leave it. Here I had three friends to whom I was greatly attached—D. Pietro Borsieri, Lodovico di Breme, and the Count Luigi Porro Lambertenghi. Subsequently I added to them Count Federigo Confalonieri. |
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