I continued in the same apartment during a month and some days. On the night of February the 18th, 1821, I was roused from sleep by a loud noise of chains and keys; several men entered with a lantern, and the first idea that struck me was, that they were come to cut my throat. While gazing at them in strange perplexity, one of the figures advanced towards me with a polite air; it was Count B—, [8] who requested I would dress myself as speedily as possible to set out.

I was surprised at this announcement, and even indulged a hope that they were sent to conduct me to the confines of Piedmont. Was it likely the storm which hung over me would thus early be dispersed? should I again enjoy that liberty so dearly prized, be restored to my beloved parents, and see my brothers and sisters?

I was allowed short time to indulge these flattering hopes. The moment I had thrown on my clothes, I followed my conductors without having an opportunity of bidding farewell to my royal neighbour. Yet I thought I heard him call my name, and regretted it was out of my power to stop and reply. “Where are we going?” I inquired of the Count, as we got into a coach, attended by an officer of the guard. “I cannot inform you till we shall be a mile on the other side the city of Milan.” I was aware the coach was not going in the direction of the Vercelline gate; and my hopes suddenly vanished. I was silent; it was a beautiful moonlight night; I beheld the same well-known paths I had traversed for pleasure so many years before. The houses, the churches, and every object renewed a thousand pleasing recollections. I saw the Corsia of Porta Orientale, I saw the public gardens, where I had so often rambled with Foscolo, [9] Monti, [10] Lodovico di Breme, [11] Pietro Borsieri, [12] Count Porro, and his sons, with many other delightful companions, conversing in all the glow of life and hope. How I felt my friendship for these noble men revive with double force when I thought of having parted from them for the last time, disappearing as they had done, one by one, so rapidly from my view. When we had gone a little way beyond the gate, I pulled my hat over my eyes, and indulged these sad retrospections unobserved.

After having gone about a mile, I addressed myself to Count B-. “I presume we are on the road to Verona.” “Yes, further,” was the reply; “we are for Venice, where it is my duty to hand you over to a special commission there appointed.”

We travelled post, stopped nowhere, and on the 20th of February arrived at my destination. The September of the year preceding, just one month previous to my arrest, I had been at Venice, and had met a large and delightful party at dinner, in the Hotel della Luna. Strangely enough, I was now conducted by the Count and the officer to the very inn where we had spent that evening in social mirth.

One of the waiters started on seeing me, perceiving that, though my conductors had assumed the dress of domestics, I was no other than a prisoner in their hands. I was gratified at this recognition, being persuaded that the man would mention my arrival there to more than one.

We dined, and I was then conducted to the palace of the Doge, where the tribunals are now held. I passed under the well-known porticoes of the Procuratie, and by the Florian Hotel, where I had enjoyed so many pleasant evenings the last autumn; but I did not happen to meet a single acquaintance. We went across the piazzetta, and there it struck me that the September before, I had met a poor mendicant, who addressed me in these singular words:—

“I see, sir, you are a stranger, but I cannot make out why you, sir, and all other strangers, should so much admire this place. To me it is a place of misfortune, and I never pass it when I can avoid it.”

“What, did you here meet with some disaster?”

“I did, sir; a horrible one, sir; and not only I. God protect you from it, God protect you!” And he took himself off in haste.

At this moment it was impossible for me to forget the words of the poor beggarman. He was present there, too, the next year, when I ascended the scaffold, whence I heard read to me the sentence of death, and that it had been commuted for fifteen years hard imprisonment. Assuredly, if I had been inclined ever so little to superstition, I should have thought much of the mendicant, predicting to me with so much energy, as he did, and insisting that this was a place of misfortune. As it is, I have merely noted it down for a curious incident. We ascended the palace; Count B— spoke to the judges, then, handing me over to the jailer, after embracing me with much emotion, he bade me farewell.