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.