ONE of the under-jailers one day entered my prison with a mysterious
look, and said, “Sometime, I believe, that Siora Zanze (Angiola) . . .
was used to bring you your coffee . . . She stopped a good while to
converse with you, and I was afraid the cunning one would worm out all
your secrets, sir.”
“Not one,” I replied, in great anger; “or if I had any, I should not be
such a fool as to tell them in that way. Go on.”
“Beg pardon, sir; far from me to call you by such a name . . . But I
never trusted to that Siora Zanze. And now, sir, as you have no longer
any one to keep you company . . . I trust I—”
“What, what! explain yourself at once!”
“Swear first that you will not betray me.”
“Well, well; I could do that with a safe conscience. I never betrayed
any one.”
“Do you say really you will swear?”
“Yes; I swear not to betray you. But what a wretch to doubt it; for any
one capable of betraying you will not scruple to violate an oath.”
He took a letter from his coat-lining, and gave it me with a trembling
hand, beseeching I would destroy it the moment I had read it.
“Stop,” I cried, opening it; “I will read and destroy it while you are
here.”
“But, sir, you must answer it, and I cannot stop now. Do it at your
leisure. Only take heed, when you hear any one coming, you will know if
it be I by my singing, pretty loudly, the tune, _Sognai mi gera un gato_.
You need, then, fear nothing, and may keep the letter quietly in your
pocket. But should you not hear this song, set it down for a mark that
it cannot be me, or that some one is with me. Then, in a moment, out
with it, don’t trust to any concealment, in case of a search; out with
it, tear it into a thousand bits, and throw it through the window.”
“Depend upon me; I see you are prudent, I will be so too.”
“Yet you called me a stupid wretch.”
“You do right to reproach me,” I replied, shaking him by the hand, “and I
beg your pardon.” He went away, and I began to read
“I am (and here followed the name) one of your admirers: I have all your
_Francesca da Rimini_ by heart. They arrested me for—(and here he gave
the reason with the date)—and I would give, I know not how many pounds of
my blood to have the pleasure of being with you, or at least in a dungeon
near yours, in order that we might converse together. Since I heard from
Tremerello, so we shall call our confidant, that you, sir, were a
prisoner, and the cause of your arrest, I have longed to tell you how
deeply I lament your misfortune, and that no one can feel greater
attachment to you than myself. Have you any objection to accept the
offer I make, namely, that we should try to lighten the burden of our
solitude by writing to each other. I pledge you my honour, that not a
being shall ever hear of our correspondence from me, and am persuaded
that I may count upon the same secresy on your part, if you adopt my
plan. Meantime, that you may form some idea, I will give you an abstract
from my life.”—(It followed.)