I WAS agitated the whole evening; I never closed my eyes that night, and
amidst so many conflicting doubts, I knew not on what to resolve.
I sprung from my bed before dawn, I mounted upon the window-place, and
offered up my prayers. In trying circumstances it is necessary to appeal
with confidence to God, to heed his inspirations, and to adhere to them.
This I did, and after long prayer, I went down, shook off the gnats, took
the bitten gloves in my hands, and came to the determination to explain
my apprehensions to Tremerello and warn him of the great danger to which
he himself was exposed by bearing letters; to renounce the plan if he
wavered, and to accept it if its terrors did not deter him. I walked
about till I heard the words of the song:—_Segnai mi gera un gato_, _E ti
me carezzevi_. It was Tremerello bringing me my coffee. I acquainted
him with my scruples and spared nothing to excite his fears. I found him
staunch in his desire to _serve_, as he said, _two such complete
gentlemen_. This was strangely at variance with the sheep’s face he
wore, and the name we had just given him. {15} Well, I was as firm on my
part.
“I shall leave you my wine,” said I, “see to find me the paper; I want to
carry on this correspondence; and, rely on it, if any one comes without
the warning song, I shall make an end of every suspicious article.”
“Here is a sheet of paper ready for you; I will give you more whenever
you please, and am perfectly satisfied of your prudence.”
I longed to take my coffee; Tremerello left me, and I sat down to write.
Did I do right? was the motive really approved by God? Was it not rather
the triumph of my natural courage, of my preference of that which pleased
me, instead of obeying the call for painful sacrifices. Mingled with
this was a proud complacency, in return for the esteem expressed towards
me by the unknown, and a fear of appearing cowardly, if I were to adhere
to silence and decline a correspondence, every way so fraught with peril.
How was I to resolve these doubts? I explained them frankly to my
fellow-prisoner in replying to him, stating it nevertheless, as my
opinion, that if anything were undertaken from good motives, and without
the least repugnance of conscience, there could be no fear of blame. I
advised him at the same time to reflect seriously upon the subject, and
to express clearly with what degree of tranquillity, or of anxiety, he
was prepared to engage, in it. Moreover, if, upon reconsideration, he
considered the plan as too dangerous, we ought to have firmness enough to
renounce the satisfaction we promised ourselves in such a correspondence,
and rest satisfied with the acquaintance we had formed, the mutual
pleasure we had already derived, and the unalterable goodwill we felt
towards each other, which resulted from it. I filled four pages with my
explanations, and expressions of the warmest friendship; I briefly
alluded to the subject of my imprisonment; I spoke of my family with
enthusiastic love, as well as of some of my friends, and attempted to
draw a full picture of my mind and character.
In the evening I sent the letter. I had not slept during the preceding
night; I was completely exhausted, and I soon fell into a profound sleep,
from which I awoke on the ensuing morning, refreshed and comparatively
happy. I was in hourly expectation of receiving my new friend’s answer,
and I felt at once anxious and pleased at the idea.