MEANWHILE, our prison dresses were making for us, and five days
afterwards mine was brought to me. It consisted of a pair of pantaloons
made of rough cloth, of which the right side was grey, the left of a dark
colour. The waistcoat was likewise of two colours equally divided, as
well as the jacket, but with the same colours placed on the contrary
sides. The stockings were of the coarsest wool; the shirt of linen tow
full of sharp points—a true hair-cloth garment; and round the neck was a
piece of the same kind. Our legs were enveloped in leather buskins,
untanned, and we wore a coarse white hat.
This costume was not complete without the addition of chains to the feet,
that is, extending from one leg to the other, the joints being fastened
with nails, which were riveted upon an anvil. The blacksmith employed
upon my legs, in this operation, observed to one of the guards, thinking
I knew nothing of German, “So ill as he is, one would think they might
spare him this sort of fun; ere two months be over, the angel of death
will loosen these rivets of mine.”
“_Möchte es seyn_! may it be so!” was my reply, as I touched him upon the
shoulder. The poor fellow started, and seemed quite confused; he then
said; “I hope I may be a false prophet; and I wish you may be set free by
another kind of angel.”
“Yet, rather than live thus, think you not, it would be welcome even from
the angel of death?” He nodded his head, and went away, with a look of
deep compassion for me.
I would truly have been willing to die, but I felt no disposition towards
suicide. I felt confident that the disease of my lungs would be enough,
ere long, to give me freedom. Such was not the will of God. The fatigue
of my journey had made me much worse, but rest seemed again to restore my
powers.
A few minutes after the blacksmith left me, I heard the hammer sounding
upon the anvil in one of the caverns below. Schiller was then in my
room. “Do you hear those blows?” I said; “they are certainly fixing the
irons on poor Maroncelli.” The idea for the moment was so overwhelming,
that if the old man had not caught me, I should have fallen. For more
than half an hour, I continued in a kind of swoon, and yet I was
sensible. I could not speak, my pulse scarcely beat at all; a cold sweat
bathed me from head to foot. Still I could hear all that Schiller said,
and had a keen perception, both of what had passed and was passing.
By command of the superintendent and the activity of the guards, the
whole of the adjacent prisons had been kept in a state of profound
silence. Three or four times I had caught snatches of some Italian song,
but they were quickly stifled by the calls of the sentinels on duty.
Several of these were stationed upon the ground-floor, under our windows,
and one in the gallery close by, who was continually engaged in listening
at the doors and looking through the bars to forbid every kind of noise.
Once, towards evening (I feel the same sort of emotion whenever I recur
to it), it happened that the sentinels were less on the alert; and I
heard in a low but clear voice some one singing in a prison adjoining my
own. What joy, what agitation I felt at the sound. I rose from my bed
of straw, I bent my ear; and when it ceased—I burst into tears. “Who art
thou, unhappy one?” I cried, “who art thou? tell me thy name! I am
Silvio Pellico.”
“Oh, Silvio!” cried my neighbour, “I know you not by person, but I have
long loved you. Get up to your window, and let us speak to each other,
in spite of the jailers.”
I crawled up as well as I could; he told me his name, and we exchanged
few words of kindness. It was the Count Antonio Oroboni, a native of
Fratta, near Rovigo, and only twenty-nine years of age. Alas! we were
soon interrupted by the ferocious cries of the sentinels. He in the
gallery knocked as loud as he could with the butt-end of his musket, both
at the Count’s door and at mine. We would not, and we could not obey;
but the noise, the oaths, and threats of the guards were such as to drown
our voices, and after arranging that we would resume our communications,
upon a change of guards, we ceased to converse.