I WAS now presented with a sheet of paper and ink, in order that I might
write to my parents.
As in point of strictness the permission was only given to a dying man,
desirous of bidding a last adieu to his family, I was apprehensive that
the letter being now of different tenour, it would no longer be sent upon
its destination. I confined myself to the simple duty of beseeching my
parents, my brothers, and my sisters, to resign themselves without a
murmur to bear the lot appointed me, even as I myself was resigned to the
will of God.
This letter was, nevertheless, forwarded, as I subsequently learnt. It
was, in fact, the only one which, during so long protracted a captivity,
was received by my family; the rest were all detained at Vienna. My
companions in misfortune were equally cut off from all communication with
their friends and families.
We repeatedly solicited that we might be allowed the use of pen and paper
for purposes of study, and that we might purchase books with our own
money. Neither of these petitions was granted.
The governor, meanwhile, permitted us to read our own books among each
other. We were indebted also to his goodness for an improvement in our
diet; but it did not continue. He had consented that we should be
supplied from the kitchen of the superintendent instead of that of the
contractor; and some fund had been put apart for that purpose. The
order, however, was not confirmed; but in the brief interval it was in
force my health had greatly improved. It was the same with Maroncelli;
but for the unhappy Oroboni it came too late. He had received for his
companion the advocate Solera, and afterwards the priest, Dr. Fortini.
We were no sooner distributed through the different prisons than the
prohibition to appear or to converse at our windows was renewed, with
threats that, if detected, the offenders would be consigned to utter
solitude. We often, it is true, broke through this prison-law, and
saluted each other from our windows, but no longer engaged in long
conversations as we had before done.
In point of disposition, Maroncelli and I were admirably suited to each
other. The courage of the one sustained the other; if one became violent
the other soothed him; if buried in grief or gloom, he sought to rouse
him; and one friendly smile was often enough to mitigate the severity of
our sufferings, and reconcile each other to life.
So long as we had books, we found them a delightful relief, not only by
reading, but by committing them to memory. We also examined, compared,
criticised, and collated, &c. We read and we reflected great part of the
day in silence, and reserved the feast of conversation for the hours of
dinner, for our walks, and the evenings.
While in his subterranean abode, Maroncelli had composed a variety of
poems of high merit. He recited them and produced others. Many of these
I committed to memory. It is astonishing with what facility I was
enabled, by this exercise, to repeat very extensive compositions, to give
them additional polish, and bring them to the highest possible perfection
of which they were susceptible, even had I written them down with the
utmost care. Maroncelli did the same, and, by degrees, retained by heart
many thousand lyric verses, and epics of different kinds. It was thus,
too, I composed the tragedy of _Leoniero da Dertona_, and various other
works.