PORDENONE, Conegliano, Ospedaletto, Vicenza, Verona, and Mantua, were all
places which interested my feelings. In the first resided one of my
friends, an excellent young man, who had survived the campaigns of
Russia; Conegliano was the district whither, I was told by the
under-jailers, poor Angiola had been conducted; and in Ospedaletto there
had married and resided a young lady, who had more of the angel than the
woman, and who, though now no more, I had every reason to remember with
the highest respect. The whole of these places, in short, revived
recollections more or less dear; and Mantua more than any other city. It
appeared only yesterday that I had come with Lodovico in 1815, and paid
another visit with Count Porro in 1820. The same roads, the same
squares, the same palaces, and yet such a change in all social relations!
So many of my connections snatched away for ever—so many exiled—one
generation, I had beheld when infants, started up into manhood. Yet how
painful not to be allowed to call at a single house, or to accost a
single person we met.
To complete my misery, Mantua was the point of separation between
Maroncelli and myself. We passed the night there, both filled with
forebodings and regret. I felt agitated like a man on the eve of
receiving his sentence.
The next morning I rose, and washed my face, in order to conceal from my
friend how much I had given way to grief during the preceding night. I
looked at myself in the glass, and tried to assume a quiet and even
cheerful air. I then bent down in prayer, though ill able to command my
thoughts; and hearing Maroncelli already upon his crutches, and speaking
to the servant, I hastened to embrace him. We had both prepared
ourselves, with previous exertions, for this closing interview, and we
spoke to each other firmly, as well as affectionately. The officer
appointed to conduct us to the borders of Romagna appeared; it was time
to set out; we hardly knew how to speak another word; we grasped each
other’s hands again and again,—we parted; he mounted into his vehicle,
and I felt as if I had been annihilated at a blow. I returned into my
chamber, threw myself upon my knees, and prayed for my poor mutilated
friend, thus separated from me, with sighs and tears.
I had known several celebrated men, but not one more affectionately
sociable than Maroncelli; not one better educated in all respects, more
free from sudden passion or ill-humour, more deeply sensible that virtue
consists in continued exercises of tolerance, of generosity, and good
sense. Heaven bless you, my dear companion in so many afflictions, and
send you new friends who may equal me in my affection for you, and
surpass me in true goodness.