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"I believe it is."
Every day I inquired respecting the unhappy man. "He has lost his
voice; he is rather better; he is delirious; he is nearly gone; he
spits blood; he is dying;" were the usual replies; till at length
came the last of all, "He is dead."
I shed a tear to his memory, and consoled myself with thinking that
he died ignorant of the sentence which awaited him.
The day following, the 21st of February, 1822, the jailer came for
me about ten o'clock, and conducted me into the Hall of the
Commission. The members were all seated, but they rose; the
President, the Inquisitor, and two assisting Judges.--The first,
with a look of deep commiseration, acquainted me that my sentence
had arrived; that it was a terrible one; but that the clemency of
the Emperor had mitigated it.
The Inquisitor, fixing his eye on me, then read it:- "Silvio
Pellico, condemned to death; the imperial decree is, that the
sentence be commuted for fifteen years hard imprisonment in the
fortress of Spielberg."
"The will of God be done!" was my reply.
It was really my intention to bear this horrible blow like a
Christian, and neither to exhibit nor to feel resentment against any
one whatever. The President then commended my state of mind, warmly
recommending me to persevere in it, and that possibly by affording
an edifying example, I might in a year or two be deemed worthy of
receiving further favours from the imperial clemency.
Instead, however, of one or two, it was many years before the full
sentence was remitted.
The other judges also spoke encouragingly to me. One of them,
indeed, had appeared my enemy on my trial, accosting me in a
courteous but ironical tone, while his look of insulting triumph
seemed to belie his words. I would not make oath it was so, but my
blood was then boiling, and I was trying to smother my passion.
While they were praising me for my Christian patience, I had not a
jot of it left me. "To-morrow," continued the Inquisitor, "I am
sorry to say, you must appear and receive your sentence in public.
It is a formality which cannot be dispensed with."
"Be it so!" I replied.
"From this time we grant you the company of your friend," he added.
Then calling the jailer, he consigned me into his hands, ordering
that I should be placed in the same dungeon with Maroncelli.
CHAPTER LII.
It was a delightful moment, when, after a separation of three
months, and having suffered so greatly, I met my friend. For some
moments we forgot even the severity of our sentence, conscious only
of each other's presence.
But I soon turned from my friend to perform a more serious duty--
that of writing to my father. I was desirous that the first tidings
of my sad lot should reach my family from myself; in order that the
grief which I knew they would all feel might be at least mitigated
by hearing my state of mind, and the sentiments of peace and
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