The following is another example to prove that my father did not deserve to be called cruel:—­

He thought it a bad practice to awaken children suddenly, or to let their sleep be abruptly disturbed.  If we had to rise early for a journey, he would come to my bedside and softly hum a popular song, two lines of which still ring in my ears:—­

     “Chi vuol veder l’aurora
     Lasci le molli plume.”

     (He who the early dawn would view
     Downy pillows must eschew.)

And by gradually raising his voice, he awoke me without the slightest start.  In truth, with all his severity, Heaven knows how I loved him.

THE PRIESTHOOD

From “My Recollections”

My occupations in Rome were not entirely confined to the domains of poetry and imagination.  It must not be forgotten that I was also a diplomatist; and in that capacity I had social as well as official duties to perform.

The Holy Alliance had accepted the confession and repentance of Murat, and had granted him absolution; but as the new convert inspired little confidence, he was closely watched, in the expectation—­and perhaps the hope—­of an opportunity of crowning the work by the infliction of penance.

The penance intended was to deprive him of his crown and sceptre, and to turn him out of the pale.  Like all the other diplomatists resident in Rome, we kept our court well informed of all that could be known or surmised regarding the intentions of the Neapolitan government; and I had the lively occupation of copying page after page of incomprehensible cipher for the newborn archives of our legation.  Such was my life at that time; and in spite of the cipher, I soon found it pleasant enough.  Dinner-parties, balls, routs, and fashionable society did not then inspire me with the holy horror which now keeps me away from them.  Having never before experienced or enjoyed anything of the kind, I was satisfied.  But in the midst of my pleasure, our successor—­Marquis San Saturnino—­made his appearance, and we had to prepare for our departure.  One consolation, however, remained.  I had just then been appointed to the high rank of cornet in the crack dragoon regiment “Royal Piedmont.”  I had never seen its uniform, but I cherished a vague hope of being destined by Fortune to wear a helmet; and the prospect of realizing this splendid dream of my infancy prevented me from regretting my Roman acquaintances overmuch.

The Society of Jesus had meanwhile been restored, and my brother was on the eve of taking the vows.  He availed himself of the last days left him before that ceremony to sit for his portrait to the painter Landi.  This is one of that artist’s best works, who, poor man, cannot boast of many; and it now belongs to my nephew Emanuel.

The day of the ceremony at length arrived, and I accompanied my brother to the Convent of Monte Cavallo, where it was to take place.