Chapter XXXIII: Conclusion

A philosopher has remarked that greatness must be renounced before it can be appreciated; the same thing might have been said of fortune, happiness, or any mode of enjoyment liable to become habitual.

Never had the poor captive of Fenestrella so venerated the wisdom of Girardi, the charms and virtues of his daughter, as after the departure of his two companions! Profound sadness succeeded to this momentary elation. The efforts of Ludovico, the attentions required by Picciola, were insufficient to divert his attention from his sorrows. But at length, the sources of consolation he had derived from the study of nature brought forth their fruit; and the depressed Charney gradually resumed his strength of mind.

His last stroke of affliction had perfected the happy frame of his feelings. His first impulse had been to bless the loneliness which afforded his whole leisure to muse upon his absent friends; but eventually he learned to behold with satisfaction a new guest seated in the vacant place of the old man.

His first and most assiduous visitor was the chaplain of the prison, even the worthy priest whom during his illness he had so harshly repulsed. Apprised by Ludovico of the state of despair to which the prisoner was reduced, he made his appearance, forgetful of the past, to offer his good offices, which were received with courtesy and gratitude. More amicably disposed than formerly towards mankind, the Count soon became favourably, nay, even affectionately disposed towards the man of God; and the rustic seat became once more the bench of conference. The philosopher loved to enlarge upon the wonders of his plant, the wonders of nature, and repeat the lessons of the excellent Girardi; while the priest, without bringing forward a single dogma of religion, contented himself, in the first instance, with reciting the sublime moral lessons of Christianity: grounding their strength upon the principles already imbibed by the votary of natural religion.

The second visitor was the commandant; and Charney now discovered that Morand was essentially a good sort of man, whose heart was militarily disciplined; that is, disposed to torment the unfortunate beings under his charge no farther than he was necessitated by the letter of government instructions. So just, too, did he show himself in his appreciation of the merits of the two prisoners recently released, as almost to put Charney into good humour with petty tyranny.

But all this was soon to end; and it became Charney’s turn to bid adieu to the priest and the captain. One fine day, when least prepared for the concession, the gates of his prison opened, and he was set at liberty!

On Napoleon’s return from Austerlitz, incessantly importuned by Josephine (who had probably some person besetting her in turn with supplications in favour of the prisoner of Fenestrella), the Emperor caused an inquiry to be made into the nature of the papers seized among the effects of the Count de Charney. The cambric manuscripts were accordingly forwarded to the Tuileries, from the archives of the police, where they had been deposited; and, attracted by the singularity of their appearance, Napoleon himself deigned to investigate the indications of treason contained in their mysterious records.

“The Count de Charney is a madman,” exclaimed the Emperor, after most deliberate examination; “a visionary and a madman; but not the dangerous person represented to me. He who could submit his powers of mind to the influence of a sorry weed, may have in him the making of an excellent botanist, but not of a conspirator. He is pardoned! Let his estates be restored to him, that he may cultivate there, unmolested, his own fields, and his taste for natural history.”

Need it be added that the Count did not loiter at Fenestrella after receiving this welcome intelligence; or that he did not quit the fortress alone? but, transplanted into a solid case, filled with good earth, Picciola made her triumphal exit from her gloomy birth-place—Picciola, to whom he owed his life—nay, more than life—his insight into the wondrous works of God, and the joys resulting from peace and good-will towards mankind—Picciola, by whom he has been betrayed into the toils of love—Picciola, through whose influence, finally, he is released from bondage!

As Charney was about to cross the drawbridge of the citadel, a rude hand was suddenly extended towards him. “_Eccellenza!_” said Ludovico, repressing his rising emotion, “give us your hand! we may be friends now that you are going away—now that you are about to leave us—now that we shall see your face no more! Thank Heaven, we may be friends!”

Charney heartily embraced him. “We _shall_ meet again, my good Ludovico,” cried he; “I promise you that you do not see me for the last time.” And, having shaken both the hands of the jailer again and again with the utmost cordiality, the Count quitted the fortress.

After his carriage had traversed the esplanade, and left far behind the mountain on which the citadel is situated, crossed the bridge over the Clusone, and attained the Suza road, a voice still continued crying aloud from the ramparts, “_Addio, Signor Conte! Addio, addio, Picciola!_”

Six months afterwards, a rich equipage stopped at the gate of the state prison of Fenestrella; from which alighted a traveller inquiring for Ludovico Ritti: the former prisoner was come to pay a visit to his jailer! A young lady, richly attired, was leaning tenderly upon his arm—Teresa Girardi, now Countess de Charney. Together, the young couple visited the little court and the miserable camera, so long the abode of weariness, scepticism, and despair. Of all the sentences which had formerly disfigured the wall, one only had been suffered to remain—

“Learning, wit, beauty, youth, fortune, are insufficient to confer happiness upon man.”

To which the gentle hand of Teresa now added, “if unshared by affection”—and a kiss, deposited by Charney upon her lovely cheek, seemed to confirm her emendation.

The Count was come to request Ludovico would stand godfather to his first-born child, which was to make its appearance before the close of the year; and, the object of their mission accomplished, the young couple proceeded to Turin, where, in his beautiful villa, Girardi was awaiting their return.

There, in a garden closely adjoining his own apartment, in the centre of a rich parterre, warmed and brightened by the beams of the setting sun, Charney had deposited his beloved plant, out of reach of all danger or obstruction. By his especial order, no hand but his own was to minister to her culture. He alone was to watch over Picciola. It was an occupation, a duty, a tax eternally adopted by his gratitude.

How quickly—how enchantingly did his days now glide along! In the midst of exquisite gardens, on the banks of a beautiful stream, under an auspicious sky, Charney was the happiest of the human kind! Time imparted only additional strength to the ties in which he had enchained himself; as the ivy cements and consolidates the wall it embraces. The friendship of Girardi, the tenderness of Teresa, the attachment of all who resided under his roof, conspired to form his happiness, perfected at the happy moment when he heard himself saluted as a father.

Charney’s affection for his son soon seemed to rival that he bore his young and lovely wife. He was never weary of contemplating and adoring them, and could scarcely make up his mind to lose sight of them for a moment. And lo! when Ludovico Ritti arrived from Fenestrella to fulfil his promise to the Count, and proceeded to visit, in the first instance, his original god-daughter—the god-daughter of the prison—he found that amid all this domestic happiness—all these transports of joy and affection—all the rapture and prosperity brightening the home of the Count and Countess de Charney, PICCIOLA had been forgotten—_La povera Picciola_ had died of neglect, unnoticed and unlamented. The appointed task was over. The herb of grace had nothing farther to unfold to the happy husband, father, and believer!

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