Thus, in spite of their absolute devotion to the prisoner’s interests, neither the duchess nor the Prime Minister had been able to do more than a very little for him. The prince was furious with Fabrizio; and both the court and the public had a grudge¹ against him, and were delighted to see him in trouble—his luck had been too remarkable². The duchess, though she had scattered³ money broadcast, had not been able to advance one step in her siege of the citadel⁴. Never a day passed but that the Marchesa Raversi or Cavaliere Riscara found some fresh word to drop into General Conti’s ear. Thus they strengthened his weakness.  
As we have already said, Fabrizio, on the day of his imprisonment⁵, was conducted, in the first place, to the governor’s palace. This is a pretty little building erected⁶ during the last century, after a design by Vanvitelli, who placed it at an elevation⁷ of a hundred and eighty feet, on the platform of the huge Round Tower. From the windows of this little palace, set like a camel’s hump on the back of the great tower, Fabrizio looked far out over the country, and to the Alps in the distance. At the foot of the citadel he could mark the course of the Parma, a sort of torrent⁸ which bends to the right, about four leagues from the city, and casts itself into the Po. Beyond the left bank of that river, which formed a succession of immense white stains upon the verdant¹⁰ green of the surrounding country, his delighted eye could distinctly recognise the peaks of the mighty¹¹ wall of the Alps, running right across the north of Italy. These peaks, which, even in the month of August, as it then was, are always covered with snow, cast a sort of memory of coolness across the blazing country. Every detail of their[324] outline can be followed, and yet they are more than thirty leagues from the citadel of Parma.
 
The wide view from the governor’s charming palace is broken, at one of its southern corners, by the Farnese Tower, in which a room was being hastily prepared for Fabrizio. This second tower was built, as my readers will perhaps remember, on the platform of the great tower, in honour of a certain hereditary¹² prince, who, far from following the example of Hippolytus, the son of Theseus, had turned a by no means deaf ear to the blandishments of a youthful stepmother. The princess died within a few hours; the son of the prince only regained¹³ his liberty some seventeen years later, when he ascended¹⁴ the throne after his father’s death. This Farnese Tower, to which Fabrizio was conducted after waiting some three-quarters of an hour, is externally a very ugly building, rising some fifty feet above the platform of the great tower, and adorned¹⁵ with a number of lightning conductors.
 
The prince, who had reason to be displeased¹⁶ with his wife, and who had caused the prison, which was visible from every quarter, to be constructed, conceived the strange notion of persuading his subjects that it had already been in existence for many years, and for this reason he dubbed¹⁷ it the Farnese Tower. Any reference to the progress of the building was forbidden; yet, from every corner of the city of Parma, and of the plains around it, the masons might be seen laying every stone that went to the composition of the pentagonal edifice¹⁸. To prove its ancient origin a magnificent bas-relief, representing Alessandro Farnese, the famous general, forcing Henry IV to retire from Paris, was placed above the doorway¹⁹, two feet wide and four high, which formed the entrance to the building. The Farnese Tower, standing²⁰ in this prominent position, consists of a ground floor apartment, at least forty paces long, broad in proportion, and full of very squat²¹ pillars, for the room, disproportionately large as it is, is not more than fifteen feet high. This is used as the guard-room, and in the middle of it the staircase runs up round one of the pillars—quite a small, open-work iron staircase, very light, and hardly two[325] feet wide. Up this staircase, which shook under the weight of the jailers who guarded him, Fabrizio was led into some huge rooms more than twenty feet high, which formed a magnificent first floor. They had once been furnished with the utmost splendour for the young prince who had spent the seventeen best years of his life in them. At one end of these rooms the new prisoner was shown a chapel²² of the greatest magnificence—the walls and vaulted²³ ceiling were entirely²⁴ cased with black marble; the pillars, which were also black, and of the most noble proportions, were set in rows along the black walls, though not touching²⁵ them; these walls were adorned with a number of skulls²⁶ of colossal²⁷ proportions, beautifully chiselled²⁸ in white marble, and each supported by two crossed bones. “That was certainly invented by the hatred²⁹ of a man who did not dare to kill,” said Fabrizio to himself. “What a devilish notion to show it to me!”
 
Another very light open-work iron staircase, also wound round a pillar, led to the second story of this prison, and it was in these second-story rooms, about fifteen feet high, that General Fabio Conti’s genius had been displaying itself for the past year. Under his directions, to begin with, the windows of the rooms, which had originally been occupied by the prince’s servants, and are over thirty feet above the stone flags forming the roof of the great Round Tower, were all securely covered with gratings. These rooms, each of which has two windows, are reached by a dark passage, running through the centre of the building, and across this very narrow passage Fabrizio noticed three successive gates, made of huge iron bars, and carried right up into the vaulted ceiling. The plans, sections, and elevations³⁰ of all these fine inventions had secured the general a weekly audience with his master for the two previous years. A conspirator³¹ immured³² in one of these dungeons³⁴ could not well appeal to public opinion on the score of inhuman³⁵ treatment, and yet he was precluded³⁶ from holding communication with any one on earth, or from making the smallest movement without being overheard. In each of these rooms the general had placed thick oaken planking, which formed[326] something like benches, three feet high; and here came in his great invention, that which established his claim to be appointed Minister of Police. On these planks³⁷ he had built a kind of wooden shed, ten feet high, and very resounding³⁸, which only touched the wall on the window side of the room. On the three other sides a narrow passage, some four feet wide, ran between the original walls of the prison, built of enormous hewn stones, and the wooden sides of the shed. These sides, made of four thicknesses of walnut³⁹ wood, oak, and deal, were strongly bound together by iron bolts, and innumerable nails.
 
It was into one of these rooms, which had been prepared a year previously⁴⁰, was considered General Fabio Conti’s masterpiece, and had received the resounding title of “Passive Obedience,” that Fabrizio was conducted. The view out of the barred windows was sublime⁴¹. Only one small corner of the horizon, that toward the northwest, was concealed⁴³ by the balustraded roof of the governor’s pretty palace, which was only two stories high. The ground floor was occupied by the officers of his staff, and Fabrizio’s eye was at once caught by one of the upper-floor windows, round which hung a great number of pretty cages, containing birds of every kind. While the jailers were moving about around him, Fabrizio entertained himself by listening to the birds’ singing, and watching their farewells to the last rays of the setting sun. This aviary⁴⁴ window was not more than five-and-twenty feet from one of his own, and some five or six feet below it, so that he looked down upon the birds.
 
There was a moon that night, and just as Fabrizio entered his prison, she rose in majesty⁴⁵ over the horizon on the right, from behind the Alps toward Treviso. It was only half past eight, and at the other end of the horizon, where the sun had just set, a brilliant red light, tinged⁴⁶ with orange, lay on the clear-cut outlines of Monte Viso, and the other Alpine⁴⁸ peaks, piled one above the other from Nice toward the Mont Cenis and Turin. Without another thought for his misfortunes, Fabrizio gave himself over to the emotion and delight roused by this splendid sight. “This, then, is[327] the wonderful world in which Clelia Conti lives. To her serious and pensive⁴⁹ soul this view must be specially⁵⁰ delightful⁵¹. One feels here just as one does in the lonely mountains a hundred leagues from Parma.” It was not till he had spent more than two hours at his window, admiring the view which appealed so strongly to his heart, and casting many a glance, meanwhile, at the governor’s pretty palace, that Fabrizio suddenly exclaimed: “But is this a prison? Is this what I have dreaded⁵³ so intensely?” Instead of discovering discomforts⁵⁴ and causes for bitterness at every step, our hero was falling in love with the delights of his dungeon³³.
 
Suddenly a frightful⁵⁵ noise roughly recalled his attention to the realities of life. His wooden room, which rather resembled a cage, and was especially remarkable for its resonant⁵⁶ qualities, was violently shaken; the barking of a dog and a number of little shrill⁵⁷ squeaks⁵⁸ made up a most extraordinary pandemonium⁵⁹. “What is this? Shall I be able to escape so soon?” thought Fabrizio. A moment afterward⁶⁰ he was laughing, as perhaps no prisoner ever laughed before. By the general’s orders, the jailers had brought up with them an English dog, very savage⁶¹, which had been told off to keep guard over the more important officers, and which was to spend the night in the space so ingeniously contrived⁶³ all round Fabrizio’s cage. The dog and the jailer were both to sleep in the aperture⁶⁴, three feet deep, between the flag-stones of the original flooring of the room and the wooden boards, upon which the prisoner could not take a step without being heard.
 
Now, when Fabrizio entered the room called “Passive Obedience,” it had been in possession of about a hundred huge rats, who had taken to flight in all directions. The dog, a sort of cross between a spaniel and an English fox-terrier, was not good-looking, but was exceedingly sharp. It had been fastened to the flagged pavement below the floor of the wooden room, but when it smelled the rats close beside it, it struggled so desperately⁶⁵ that it contrived to slip its collar. Then began the mighty battle, the noise of which had disturbed Fabrizio, and roused him out of his[328] anything but unpleasant dream. The rats, which had been able to escape the first onset⁶⁶, took refuge in the wooden room, and the dog followed them up the six steps which led from the stone pavement to Fabrizio’s shed. Then a far more terrible racket began. The wooden shell was shaken to its very foundations. Fabrizio laughed like a lunatic, till the tears ran down his cheeks; Grillo, the jailer, who was laughing just as heartily⁶⁷, had shut the door. The dog was not the least incommoded in his hunt by the furniture, for the room was absolutely bare; the only thing to interfere⁶⁸ with his bounds upon his prey⁶⁹ was an iron stove standing in one corner. When the dog had destroyed all his enemies, Fabrizio called to him, patted him, and succeeded in making friends with him. “If ever this fellow should see me jumping over some wall,” said he to himself, “he will not bark at me.” But this cunning policy was a mere⁷⁰ pretence⁷¹ on his part. In his state of mind at that moment, it was a delight to him to play with the dog. By a strange whimsicality, on which he did not reflect, there was a sense of secret joy at the bottom of his heart.
 
When he had run about with the dog till he was out of breath—
 
“What is your name?” said Fabrizio to the jailer.
 
“Grillo, at your Excellency’s service, in everything that the regulations will permit.”
 
“Well, my good Grillo, a fellow of the name of Giletti tried to murder me in the middle of the road. I defended my life, and killed him. I should kill him again, if it had to be done. But none the less I will live a cheery life as long as I am your guest. Ask leave from your chiefs, and then go fetch me some linen⁷² from the Palazzo Sanseverina, and bring me plenty of nébieu d’Asti.”
 
This is a fairly good effervescent wine, made in Piedmont, in the country of Alfieri, and which is highly esteemed⁷³, especially by that class to which jailers generally belong. Eight or ten of these gentry⁷⁴ were engaged in moving various ancient and highly gilt⁷⁵ pieces of furniture, taken from the prince’s apartments on the first floor, into Fabrizio’s wooden room, and they all carefully treasured up their prisoner’s remark in favour of Asti wine. In spite of all their efforts, the arrangements for Fabrizio’s first night were rather pitiful; but the only thing that seemed to distress⁷⁶ him was the absence of a bottle of good nébieu. “He seems a good fellow,” said the jailers as they departed, “and we must only hope one thing—that our chiefs will let his friends pass money in to him.”
 
When he was left alone, and had settled down a little after all the noise, “Is it possible that this can be a prison?” said Fabrizio to himself, as he looked out over the mighty horizon stretching from Treviso to the Monte Viso, the huge chain of the Alps, the snow-covered peaks, and the stars above them. “And this my first night in a prison, too! I can imagine that Clelia Conti must delight in this aerial solitude⁷⁷. Here we are a thousand leagues above the meannesses and wickednesses which make up our life down there. If those birds there, under my window, belong to her, I shall see her.… Will she blush when she sees me?” When slumber⁷⁸ overtook him, in the small hours of the morning, the prisoner was still debating this great question.
 
On the very morning after that first night in prison, during which Fabrizio had not once felt impatient, he was reduced to holding conversations with Fox, the English dog. Grillo, the jailer, still looked at him with the most kindly⁷⁹ eyes, but a newly issued order had sealed his lips, and he brought his prisoner neither linen nor nébieu.
 
“Shall I see Clelia?” thought Fabrizio as he woke. “But do those birds really belong to her?” The birds in question were beginning to chirp⁸⁰ and sing, and at that height, theirs was the only noise that fell upon the air. The deep silence which reigned⁸¹ at that altitude was a most novel and pleasurable sensation to Fabrizio. He listened with delight to the little fitful, lively warbling with which his neighbours the birds greeted the sun. “If they are hers, she will come for an instant into that room under my window.” And while he watched the huge ranges of the Alps, against the nearer tier of which the citadel of Parma seemed to project like an outwork, his eyes came back perpetually to the splendid satin-wood and mahogany cages, with their gilded⁸² wires, which stood in the middle of the bright room which had been transformed into an aviary. It was not till later that Fabrizio found out that this room was the only one on the second floor of the palace which had any shade between eleven o’clock and four; it was screened by the Farnese Tower.
 
“What will my grief be,” said Fabrizio to himself, “if, instead of that modest and thoughtful face which I expect, and which, perhaps, will blush a little at the sight of me, I behold⁸³ the coarse countenance⁸⁴ of some vulgar waiting-maid, who has been sent to supply the birds’ necessities? But if I do see Clelia, will she condescend⁸⁵ to notice me? Faith, I must risk some indiscretion, so as to attract her attention. Some privileges must surely be allowed to a man in my position. And besides, we two are alone here, and far away from all the world. I am a prisoner, and what General Conti and wretches⁸⁷ of his kind probably regard as their inferior, … but she has so much cleverness, or rather so much heart, as the count believes, that perhaps, even as he says, she despises her father’s trade. That would account for her melancholy⁸⁸. A noble reason, truly, for her sadness. But, after all, I am not a complete stranger to her.… What modest grace there was in her greeting to me yesterday evening! I remember very well that when I met her near Como I said to her, ‘Some day I shall go to see your beautiful pictures at Parma. Will you then remember this name—Fabrizio del Dongo?’ Has she forgotten it? She was so young!
 
“But now I think of it,” said Fabrizio in astonishment⁸⁹, and breaking off the thread of his thoughts, “I am forgetting to be angry! Can it be that I possess a mighty courage, like that of which the ancients gave a few instances to the world? Am I a hero, with no suspicion of the fact? What! I, who dreaded prison so bitterly, here am I in a dungeon, and I can not remember to be sad! How true it is that the dread⁵² of the evil is a hundred times worse than the evil itself! How is this? Must I argue myself into grief at finding myself in this prison, which, so Blanès said, may as likely last ten years as ten months? Can it be the strangeness of my new surroundings which diminishes the distress I ought to feel? Perhaps this unreasoning cheerfulness, which is quite independent of my own will, will come to a sudden end? Perhaps in another instant I shall fall into the black gloom which ought to overwhelm me?
 
“In any case, it is a very astonishing thing that I should be in prison, and that I should have to argue with myself before I can feel sad. Upon my word, I come back to my old inference; perhaps I am a great man, after all!”
 
Fabrizio’s musings were broken by the arrival of the carpenter of the fortress⁹⁰, who came to take measurements for a screen for his windows. This was the first occasion on which this room had been occupied as a prison, and its completion in this essential particular had been overlooked.
 
“Then,” said Fabrizio, “I shall be deprived of that splendid view?” and he tried to feel sad over the loss. “But what,” he cried suddenly, speaking to the carpenter, “I shall not be able to see those pretty birds!”
 
“Ah, the signorina’s birds, that she’s so fond of,” said the man, a kind-looking fellow. “They will be hidden, blocked out, swallowed up, like all the rest.”
 
Talking was as strictly⁹¹ forbidden to the carpenter as to the jailer, but this man pitied the prisoner’s youth. He told him that the huge screens, which were to rest on the sills of the two windows, and run outward from the walls in proportion to their height, were to prevent the prisoners from seeing anything but the sky. “It is done,” he added, “with the view of impressing their minds, so as to increase a salutary feeling of sadness, and fill the prisoners’ souls with a desire to amend⁹² their ways. Another invention of the general’s,” added the carpenter, “is to take out the window-glass and replace it with sheets of oiled paper.”
 
Fabrizio was much taken with the epigrammatic tone of this conversation, seldom met with in Italy.
 
“I should very much like to have a bird to cheer me, I am so fond of them. Buy me one from the Signorina Clelia Conti’s maid.”
 
“What!” exclaimed the carpenter; “you must know her, if you tell her name so plainly.”
 
“Who is there that has not heard of that famous beauty? But I have had the honour of meeting her several times at court.”
 
“The poor young lady has a very dull life here,” continued the carpenter. “She spends her whole time over there with her birds. This morning she has had some fine orange trees bought, and has ordered them to be placed at the door of the tower, just under your window. If it were not for the cornice you would be able to see them.” Certain words in this reply had been very precious to Fabrizio; he devised some friendly pretext⁹³ for bestowing⁹⁴ a gift of money upon the carpenter.
 
“I am doing wrong twice over,” said the man. “I am talking to............