He slept no more during the night. And the good that had seemed to
him, as he sate in his box at the opera, more desirable than all the
other goods the world could give, seemed good no longer; seemed, in
the dark stillness of his night-thoughts, like a painted bait, with
which the arch-tempter was luring him to his ruin and destruction.
Restlessly turning on his bed with a deep sigh, and pressing his hot
hand to his yet hotter brow, he took the letter that had been
brought him, and saw that it was from his Roman friend and
correspondent, Monsignore Paterini:
"Illusmo Signor Marchese E Mio Buono E Colendmo Amico," the letter
ran--"Seeing that the subject of my letter is matter adapted rather
to Carnival than to Lenten tide, I hasten to write so that it may
reach your lordship before the festive season is over. That your
friends in Rome are never forgetful of one, who so eminently
deserves all their best thoughts and good wishes, I trust I need not
tell you. But in this our Rome, where so many interests are the
unceasing care of so many powerful friends and backers, it needs
such merit as that of your lordship to make the efforts of friends
successful."
"Understand, then, that his Holiness has been kept constantly aware
of all that Ravenna--the welfare of which ancient and noble city is
especially dear to him--owes to your constant and intelligent
efforts for the advancement of true civilization and improvement, as
distinguished from all that innovators, uninfluenced by the spirit
of religion, vainly, boast as such.
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