ced at Lipara by the
telegram from here about the breach in the Therezia Dyke and how none
slept at the Imperial. We too were up all night, in St. Therezia's
Church. No such fearful inundation has been remembered for fifty years;
at the time of that which my father remembers in his childhood, the
Therezia Square was not flooded and the water only came as far, they
say, as the great iron-factory.

"How can I describe to you what I felt that night, while we were hoping
and waiting, hoping in turn that God and His Holy Mother would ward off
this disaster from us and waiting for the catastrophe to burst forth! We
stood on the pedestal of the equestrian statue, unable to do anything
more. Oh, that impotence about me, that impotence within me! I kept on
asking myself what I was there for, if I could do nothing to help my
people. Never before, dearest Mother, have I felt this feeling of
impotence, of inability to counteract the inevitable, so possess my
soul, until it was wholly filled with despair; but neither have I ever
so thoroughly realized that everything in life has its two sides, that
the greatest disaster has not only its black shadow but also its bright
side, for never, never have I felt so strongly and utterly, through my
despair, the love for our people, a thing that I did not yet know could
exist in our hearts as a truth, as I then felt it quivering all through
me; and this love gave me an immense melancholy at the thought that all
of them, the millions of souls of our empire, will never know, or, if
they did know, believe that I loved them so, loved them as though my own
blood ran in their veins. Nor do I wish to deceive myself and I well
know that I should never have this feeling at Lipara, but I have it
here, in our ancient city, which gives us all her sympathy. I feel here
that I myself am more of a Slav, like our Altarians, than a Latin, like
our southerners in Lipara and Thracyna; I feel here that I am of their
blood, a thing that I do not feel yonder.

"No doubt much has been said and written in the papers about the want of
tact of the Marquis of Dazzara, with his foolish guard-of-honour at the
station at our departure; be that as it may, I felt great sadness in the
train to think that, in spite of their having come to see me leave, they
did not seem to love me. I know you will again disapprove of this as
false sensitiveness on my part, but I cannot help it, my dear Mother: I
am like that, I am hypersensit