FullReads

“No. He appears to be trying to take a stain out of one of his yellow gauntlets.”

“No such thing. He is noting down your features–taking a written portrait of you, as the man who sat at breakfast with me on a certain morning of a certain month. Take my word for it, some day or other when you purchase a hat too tall in the crown, or you are seen to wear your whiskers a trifle too long or bushy, an intimation will reach you at your hotel, that the Prefect would like to talk with you; the end of which will be the question, ‘Whether there is not a friend you are most anxious to meet in Switzerland, or if you have not an uncle impatient to see you at Trieste?’ And yet,” added he, after a pause, “the Piedmontese are models of liberality and legality in comparison with the officials in the south. In Sicily, for instance, the laws are more corruptly administered than in Turkey. I’ll tell you a case, which was, however, more absurd than anything else. An English official, well known at Messina, and on the most intimate terms with the Prefect, came back from a short shooting-excursion he had made into the interior, half frantic with the insolence of the servants at a certain inn. The proprietor was absent, and the waiter and the cook–not caring, perhaps, to be disturbed for a single traveller–had first refused flatly to admit him; and afterwards, when he had obtained entrance, treated him to the worst of food, intimating at the same time it was better than he was used to, and plainly giving him to understand that on the very slightest provocation they were prepared to give him a sound thrashing. Boiling over with passion, he got back to Messina, and hastened to recount his misfortunes to his friend in power.

“‘Where did it happen?’ asked the hard-worked Prefect, with folly enough on his hands without having to deal with the sorrows of Great Britons.

“‘At Spalla deMonte.’

“‘When?’

“‘On Wednesday last, the 23d.’

“‘What do you want me to do with them?’

“‘To punish them, of course.’

“‘How–in what way?’

“‘How do I know? Send them to jail.’

“‘For how long?’

“‘A month if you can–a fortnight at least.’

“‘What are the names?’ asked the Prefect, who all this time continued to write, filling up certain blanks in some printed formula before him.

“‘How should I know their names? I can only say that one was the cook, the other the waiter.’

“‘There!’ said the Prefect, tossing two sheets of printed and written-over paper towards him–‘there! tell the landlord to fill in the fellows’ names and surnames, and send that document to the Podesta. They shall have four weeks, and with hard labour.’

“The Englishman went his way rejoicing. He despatched the missive, and felt his injuries were avenged.

“Two days after, however, a friend dropped in, and in the course of conversation mentioned that he had just come from Spalla de Monte, where he had dined so well and met such an intelligent waiter; ‘which, I own,’ said he, ‘surprised me, for I had heard of their having insulted some traveller last week very grossly.’

“The Englishman hurried off to the Prefecture. ‘We are outraged, insulted, laughed at!’ cried he: ‘those fellows you ordered to prison are at large. They mock your authority and despise it.’

“A mounted messenger was sent off at speed to bring up the landlord to Messina, and he appeared the next morning, pale with fear and trembling. He owned that the Prefect’s order had duly reached him, that he had understood it thoroughly; ‘but, Eccellenza,’ said he, crying, ‘it was the shooting season; people were dropping in every day. Where was I to find a cook or a waiter? I must have closed the house if I parted with them; so, not to throw contempt on your worship’s order, I sent two of the stablemen to jail in their place, and a deal of good it will do them.'”

While I was laughing heartily at this story, my companion turned towards the gendarme and said, “Have you made a note of his teeth? you see they are tolerably regular, but one slightly overlaps the other in front.”

“Signor Generale,” said the other, reddening, “I’ll make a note of your tongue, which will do quite as well.”

“Bravo!” said the Garibaldian; “better said than I could have given you credit for. I’ll not keep you any longer from your dinner. Will you bear me company,” asked he of me, “as far as Chiavari? It’s a fine day, and we shall have a pleasant drive.”

I agreed, and we started.

The road was interesting, the post-horses which we took at Borghetto went well, and the cigars were good, and somehow we said very little to each other as we went.

“This is the real way to travel,” said my companion; “a man to smoke with and no bother of talking; there’s Chiavari in the hollow.”

I nodded, and never spoke.

“Are you inclined to come on to Genoa?”

“No.”

And soon after we parted–whether ever to meet again or not is not so easy to say, nor of very much consequence to speculate on.