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The Strange Man’s Sorrow
by
“‘And who, in the name of all Utopia, wants to force it?’ cried I; for, as they talked so openly, I thought I might interpose as frankly.
“He never seemed to resent my remark as obtrusive, but said quietly, ‘Who knows? the French perhaps–perhaps your own people one of these days.’
“I’d like to have said, but I didn’t, ‘We could walk in and walk out here, with our iron-clads, as coolly as a man goes out in the rain with a mackintosh.’
“They remained fully an hour, talking as freely as if I was born deaf and dumb. At last they arose to leave, and the owl-faced man–he looked exactly like an owl–said, with a little grin, ‘We’re going to disturb you again.’
“‘How so?’ cried I; ‘you can’t smelt lead here.’
“‘No, but we’re going to make an arsenal. Where you stand now will be a receiving-dock, and that garden of yours a patent slip. You’ll have to clear out before the New Year.’
“‘Who is he? who is that with the spectacles?’ asked I of one of the servants, who waited outside with cloaks and umbrellas.
“‘That’s the Conte di Cavour,’ said the fellow, haughtily; and thus was the whole murder out at once. They turned me out, sir, in two months, and I never ventured to take a lease of a place till he died. After that event, I purchased a little spot on the island of Tino yonder, and built myself a cottage. They could neither smelt metal nor build a ship there, and I hugged myself at the thought of safety. But, would you believe it? last week–only last week–his successor, in rummaging over Cavour’s papers in the Foreign Office, comes upon a packet labelled ‘Spezia,’ and discovers a memorandum in these words, ‘The English Admiral, at dinner to-day, laughed at the idea of defending the mouth of the Gulf from the island. He said the entrance should be two-thirds closed by a breakwater, and a strong fort a fleur d’eau built on Tino. I have thought of it all night; he is perfectly right, and I’ll do it;’ and here, sir,” said my companion, drawing a paper from his pocket, “is a ‘sommation’ from the minister to surrender my holding on Tino, receiving a due compensation for the same, and once more betake myself, heaven knows where; for, though the great Count Cavour is dead and gone, his grand intentions are turning up every day, out of drawers and pigeonholes, and I shrewdly suspect that neither Pio Nono nor myself will live to see the last of them.”