ITALIAN TRAVEL, ROADS, INNS.--A GRAND BREAKDOWN.--AN ARMY OF
BEGGARS.--SIX MEN HUNTING UP A CARRIAGE WHEEL; AND PLANS OF THE
SENATOR FOR THE GOOD OF ITALY.
On the following morning the Senator was picked up at the gate,
where he had waited patiently ever since the dawn of day. His seat
was secured. His friends were around him. He was safe. They rolled
on merrily all that day. And their carriage was ahead of that of
the Spaniards. They stopped at the same inns. Buttons was happy.
The next day came. At nine o'clock A.M. on the next day there was
a singular scene:
A vettura with the fore-wheel crushed into fragments; two horses
madly plunging; five men thrown in different directions on a soft
sand-bank; and a driver gazing upon the scene with a face of woe.
The Senator tried most energetically to brush the dust from his
clothes with an enormous red silk handkerchief; the Doctor and Mr.
Figgs looked aghast at huge rents in their nether garments; Buttons
and Dick picked themselves up and hurried to the wreck.
The emotions of the former may be conceived. The wheel was an utter
smash. No patching however thorough, no care however tender, could
place it on its edge again a perfect wheel. A hill rose before
them, behind which the Spaniards, hitherto their companions, had
disappeared half an hour previously, and were now rolling on over
the palin beyond that hill all ignorant of this disaster. Every
moment separated them more widely from the despairing Buttons.
Could he have metamorphosed himself into a wheel most gladly would
he have done it. He had wild thoughts of setting off on foot and
catching up to them before the next day. But, of course, further
reflection showed him that walking was out of the question.
Dick looked on in silence. They were little more than a day's
journey from Rome. Civita Castellana lay between; yet perhaps a
wheel might not be got at Civita Castellana. In that case a
return to Rome was inevitable. What a momentous thought! Back to
Rome! Ever since he left he had felt a profound melancholy. The
feeling of homesickness was on him. He had amused himself with
keeping his eyes shut and fancying that he was moving to Rome
instead of from it. He had repented leaving the city. Better, he
thought, to have waited. He might then have seen Pepita. The
others gradually came to survey the scene.
"Eh? Well, what's to be done now?" said Buttons, sharply, as
the driver came along. "How long are you going to wait?"
"Signore makes no allowance for a poor man's confusion. Behold
that wheel! What is there for me to do--unhappy? May the bitter
curse of the ruined fall upon that miserable wheel!"
[Illustration: Travelling In Italy.]
"The coach has already fallen on it," said Dick. "Surely that is
enough."
"It infuriates me to find myself overthrown here."
"You could not wish for a better place, my Pietro."
"What will you do?" said Buttons. "We must not waste time here.
Can we go on?"
"How is that possible?"
"We might get a wheel at the next town."
"We could not find one if we hunted all through the three next
towns."
"Curse your Italian towns!" cried Buttons, in a rage.
"Certainly, Signore, curse them if you desire."
"Where can we get this one repaired then?"
"At Civita Castellana, I hope."
"Back there! What, go back!"
"I am not to blame," said Pietro, with resignation.
"We must not go back. We shall not."
"If we go forward every mile will make it worse. And how can we
move with this load and this broken wheel up that hill?"
That was indeed a difficulty. The time that had lapsed since the
lamentable break-down had been sufficient to bring upon the scene an
inconceivable crowd. After satisfying their curiosity they betook
themselves to business.
Ragged, dirty, evil-faced, wicked-eyed, slouching, whining,
impudent--seventeen women, twenty-nine small boys, and thirty-one men,
without counting curs and goats.
"Signo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o! in the name of the Ever Blessed, and
for the love of Heaven." "Go to thunder." "For the love of." "We
have nothing, _nothing_, NOTHING! Do you hear?" "Of the Virgin."
"Away! Be off." "Give me." "Go to blazes!" "Me miserable." "Will
you be off?" "Infirm, blind, and." "I'll break your skull!"
"Altogether desperate." "If you torment us any more, I'll."
"Only the smallest charity." "Smash your abominable bottle-nose!"
"Oh, generous nobles!" "Don't press me, you filthy." "Illustrious
cavaliers!" "Take that! and if you say any more I'll kick you
harder." "I kneel before you, oppressed, wretched, starving. Let
these tears." "I'll make you shed more of them if you don't clear
out." "N-n-n-Sig-no-o-o-o-o!" "Away!" "Behold a wretched villager
from the far distant Ticino!" "You be hanged! Keep off!" "Oh,
Signo-o-o-o-o! Oh per l'amor di Dio! Carita! Carita-a-a-a
--solamente un mezzo baroccho--oh, Signo-o-o!--datemi."
"Pietro! Pietro! for Heaven's sake get us out of this at once.
Anywhere--anywhere, so that we can escape from these infernal
Vagabonds."
The result was, that Pietro turned his carriage round. By piling
the baggage well behind, and watching the fore-axle carefully,
he contrived to move the vehicle along. Behind them followed the
pertinacious beggars, filling the air with prayers, groans, sighs,
cries, tears, lamentations, appeals, wailings, and entreaties. Thus
situated they made their entry into Civita Castellana.
Others might have felt flattered at the reception that awaited them.
They only felt annoyed. The entire city turned out. The main street
up which they passed was quite full. The side-streets showed people
hurrying up to the principal thoroughfare. They were the centre of
all eyes. Through the windows of the café the round eyes of the
citizens were visible on the broad stare. Even the dogs and cats had
a general turn out.
Nor could they seek relief in the seclusion of the hotel. The anxiety
which all felt to resume their journey did not allow them to rest.
They at once explored the entire city.
Was there a carriage-maker in the place? A half-hour's search
showed them that there was not one. The next thing then was to try
and find a wheel. About this they felt a little hopeful. Strange,
indeed, if so common a thing could not be obtained.
Yet strange as this might be it was even so. No wheel was
forthcoming. They could not find a carriage even. There was nothing
but two ancient caleches, whose wheels were not only rickety but
utterly disproportioned to the size of the vettura, and any
quantity of bullock carts, which moved on contrivances that could
scarcely be called wheels at all.
Three hours were consumed in the tedious search. The entire body
of the inhabitants became soon aware of the object of their desires,
and showed how truly sympathetic is the Italian nature, by
accompanying them wherever they went, and making observations that
were more sprightly than agreeable.
At first the Club kept together, and made their search accompanied
by Pietro; but after a time the crowd became so immense that they
separated, and continued their search singly. This produced but
slight improvement. The crowd followed their example. A large
number followed the Senator: walking when he walked; stopping when
he stopped; turning when he turned; strolling when he strolled;
peering when he peered; commenting when he spoke, and making
themselves generally very agreeable and delightful.
At every corner the tall form of the Senator might be seen as he
walked swiftly with the long procession following like a tail of a
comet; or as he stopped at times to look around in despair, when
"He above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent
Stood like a tower. His form had not yet lost
All its original brightness;"
although, to tell the truth, his clothes had, and the traces of mud
and dust somewhat dimmed the former lustre of his garments.
The appalling truth at last forced itself upon them that Civita
Castellana could not furnish them either with a new wheel or a
blacksmith who could repair the broken one. Whether the entire
mechanical force of the town had gone off to the wars or not they
did not stop to inquire. They believed that the citizens had
combined to disappoint them, in hopes that their detention might
bring in a little ready money and start it in circulation around the
community.
It was at last seen that the only way to do the was to send Pietro
back to Rome. To delay any longer would be only a waste of time.
Slowly and sadly they took up their quarters at the hotel. Dick
decided to go back so as to hasten Pietro, who might otherwise loiter
on the way. So the dilapidated carriage had to set out on its
journey backward.
Forced to endure the horrors of detention in one of the dullest
of Italian towns, their situation was deplorable. Mr. Figgs was
least unhappy, for he took to his bed and slept through the
entire period, with the exception of certain little intervals
which he devoted to meals. The Doctor sat quietly by an upper
window playing the devil's tattoo on the ledge with inexhaustible
patience.
The Senator strolled through the town. He found much to interest him.
His busy brain was filled with schemes for the improvement of the
town.
How town lots could be made valuable; how strangers could be
attracted; how manufactures could be promoted; how hotels started;
how shops supported; how trade increased; how the whole surrounding
population enriched, especially by the factories.
[Illustration: The Senator's Escort.]
"Why, among these here hills," said he, confidentially, to Buttons
--"among these very hills there is water-power and excellent
location for, say--Silk-weaving mills, Fulling ditto, Grist ditto,
Carding ditto, Sawing ditto, Plaster-crushing ditto, Planing ditto.
--Now I would locate a cotton-mill over there."
"Where would you get your cotton?" mumbled Buttons.
"Where?" repeated the Senator. "Grow it on the Campagna, of course."
Buttons passed the time in a fever of impatience.
For far ahead the Spaniards were flying further and further away,
no doubt wondering at every stage why he did not join them.