DICK MEETS AN OLD FRIEND.--THE EMOTIONAL NATURE OF THE ITALIAN.
--THE SENATOR OVERCOME AND DUMBFOUNDED.
The day of their arrival at Milan was distinguished by a pleasing
circumstance. Buttons found the Spaniards, and was happy. And by
another circumstance, scarcely less pleasing, Dick found an old
acquaintance.
On this wise:
Finding himself in Milan he suddenly called to mind an old friend
with whom he had been intimate in Boston. He had been exiled from
Italy on account of his connection with the movements of 1848. He
had fled to America, and had taken with him barely enough to live
on. For five years he had lived in Boston under the plain name of
_Hugh Airey_. Then Dick met with him, and had been attracted by the
polished manners, melancholy air, and high spirit of the
unfortunate exile. In the course of time their acquaintance ripened
into intimate friendship. Dick introduced him to all his friends,
and did all in his power to make his life pleasant. From him he had
learned Italian, and under his guidance formed a wide and deep
acquaintance with Italian literature. In 1858 Mr. Airey decided to
return to Italy and live in Turin till the return of better days.
Before leaving he confided to Dick the fact that he belonged to one
of the oldest families in Lombardy, and that he was the Count Ugo di
Gonfiloniere. The exile bade Dick and all his friends good-bye and
departed. Since then Dick had heard from him but once. The Count was
happy, and hopeful of a speedy return of better days for his country.
His hopes had been realized, as the world knows.
[Illustration: The Count Ugo.]
Dick had no difficulty in finding out where he lived, and went to
call on him. It was a magnificent palace. Throngs of servants were
around the entrance. Dick sent up his name, and was conducted by a
servant to an ante-chamber. Scarcely had he finished a hasty
survey of the apartment when hurried footsteps were heard. He turned.
The Count came rushing into the room, flushed and trembling, and
without a word threw himself into Dick's arms, embraced him, and
kissed him. It was a trying moment for Dick. Nothing is so frightful
to a man of the Anglo-Saxon race as to be hugged and kissed by a man.
However, Dick, felt deeply touched at the emotion of his friend and
his grateful remembrance of himself.
"This is a circumstance most unexpected!" cried the Count. "Why did
you not write and tell me that you were coming, my dearest friend? I
did not know that you were in Italy. But perhaps you wished to give
me a surprise?" And then the Count asked after all the friends in
America, for whom he still evinced the tenderest attachment.
On being questioned he related his own subsequent adventures. After
leaving America he went at once to Turin. Though proscribed in
Lombardy he was free in Piedmont. He managed to communicate
secretly with his relatives in Milan, and lived comfortably. At
length he became aware of the great movement on foot which ended
in the Italian war. He had thrown himself altogether in the good
cause, and, without being at all disheartened by his former
misfortunes, he embarked energetically in the current of events. He
was at once recognized by the Sardinian Government as a powerful
recruit, and appointed to an important military command. Finally war
was declared. The French came, the Count had taken a conspicuous part
in the events of the war, had been present at every battle, and had
been promoted for his gallant conduct. Fortunately he had not once
been wounded. On the occupation of Milan by the Allies he had
regained all his rights, titles, privileges, and estates. He was a
happy man. His ten years of exile had given him a higher capacity
for enjoyment. He looked forward to a life of honor and usefulness.
He had found joy harder to endure than grief; the reunion with all
his old friends and relations, the presence of all the familiar
scenes of his native land had all well-nigh overcome him. Yet he
assured Dick that no friend with whom he had met was more welcome to
his sight than he, and the joy that he felt at seeing him had only
been exceeded once in his life--that one time having been on the
occasion of the entrance of the Allies into Milan.
And now that he was here, where was his luggage? Did he come without
it? There was certainly only one place in the city where he could
stop. He must remain nowhere else but here. Dick modestly excused
himself. He was scarcely prepared. He was travelling in company with
friends, and would hardly like to leave them. The Count looked
reproachfully at him. Did he hesitate about that? Why, his friends
also must come. He would have no refusal. They all must come. They
would be as welcome as himself. He would go with Dick to his hotel
in person and bring his friends there.
In a short time the Count and Dick had driven to the hotel, where
the former pressed upon the Senator and Buttons an invitation to
his house. They were not allowed to refuse, but were taken away,
and before they fairly understood the unexpected occurrence they
were all installed in magnificent apartments in the Palazzo
Gonfaloniere.
Buttons's acquaintance with the language, literature, manners,
and customs of Italy made him appreciate his advantages; the
friendship of the Count prevented Dick from feeling otherwise than
perfectly at home; and as for the Senator, if it had been possible
for him to feel otherwise, his experience of high life at Florence
would have enabled him to bear himself serenely here. His complete
self-possession, his unfaltering gaze, his calm countenance, were
never for a moment disturbed.
The Count had been long enough in America to appreciate a man of
the stamp of the Senator; he therefore from the very first treated
him with marked respect, which was heightened when Dick told him of
the Senator's achievements during the past few weeks. The brilliant
society which surrounded the Count was quite different from that
which the Senator had found in Florence. The people were equally
cultivated, but more serious. They had less excitability, but more
deep feeling. Milan, indeed, had borne her burden far differently
from Florence. Both hated the foreigner; but the latter could be gay,
and smiling, and trifling even under her chains; this the former
could never be. The thoughtful, earnest, and somewhat pensive
Milanese was more to the Senator's taste than the brilliant and
giddy Florentine. These, thought he, may well be a free people.
Moreover, the Senator visited the Grand Cathedral, and ascended to
the summit. Arriving there his thoughts were not taken up by the
innumerable statues of snow-white marble, or the countless pinnacles
of exquisite sculpture that extended all around like a sacred forest
filled with saints and angels, but rather to the scene that lay
beyond.
There spread away a prospect which was superior in his eyes to any
thing that he had ever seen before, nor had it ever entered his
mind to conceive such a matchless scene. The wide plains of Lombardy,
green, glorious, golden with the richest and most inexhaustible
fertility; vast oceans of grain and rice, with islands of dark-green
trees that bore untold wealth of all manner of fruit; white villas,
little hamlets, close-packed villages, dotted the wide expanse, with
the larger forms of many a populous town. He looked to the north and
to the west. The plain spread away for many a league, till the purple
mountains arose as a barrier, rising up till they touched the
everlasting ice. He looked to the east and south. There the plains
stretched away to the horizon in illimitable extent.
"What a country! All cleared too! Every acre! And the villages! Why,
there are thousands if there is one! Dear! dear! dear! How can I
have the heart to blow about New England or Boston after that there!
Buttons, why don't somebody tell about all this to the folks at
home and stop their everlasting bragging? But"--after a long
pause--"I'll do it! I'll do it!--this very night. I'll write about it
to our paper!"