My Garibaldian friend has returned, but only to bid me good-bye and be
off again. The Government, it would seem, are rather uneasy as to the
movements of the “Beds,” and quietly intimated to my friend that
they were sure he had something particular to do--some urgent private
affairs--at Geneva; and, like the well-bred dog in the story, he does
not wait for any further suggestions, but goes at once.
He revenged himself, however, all the time at breakfast, by talking very
truculently before the waiters of what would happen when Garibaldi took
the field again, and how miserably small Messrs Batazzi & Co. would look
under the circumstances. Indeed, as he warmed with his subject, he
went the length of declaring that, without a very ample apology for the
events of Aspromonte, he did not believe Garibaldi would consent to take
Venice, or drive the French out of Rome.
With a spirit of tantalising he prolonged this same breakfast for
upwards of two hours, during which the officer of the gendarmerie came
and went, and came again, very eager to see him depart, but evidently
with instructions neither to molest nor interfere with him.
“Just look at that beggar,” cried the Garibaldian; “if he has come in
here once during the last hour, he has come a dozen times, and all on my
account! And I mean to smoke three ‘cavours’ over my anisetto before I
leave. Waiter, tell the vetturino he’ll have plenty of time to throw
a feed to his cattle before I start. You know,” added he, “if I was
disposed to be troublesome, I’d not budge: I’d write up to Turin to the
Legation and claim British protection; and I’d have these fellows on the
hip, for they stupidly gave me a reason for my expulsion. They said I
was conspiring. Now I could say, Prove it; and if we only went to law,
it would take ten or twelve years to decide it.”
My companion now went on to show that, by a small expenditure of money
and a very ordinary exercise of ingenuity, a lawsuit need never end
in Italy. “First of all, you could ask the opposite party, Who was his
advocate? and on his naming him, you could immediately set to work to
show that this man was a creature so vile and degraded, no man with
the commonest pretension to honesty would dream of employing him. The
history of his father could be adduced, and any private little anecdotes
of his mother would find a favourable opportunity for mention. Though a
mere skirmish, if judiciously managed, this will occupy a week or two,
and at the same time serve to indicate that you mean to show fight; for
by this time the ‘Legale’s’ blood will be up, and he is certain to make
reprisals on _your_ man, so that for a month or so you and the other
principal are in the position of men who, having come out to fight
a duel, are first gratified with the spectacle of a row between the
seconds. However, at last it is arranged that the lawyers are worthy
of each other; and the next step is to demand the names of all the
witnesses. This opens a campaign of unlimited duration, for, as nobody
is rash enough to trust himself or his cause to real and _bonâ-fide_
testimony, witnesses are usually selected amongst the most astute and
ready-witted persons of your acquaintance.” “Oh,” cried I, “this is a
little too strong, isn’t it?” “Let me give you an instance,” said he,
good-humouredly, and not in the least disposed to be displeased with my
expression of distrust. “Some time back an American gentleman took up
his abode for some weeks on the Chiaja at Naples, and in the same house
there lived an Italian, with whom, from frequently meeting on the stairs
and corridors, a sort of hat-touching acquaintance had grown up. At
length one day, as the American was passing hastily out, the Italian
accosted him with a courteous bow and smile, and said, ‘When will it be
your perfect convenience, signor, to repay me that little loan of two
hundred ducats it was my happy privilege to have lent you last month?’
“The American, astounded as he was, had yet patience to inquire whether
he had not mistaken him for another.
“The other smiled somewhat reproachfully, as he said, ‘I trust, signor,
you are not disposed to ignore the obligation. You are the gentleman who
lives, I believe, on the second floor left?’
“‘Very true; I do live there, and I owe you nothing. I never borrowed a
carlino from you--I never spoke to you before; and if you ever take the
liberty to speak to me again, I’ll knock you down.’
“The Italian smiled again, not so blandly, perhaps, but as
significantly, and saying, ‘We shall see,’ bowed and retired.
“The American thought little more of the matter till, going to the
Prefecture to obtain his visé for Borne, he discovered that his passport
had been stopped, and a detainer put upon him for this debt. He hastened
at once to his Minister, who referred him to the law-adviser of the
Legation for counsel. The man of law looked grave; he neither heeded the
angry denunciations of the enraged Yankee, nor his reiterated assurances
that the whole was an infamous fraud. He simply said, ‘The case is
difficult, but I will do my best.’ After the lapse of about a week, a
message came from the Prefect to say that the stranger’s passport was at
his service whenever he desired to have it.
“‘I knew it would be so!’ cried the American, as he came suddenly upon
his lawyer in the street. ‘I was certain that you were only exaggerating
the difficulty of a matter that must have been so simple; for, as I
never owed the money, there was no reason why I should pay it.’
“‘It was a case for some address, notwithstanding,’ said the other,
shaking his head.
“‘Address! fiddle-stick! It was a plain matter of fact, and needed
neither skill nor cunning. You of course showed that this fellow was a
stranger to me--that we had never interchanged a word till the day he
made this rascally demand?’
“‘I did nothing of the kind, sir. If I had put in so contemptible a
plea, you would have lost your cause. What I did was this: I asked what
testimony he could adduce as to the original loan, and he gave me the
name of one witness, a certain Count well known in this city, who was at
breakfast with him when you called to borrow this money, and who saw the
pieces counted out and placed in your hand.’
“‘You denounced this fellow as a perjurer?’
“‘Far from it, sir. I respect the testimony of a man of station and
family, and I would not insult the feelings of the Count by daring to
impugn it; but as the plaintiff had called only one witness to the loan,
I produced two just as respectable, just as distinguished, who saw you
repay the debt! You are now free; and remember, sir, that wherever
your wanderings lead you, never cease to remember that, whatever be
our demerits at Naples, at least we can say with pride, The laws are
administered with equal justice to all men!’”
The entrance of the gendarme at this moment cut short the question I
was about to ask, whether I was to accept this story as a fact or as a
parable.
“Here he comes again. Only look at the misery in the fellow’s face! and
you see he has his orders evidently enough; and he dare not hurry me. I
think I’ll have a bath before I start.”
“It is scarcely fair, after all,” said I. “I suppose he wants to get
back to his one o’clock dinner.”
“I could no more feel for a gendarme than I could compassionate a
scorpion. Take the best-natured fellow in Europe--the most generous, the
most trustful, the most unsuspecting--make a brigadier of Gendarmerie of
him for three months, and he’ll come out scarcely a shade brighter than
the veriest rascal he has handcuffed! Do you know what our friend yonder
is at now?”
“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 Générale,” 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.”