of these minions of injustice.”
“Pray, sir, moderate yourself.”
“Moderate myself? We are not Moderates; we are Progressists, we are!”
“I daresay, but I’ll thank you all the same to let me alone.”
“Not a bit of it; come on.”
And the young fellow dragged the gentleman along in spite of his
protests. At last, in order to escape from his inexorable liberator, he
was compelled to inform him that he was Rizzi, the superintendent of
police himself. Our young hero was let off with a gentle
admonition.—_Fanfulla._
A gentleman and his valet had been out to a party, where both of them
indulged a little too freely. On returning home the valet got into his
master’s bed, mistaking it for his own, and the master, not knowing what
he did, lay down with his feet on the pillow and his head to the foot of
the bed (in the same bed). In the middle of the night one of them began
to kick and awoke the other.
“Signor Padrone!” exclaimed the valet, “there’s a scamp of a robber
hiding in my bed!”
“You don’t say so!” replied his master; “in that case there must be a
pair of them, for I have got one here in my bed. You try and get rid of
yours; I’ll make short work with mine.”
And seizing each other by the feet they rolled out of bed and alighted
on the floor, where they fell asleep again, and did not discover the
true state of affairs till they awoke the next morning.—_Gazzetta di
Malta._
An old beggar, sitting near a church door, had a board suspended from
his neck, inscribed: “Blind from my birth.”
Another beggar, reading the inscription as he passed, was heard to
remark—
“_Ebbene!_ There’s a chap who started young in business!”—_Il Mondo
Umoristico._
At a Socialist meeting a young orator inveighed furiously against the
spread of education, saying that it would be far better for society if
fewer people knew how to read and write.
“Why, you are an obscurantist!” exclaimed a progressist member of the
audience.
“Oh, no; I am merely a post-office clerk.”—_Il Cittadino._
Alberto Gelsomini has joined an amateur dramatic society. On the night
of his first appearance in public he had only a small part assigned to
him. All he had to say was—
“Signore, a gentleman of about fifty years has been some time in the
anteroom; shall I show him in?”
Instead of which Gelsomini blurted out, excitedly—
“Signore, a gentleman has been waiting fifty years in the anteroom;
shall I show him in?”—_Don Chisciotte._
_Customer._ “Do you happen to have any pianoforte pieces?”
_New Apprentice._ “No, signore; we only sell whole pianos.”—_Il
Cittadino._
A poor man in rags asked alms in a public thoroughfare. A gentleman gave
him two soldi, and said—
“You might at least take off your hat when you beg.”
“Quite true; but then the policeman yonder might run me in for breaking
the law; whereas, seeing us converse together, he will take us for a
couple of friends.”—_Fanfulla._
A young dramatic author took a play to the manager of a popular theatre.
Months passed and no reply. Overcoming his natural shyness, he at length
called for his manuscript. The _impresario_ looked, but could not find
it.
“Tell you what, my dear fellow, your paper is lost; now don’t get vexed,
but” (pointing to a pile of documents on the table) “pick one out of
that lot; they are every bit as good as your own.”—_Il Mondo
Umoristico._
A physician, already advanced in years, was asked what was the
difference between a young doctor and an old one. He replied, “This is
the only one of any importance: the young one turns red when he is
offered his fee—the old one when the patient forgets to give it him.”
Naldino was begging his father to get him a tin trumpet.
“No, I won’t,” said his father; “I don’t want to have my head split with
your noise!”
“Oh no, papa!—I should only blow it when you were asleep.”
Spippoletti has been threatened with a duel.
He told us the story himself.
“I was trying to persuade him, when he threw one of his gloves at me,
saying that he was going to wash it in my blood?”
“Good heavens!—and you?”
“Well ... I told him the best way to clean kid gloves was with benzine!”
Fasolacci is an elegant youth.
He had been spending right and left, so that he found himself unable to
pay the bill at the hotel where he was lodging.
Taking his courage in both hands, and laying it before him on his
writing-table, he determined to apply to his uncle—the well-known
avarice of his father precluding, all hope of assistance from _him_.
This was his letter:—
“DEAR UNCLE,—If you could see how I blush, with shame while I am
writing, you would pity me. Do you know why?... Because I have to ask
you for a hundred francs, and do not know how to express my humble
request.... No! it is impossible for me to tell you; I prefer to die!
“I send you this by a messenger, who will await your answer.
“Believe me, my dearest uncle, your most obedient and affectionate
nephew,
“FASOLACCI.”
“P.S.—Overcome with shame for what I have written, I have been running
after the messenger, in order to take the letter from him, but I could
not catch him up. Heaven grant that something may happen to stop him, or
this letter may get lost!”
The uncle was naturally touched; he considered the matter fully, and
then replied as follows:—
“MY BELOVED NEPHEW,—Console yourself, and blush no longer. Providence
has heard your prayers.
“The messenger lost your letter.
“Good-bye.
“Your affectionate uncle,
“ARISTIPPO.”
A book-collector has just purchased, at an exorbitant price, a volume
which, except its rarity, has no value whatever.
“It is very dear,” said a friend to him.
“Yes; but it is the only copy in existence.”
“But if it should be reprinted?”
“Are you mad? Who’d be fool enough to buy it?”
At a Restaurant.—_Customer_ (ostentatiously sniffing at his plate): “I
say, waiter, this fish isn’t fresh!”
“Oh yes, it is, sir!”
“What?—I assure you it smells.”
_Waiter_ (mysteriously): “No, sir, you’re mistaken; it’s that other
gentleman’s cutlet!”
A worthless poet showed Parini two sonnets he had written on the
occasion of a wedding, asking him to read them both, and suggest which
he should print. Parini read one, and restored it to the author, saying,
“Print the other!” The poet tried to insist on his reading the second,
but Parini would say nothing but “Print the other!”
Spippoletti’s son having reached an age when the heart is susceptible,
fell in love with a pretty little milliner, and wrote to her declaring
his eternal devotion. After filling four pages with passionate
adjurations and orthographical mistakes, he concluded thus—
“I hope that my offers will be acceptable to you, and expect from you
shortly an _affirmative_ reply, _in which you will say either yes or
no_.”
The mother of a seminary student sent her son a new black soutane, with
a letter in the pocket, which began thus—
“Dear Gigetto, look in the pocket of the soutane and you will find this
letter....”
At a _café_ some one asked, “Excuse me, sir; does the _Daily_ appear
every day?”
The grave man thus interrogated replied, in a solemn and professional
manner, not without a sting of bitter irony: “Of course, sir. You might
have seen that by the very title of the paper.”
“Then, sir, on your principle the _Century_ should only appear once
every hundred years.”
Collapse of the grave man.
The other day Spippoletti received an anonymous post-card which informed
him that he was an old imbecile. Thinking that he recognised the writing
of a facetious friend, he hastened at once to the latter and asked him—
“Was it you that sent me this infamous libel?”
“No,” replied the other very calmly.
“Who could it be, then?” demanded Spippoletti.
“Why, my dear fellow, I am not the only man who knows you!”
Spippoletti’s wife, not having much confidence in the abilities of her
servant, has been going to market herself. One day, approaching the
fishwife’s stall; she asked the price of a large carp.
“Six francs.”
The lady examined the fish, and exclaimed—
“It’s not fresh!”
“I tell you it is!”
“But it’s quite flabby.”
“Oh! go on insulting it!” replied the fishwife bitterly. “It can’t
answer you!”
And with that kindness of heart which is natural to her, Signora
Spippoletti bought the fish to make up for the injury to its feelings.
_A. to B._ The intelligence of animals is something extraordinary. For
example, my dog Fido is a wonderfully clever fellow. When I am staying
in the country I send him to the nearest village, and he executes all
the commissions I give him better than any servant.
_B._ Well, I have seen stranger things than that in India. I knew an old
elephant to whom they used to give orders for the next day’s purchases
every evening; and as his memory was not quite to be trusted, the
intelligent animal always tied a knot in his trunk, so that he might be
sure not to forget.
The celebrated mathematician Plana, in examining students _viva voce_,
was very fond of asking trivial and ridiculous questions, in order to
test their nerve and readiness.
On one occasion he asked a young man, “What is the half of eight?”
The youth at first looked inclined to be offended, but speedily
recovered his composure, and replied coolly, “Five!”
Baron Plana, cooler still, said, “Prove it!”
“Easily, sir,” replied the student. “If you take one lemonade it costs
eight sous; if you take half a one, you have to pay five.”
As it could not be denied that such was then the price of lemonade at
Turin, the candidate was passed.
—_Il Pappagallo._
Signor Merbi, the mayor of a small village, died while on a visit to the
capital. His neighbours erected to his memory a stone with the following
inscription:—
Here lies
Marco Benedetto Giulio Merbi,
Who died at Naples, and was buried there.
There are some people with a mania for suicide, and others with one for
saving life. Within the last few days a mason at Rovigo threw himself
under the wheels of a carriage. Death was imminent, when Ranchetti—this
is the name of our rescuer—sprang in front of the horses, and saved the
unfortunate workman at the risk of his own life.
The mason hastened home, shut the door of his house, and quietly hanged
himself. But he had reckoned without his unknown rescuer. Ranchetti,
foreseeing some fatal design, followed him, got into the room by
breaking a window, cut the rope, called for help, and saved the would-be
suicide a second time.
If this sort of thing goes on Ranchetti will have plenty to do.
A certain lawyer, in consequence of various political changes and his
own merits, obtained the title of Count, and took office under
Government.
“Why,” said an acquaintance one day, “do you not have your coat-of-arms
painted on your carriage?”
“Because my carriage is older than my title,” he replied.
A soldier in the Naples militia asked his captain for permission to go
out for half-an-hour, which was refused. Somewhat later he renewed his
request with the same result; and, after waiting some time, made a third
application—still to no purpose. At last, at the fourth time of asking,
permission was granted; the soldier went away, and was seen no more for
two hours.
“How is this?” said the captain on his return. “You asked leave for
half-an-hour.”
“That is true, sir—but I asked four times; and four half-hours make two
hours, I think.”
As a diligence was passing along a part of the road reputed dangerous,
some of the passengers expressed their fear of being attacked by
robbers. “Do not be afraid,” said an Englishman, who was one of them; “I
have foreseen everything—I have two loaded pistols at the bottom of my
portmanteau.”
A Neapolitan, paying a visit to Milan, said to a countryman of his who
had settled there, “Before leaving this place, I should like to have my
portrait done in oil.” “Impossible, my dear fellow!” said his friend;
“here they do everything in butter.”
So-and-so, who is in mourning for his mother, was one day riding out on
a mare with a crimson saddle. A wag, meeting him, said, “That saddle
does not look much like mourning.” “Excuse me,” replied our friend; “my
mare’s mother is not dead—why should she go into black?”
A young man of these days, whose reputation is none of the best, was
boasting in company of his skill as a physiognomist. “I have a thorough
knowledge of rascals,” he said. “I can not only recognise them, but also
thoroughly understand them, at first sight.” Hearing this, a respectable
man, who was acquainted with him, said, “Did you ever look in the
glass?”
A Knight Commander of Malta, who was exceedingly avaricious, had two
pages, who one day complained to him that they had no shirts to wear.
The miser called his major-domo, and said: “You will write to the
steward of my estates in Sicily, and tell him to have some hemp sown at
once. When the hemp is gathered, he is to have it spun, and then woven
into cloth, to make shirts for these young men.” At this the pages
laughed. “Ah! the rogues!” said the knight; “see how delighted they are,
now that they have their shirts.”
A gentleman of Naples fought fourteen duels in order to maintain that
Dante was a greater poet than Ariosto. The last of these encounters was
fatal to the enthusiast, who exclaimed on his death-bed: “And yet I have
never read either of them!”
An actor, asking the manager for his arrears of payment, told him that
he was in danger of dying of starvation. The manager, looking at his
plump and ruddy countenance, told him that his face did not bear out the
assertion. “Don’t let yourself be misled by that,” said the actor; “this
face is not mine; it belongs to my landlady, who has been letting me
live on credit for the last six months!”
Gennaro, of Naples, said one day to a friend, “I receive an immense
number of anonymous letters, which are quite insulting; but I despise
them too much to let it vex me. When _I_ lower myself so far as to write
anonymous letters, I always sign them.”
Francesco Gallina, the lawyer, was disputing a point with his colleague,
Giacomo Sanciotti. Being unable to support his reasoning, he improvised
a law which justified the position he took. Sanciotti, perceiving this
stratagem, immediately invented another which put Gallina in the wrong.
The latter, never having heard of such a law, said, “Can you give me the
reference?” “You will find it,” replied Sanciotti, without hesitating,
“on the same page as the Act you have just quoted.”
A countryman attending church at a distance from his own village, was
observed to sit unmoved through a sermon which affected the whole
congregation to tears. The priest, thinking him a hardened sinner,
singled him out for a personal address.
“Are you the only one to remain unshaken? Do you alone hear nothing?”
“Sir,” replied the peasant, “I don’t belong to this parish!”
A literary man recently applied to a journalistic friend, asking him to
get him work and make him known to the public. “My dear fellow,” replied
the friend, “in order to get work and become known you must publish.”
The author hastened with a volume of MS. to a publisher, and asked him
to print it.
“My dear sir, if you want to publish, you ought to become known first.”
Now what is he to do?
Our Paris correspondent, reporting a Socialist meeting, says, “The
orator made use of a set of commonplace catchwords and high-sounding
phrases, calculated to make a profound impression on the fools who
attend similar gatherings. I was present....”
A candid confession!
_Recruit_ (_to Corporal_). If I told you you were an ass, what would you
do, sir?
_Corporal._ I should put you under arrest.
_Rec._ And if I only thought it?
_Corp._ Then I could do nothing, for thoughts are not seen, and cannot
be brought up in evidence.
_Rec._ Then I _do_ think so.
At the Club.—_A._ Have you seen our friend Bortoletti lately?
_B._ Yes.
_A._ Then you must have noticed that he dyes his hair in front, and has
forgotten to do so at the back.
_B._ Well—that only proves that if he deceives himself he has no wish to
deceive others.
_Mistress._ Rosa, did you count the silver last night?
_Rosa._ Yes’m—there’s a fork and spoon wanting.
_Mis._ Do you know where they are?
_Rosa._ Yes’m.
_Mis._ Well—where are they?
_Rosa._ Under the kitchen table. You can find them there when they are
wanted.
A bereaved widower had ordered a bust of his late wife, and called on
the sculptor to inspect the work. “If you want any alterations,” said
the artist, “it is only in the clay, you see, and can easily be
retouched.
The widower gazed at it sadly.
“It is just like her ... the nose rather large ... a sure indication of
kindliness and benevolence....”
Then bursting into tears—
“She was _so_ good!... Can’t you make her nose a _great deal_ longer?”
A few days ago there appeared on the last page of a newspaper the
following advertisement:—
“RED NOSES.—Instant cure. Apply, enclosing P.O. for two francs, to
Signor Dulcamara.”
A worthy citizen, whose nose was “ruddier than the cherry,” hoping to
get rid of his affliction, immediately sent in his address and the two
francs.
Two days later he received a post-card—
“Go on drinking till your nose turns blue!”
“John, take this cup away; the beef-tea is cold!”
“Cold? sir; oh, no! that’s just a fancy of yours, sir; it’s quite hot
still, for I tried it, sir?”
“What! You dared to taste——”
“Oh no, sir; I only dipped my finger into it!”
At the Police Court.—_President_: “What! you here again? You are
perfectly incorrigible. You see, now, what bad company leads to.”
_Prisoner_: “Oh! sir, how can you say that? Why, I never see any one but
policemen and magistrates.”
A parvenu, in giving an invitation to dinner to a celebrated violinist
who had just given a concert at the house of a banker, said to him, with
pretended carelessness—
“Oh! by-the-bye—you will bring your violin, won’t you?”
“Thank you,” replied the artist, “but my violin never dines out.”
An old and knowing lawyer in the provinces, while waiting for the court
to open, fell into conversation with another lawyer, equally old and
knowing, who said to him—
“Who can that Fra Diavolo[39] be whose name occurs so often under the
heading, ‘The Milan theatres’?”
“Oh!” replied the first, with perfect seriousness, “he was a Terracina
lawyer.”
A provincial householder returned from a shooting expedition in the
marshes, wet to the skin. Entering the house, he called out, with
chattering teeth, to his wife, “Get the fire lit at once!” The latter,
after going to the window and looking at the neighbours’ chimneys,
replied—“No, indeed!—No one else has a fire lit, and I do not wish to
make myself the subject of remark!”
During dinner, at the Castle, the tutor was being questioned about the
progress made by the heir-presumptive to the coronet.
“Just now we are working at natural science. Our noble pupil is making
rapid progress in chemistry.”
“Is he learning about dynamite?” asked the Marchioness quickly.
“Not yet, madam;—dynamite comes under the head of political economy.”
At a Charity Concert.—(_The pianist is playing horribly out of
tune._)—“What is that brute doing? I understand that it is a charity
concert, but—all the same—”
“Why, that is just the reason he does not let his left hand know what
his right is doing!”
At the Manœuvres.—_Captain_: I want all the corporals, without
exception, to give the word of command together, and distinctly.
A moment after there is a general and vigorous shout of “Shoulder arms!”
_Captain_ (_furiously_). I _hear_ several corporals saying nothing at
all!
This must be the same officer who said, the other day—“In Company B, I
see a man who is not there!”
“Look here,” said the tenor, “I have sung in all the operas, and have
always taken the principal parts—in _Robert le Diable_ I was Robert; in
_Hernani_, Hernani——”
“And in the _Siege of Corinth_?”
“Why, Corinth, of course!”
What is a Secret Society?
A Secret Society is a greater or less number of individuals who meet
from time to time in the most secret way possible, in order to shout
their secrets in each other’s ears at the top of their voices.
Force of Habit.—A well-known artist suffers horribly from corns on his
feet. His toes, moreover, are deplorably sensitive, so that he calls out
if they are scarcely touched.
It has gone so far that, when he steps on his own boots, which he has
put out to be cleaned, he imagines that his feet are inside, and yells
like one possessed.
“Ah-h-h!—body of a rhinoceros!!—look out! Where are you going?”
A pretended pilgrim, tramping about the country, sells little pieces of
stuff, which, according to him, once formed part of the cloak of St.
Martin.
“What are they good for?” asked a rustic, one day.
“They will keep out the cold,” replied the pilgrim, and salved his
conscience by adding, aside—
“Taken in large quantities.”
At a country inn an English traveller ordered hare for dinner.
“Give him some hare,” said the landlady to her husband, without
hesitation.
“You know we have none,” replied he, in an undertone.
The wife answered, quite undisturbed—
“Give him some rabbit then. He’s an Englishman—he’ll never know the
difference.”
A clever man, who suffers from absence of mind, said to a friend—
“Oh!—So-and-so?—He died in September, and I have not seen him since!”
It is said that a rich Frenchman who was insane came to Milan, and after
two days recovered his reason.
Some people may think this surprising. We do not.
It is quite natural that, in a city where so many lose their wits, one
man should find some.
A telegram received from Lisbon informs us that “a terrible cyclone has
completely destroyed Manilla.”
A few hours later another despatch arrived—“The cholera has entirely
ceased in Manilla.”
We have no hesitation in believing it. Surely, if Manilla no longer
exists, everything, the cholera included, must have ceased there.
Filippo made a valuable confession the other day. Talking of
marionettes, he said, “I must acknowledge I have a great liking for this
kind of spectacle.”
Bravo, Filippo! Family affection is a sacred thing!
Some time ago the Government came to the decision of having the
_Official Gazette_ printed by convicts, in order, it is said, not to
introduce an alien element.
Now that the secret has transpired, the resolution has been rescinded,
and the convicts will no longer do the printing.
This second resolution has been explained by saying that the Government
wishes to give no cause for accusations of family favouritism. We are
quite willing to accept both excuses.
In the Naples police court a witness was once asked where he lived.
“With Gennaro.”
“And where does Gennaro live?”
“With me.”
“But where do you and Gennaro live?”
“Together.”
NOTES.
NOTE 1, p. 48.—This line is printed in the edition of 1825 (I am not
aware whether there is any other) as “An old stony Giggiano,” which
does not make sense, as there appears to be no such word as “Giggiano”
in Italian, except a proper name, applied to a district in Tuscany.
The emendation I have ventured upon gives the sense correctly. The
literal translation of the last six lines is—“Or of that which,
vermillion and brilliant, makes proud the Aretine who grows it on
Tregonzano, and amid the stones of Giggiano.” Leigh Hunt seems to have
sent the MS. of his translation from Florence, in January 1825, to
London, where it was published for him by his brother; so that it is
probable the proofs were not revised by the author.
NOTE 1A, p. 77.—A full description of Stenterello and the other comic
masks, with pictures of the principal ones, may be found in J. A.
Symonds’ _Memoirs of Count Carlo Gozzi_ (Introduction). See also
Introduction to the present volume, p. xv.
NOTE 2, p. 137.—Professor Th. Trede, in his recently published work,
_Das Heidentum in der römischen Kirche_, says that Modica, in the
south of Sicily, is divided into two rival camps, devoted respectively
to the worship of St. Peter and St. George. The festivals of these two
saints give rise to scenes more suggestive of Donnybrook Fair than
anything else. Similar conflicts between rival cities are by no means
rare in the Neapolitan territory. (Trede, _op. cit._, ii. 260.)