University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

It was now nearly dark, and the crowd, having satisfied
its idle curiosity, began slowly to disperse. The Signor
Viti remained till the last, conceiving it to be his duty to be
on the alert, in such troubled times; but with all his bustling
activity, it escaped his vigilance and means of observation
to detect the circumstance that the stranger, who, while he
steered into the bay with so much confidence, had contrived
to bring up at a point where not a single gun from the batteries
could be brought to bear on him; while his own shot,
had he been disposed to hostility, would have completely
raked the little haven. But Vito Viti, though so enthusiastic
an admirer of the art, was no gunner himself, and little
liked to dwell on the effect of shot, except as it applied to
others, and not at all to himself.

Of all the suspicious, apprehensive and curious, who had
been collected in and about the port, since it was known the
lugger intended to come into the bay, Ghita and 'Maso
alone remained on watch, after the vessel anchored. A loud
hail had been given by those entrusted with the execution
of the quarantine laws, the great physical bug-bear and
moral mystification of the Mediterranean; and the questions
put had been answered in a way to satisfy all scruples for
the moment. The “From whence came ye?” asked, however,
in an Italian idiom, had been answered by “Inghilterra,
touching at Lisbon and Gibraltar,” all regions beyond distrust,
as to the plague, and all happening, at that moment,
to give clean bills of health. But the name of the craft, herself,
had been given in a way to puzzle all the proficients in
Saxon English that Porto Ferrajo could produce. It had
been distinctly enough pronounced by some one on board,
and at the request of the quarantine department, had been

three times slowly repeated, very much after the following
form; viz. —

“Come chiamate il vostro bastimento?”

“The Wing-And-Wing.”

“Come?”

“The Wing-And-Wing.”

A long pause, during which the officials put their heads
together, first to compare the sounds of each with those of
his companions' ears, and then to inquire of one who professed
to understand English, but whose knowledge was such
as is generally met with in a linguist of a little-frequented
port, the meaning of the term.

“Ving-y-ving!” growled this functionary, not a little
puzzled, “what ze devil sort of name is zat! Ask zem
again.”

“Come si chiama la vostra barca, Signori Inglesi?”
repeated he who hailed.

“Diable!” growled one back, in French, “she is called
ze Wing-And-Wing, `Ala e Ala,”' giving a very literal
translation of the name, in Italian.

“Ala e ala!” repeated they of the quarantine, first looking
at each other in surprise, and then laughing, though in
a perplexed and doubtful manner; “Ving-y-Ving!”

This passed just as the lugger anchored, and the crowd
had begun to disperse. It caused some merriment, and it
was soon spread in the little town that a craft had just
arrived from Inghilterra, whose name, in the dialect of that
island, was “Ving-y-Ving;” which meant “Ala e ala,” in
Italian; a cognomen that struck the listeners as sufficiently
absurd. In confirmation of the fact, however, the lugger
hoisted a small square flag, at the end of her main-yard, on
which were painted, or wrought, two large wings, as they
are sometimes delineated in heraldry, with the beak of a
galley between them; giving the whole conceit something
very like the appearance that the human imagination has
assigned to those heavenly beings, cherubs. This emblem
seemed to satisfy the minds of the observers, who were too
much accustomed to the images of art, not to obtain some
tolerably distinct notions, in the end, of what “Ala e ala”
meant.

But 'Maso, as has been said, remained after the rest had

departed to their homes and their suppers, as did Ghita.
The pilot, for such was Tonti's usual appellation, in consequence
of his familiarity with the coast, and his being principally
employed to direct the navigation of the different
craft in which he served, kept his station on board a felucca
to which he belonged, watching the movements of the lugger,
while the girl had taken her stand on the quay, in a position
that better became her sex, since it removed her from immediate
contact with the rough spirits of the port, while it enabled
her to see what occurred about the Wing-And-Wing.
More than half an hour elapsed, however, before there were
any signs of an intention to land; but, by the time it was
dark, a boat was ready, and it was seen making its way to
the common stairs, where one or two of the regular officials
were ready to receive it.

It is unnecessary to dwell on the forms of the pratique
officers. These troublesome persons had their lanterns, and
were vigilant in examining papers, as is customary; but it
would seem, the mariner in the boat had everything en
règle, for he was soon suffered to land. At this instant,
Ghita passed near the group, and took a close and keen survey
of the stranger's form and face, her own person being
so enveloped in a mantle, as to render a recognition of it
difficult, if not impossible. The girl seemed satisfied with
this scrutiny, for she immediately disappeared. Not so with
'Maso, who by this time had hurried round from the felucca,
and was at the stairs in season to say a word to the stranger.

“Signore,” said the pilot, “his Eccellenza, the podestâ,
has bidden me say to you, that he expects the honour of your
company, at his house, which stands so near us, hard by
here, in the principal street, as will make it only a pleasure
to go there; I know he would be disappointed, if he failed
of the happiness of seeing you.”

“His Eccellenza is a man not to be disappointed,” returned
the stranger, in very good Italian, “and five minutes
shall prove to him how eager I am to salute him;” then
turning to the crew of his boat, he ordered them to return on
board the lugger, and not to fail to look out for the signal by
which he might call them ashore.

'Maso, as he led the way to the dwelling of Vito Viti,

would fain ask a few questions, in the hope of appeasing
certain doubts that beset him.

“Since when, Signor Capitano,” he inquired, “have you
English taken to sailing luggers? It is a novel rig for one
of your craft.”

“Corpo di Bacco!” answered the other, laughing, “friend
of mine, if you can tell the precise day when brandy and laces
were first smuggled from France into my country, I will
answer your question. I think you have never navigated
as far north as the Bay of Biscay and our English Channel,
or you would know that a Guernsey-man is better acquainted
with the rig of a lugger, than with that of a ship.”

“Guernsey is a country I never heard of,” answered
'Maso, simply; “is it like Holland—or more like Lisbon?”

“Very little of either. Guernsey is a country that was
once French, and where many of the people still speak the
French language, but of which the English have been masters
this many an age. It is an island subject to King
George, but which is still half Gallic in names and usages.
This is the reason why we like the lugger better than the
cutter, which is a more English rig.”

'Maso was silent, for, if true, the answer at once removed
many misgivings. He had seen so much about the strange
craft which struck him as French, that doubts of her character
had obtruded; but, if her captain's account could only
be substantiated, there was an end of distrust. What could
be more natural than the circumstance that a vessel fitted
out in an island of French origin, should betray some of the
peculiarities of the people who built her?

The podestâ was at home, in expectation of this visit, and
'Maso was first admitted to a private conference, leaving the
stranger in an outer room. During this brief conference,
the pilot communicated all he had to say — both his suspicions
and the seeming solution of the difficulties; and then
he took his leave, after receiving the boon of a paul. Vito
Viti now joined his guest, but it was so dark, lights not
having yet been introduced, that neither could distinguish
the other's countenance.

“Signor Capitano,” observed the magistrate, “the deputy-governor
is at his residence, on the hill, and he will expect

me to do him the favour to bring you thither, that he may
do you the honours of the port.”

This was said so civilly, and was, in itself, both so reasonable
and so much in conformity with usage, that the other
had not a word to say against it. Together, then, they left
the house, and proceeded towards the government-dwelling
—a building which has since become celebrated as having
been the residence of a soldier who came so near subjugating
Europe. Vito Viti was a short, pursy man, and he took his
time to ascend the stairs-resembling street; but his companion
stepped from terrace to terrace with an ease and
activity that, of themselves, would have declared him to be
young, had not this been made apparent by his general
bearing and his mien, as seen through the obscurity.

Andrea Barrofaldi, the vice-governatore, was a very different
sort of person from his friend the podestâ. Although
little more acquainted with the world, by practice, the vice-governatore
was deeply read in books; owing his situation,
in short, to the circumstance of his having written several
clever works, of no great reputation, certainly, for genius,
but which were useful in their way, and manifested scholarship.
It is very seldom that a man of mere letters is qualified
for public life; and yet there is an affectation, in all
governments, most especially in those which care so little
for literature in general, as to render some professions of
respect for it necessary to their own characters, of protecting
it; and thus it is, that among ourselves, where the laws are so
indifferent to the rights and interests of men of this class as
to subject them to costs and penalties, in the prosecution of
their ordinary labours, that no other Christian nation dreams
of exacting, we hear high-sounding pretensions to this species
of liberality, although the system of rewards and punishments[1]
that prevails, usually requires that its beneficiary

should first rat, in order to prove his adaptation to the duty.
Andrea Barrofaldi, however, had thrown no political summerset,
and had consequently been inducted into his present
office without even the sentimental profession of never having
asked for it. The situation had been given to him by the
Fossombrone of his day, without a word having been said
in the journals of Tuscany of his doubts about accepting it,
and everything passed, as things are apt to pass when there
are true simplicity and good faith at the bottom, without
pretension or comment. He had now been ten years in
office, and had got to be exceedingly expert in discharging
all the ordinary functions of his post, which he certainly
did with zeal and fidelity. Still, he did not desert
his beloved books, and, quite àpropos of the matter about to
come before him, the Signor Barrofaldi had just finished a
severe, profound, and extensive course of study in geography.

The stranger was left in the ante-chamber, while Vito
Viti entered an inner room, and had a short communication
with his friend, the vice-governatore. As soon as this was
ended, the former returned, and ushered his companion into
the presence of the substitute for a grand duke, if not for a
king. As this was the sailor's first appearance within the
influence of a light sufficiently strong to enable the podestâ
to examine his person, both he and Andrea Barrofaldi turned
their eyes on him with lively curiosity, the instant the rays
of a strong lamp enabled them to scrutinize his appearance.
Neither was disappointed, in one sense, at least; the countenance,
figure, and mien of the mariner much more than
equalling his expectations.

The stranger was a man of six-and-twenty, who stood five
feet ten in his stockings, and whose frame was the very
figure of activity, united to a muscle that gave very fair
indications of strength. He was attired in an undress naval
uniform, which he wore with a smart air, that one who
understood these matters, more by means of experience, and

less by means of books, than Andrea Barrofaldi, would at
once have detected did not belong to the manly simplicity of
the English wardrobe. Nor were his features, in the slightest
degree, those of one of the islanders, the outline being
beautifully classical, more especially about the mouth and
chin, while the cheeks were colourless, and the skin swarthy.
His eye, too, was black as jet, and his cheek was half covered
in whiskers of a hue dark as the raven's wing. His face,
as a whole, was singularly beautiful — for handsome is a
word not strong enough to express all the character that
was conveyed by a conformation that might be supposed to
have been copied from some antique medal, more especially
when illuminated by a smile that, at times, rendered the
whole countenance almost as bewitching as that of a lovely
woman. There was nothing effeminate in the appearance
of the young stranger, notwithstanding; his manly,
though sweet voice, well-knit frame, and firm look, affording
every pledge of resolution and spirit.

Both the vice-governatore and the podestâ were struck
with the unusual personal advantages and smart air of the
stranger, and each stood looking at him half-a-minute in
silence, after the usual salutations had passed, and before the
party was seated. Then, as the three took chairs, on a
motion from Signor Barrofaldi, the latter opened the discourse.

“They tell me that we have the honour to receive into
our little haven a vessel of Inghilterra, Signor Capitano,”
observed the vice-governatore, earnestly regarding the other
through his spectacles as he spoke, and that, too, in a manner
not altogether free from distrust.

“Signor Vice-governatore, such is the flag under which I
have the honour to serve;” returned the mariner.

“You are an Inglese, yourself, I trust, Signor Capitano—
what name shall I enter in my book, here?”

“Jaques Smeet,” answered the other, betraying what
might have proved two very fatal Shibboleths, in the ears
of those who were practised in the finesse of our very unmusical
language, by attempting to say “Jack Smith.”

“Jaques Smeet!” repeated the vice-governatore — “that
is, Giacomo, in our Italian —”

“No—no—Signore,” hastily interrupted Captain Smeet,

“not Jaqueomo, but Jaques — Giovanni, turned into Jaques
by the aid of a little salt water.”

“Ah! — I begin to understand you, Signore; you English
have this usage in your language, though you have
softened the word a little, in mercy to our ears. But we
Italians are not afraid of such sounds; and I know the name.
— `Giac Smeet' — Il Capitano Giac Smeet — I have long
suspected my English master of ignorance, for he was
merely one of our Leghorn pilots, who has sailed in a bastimento
de guerra of your country — he called your honourable
name `Smees,' Signore.”

“He was very wrong, Signor Vice-governatore,” answered
the other, clearing his throat by a slight effort; “we
always call our family `Smeet.”'

“And the name of your lugger, Signor Capitano Smeet?”
suspending his pen over the paper in expectation of the
answer.

“Ze Ving-And-Ving;” pronouncing the w's in a very
different way from what they had been sounded in answering
the hails.

“Ze Ving-y-Ving,” repeated Signor Barrofaldi, writing
the name in a manner to show it was not the first time he
had heard it; “ze Ving-y-Ving; that is a poetical appellation,
Signor Capitano; may I presume to ask what it signifies?”

“Ala e ala, in your Italian, Mister Vice-governatore.
When a craft like mine has a sail spread on each side, resembling
a bird, we say, in English, that she marches `Ving-and-Ving.”'

Andrea Barrofaldi mused, in silence, near a minute.
During this interval, he was thinking of the improbability
of any but a bonâ fide Englishman's dreaming of giving a
vessel an appellation so thoroughly idiomatic, and was fast
mystifying himself, as so often happens by tyros in any
particular branch of knowledge, by his own critical acumen.
Then he half whispered a conjecture on the subject to Vito
Viti, influenced quite as much by a desire to show his neighbour
his own readiness in such matters, as by any other
feeling. The podestâ was less struck by the distinction than
his superior; but, as became one of his limited means, he
did not venture an objection.

“Signor Capitano,” resumed Andrea Barrofaldi, “since
when have you English adopted the rig of the lugger? It
is an unusual craft for so great a naval nation, they tell me.”

“Bah! I see how it is, Signor Vice-governatore — you
suspect me of being a Frenchman, or a Spaniard, or something
else than I claim to be. On this head, however, you
may set your heart at rest, and put full faith in what I tell
you. My name is Capitaine Jaques Smeet; my vessel is
ze Ving-and-Ving; and my service that of the king of England.”

“Is your craft, then, a king's vessel; or does she sail
with the commission of a corsair?”

“Do I look like a corsair, Signor?” demanded le Capitaine
Smeet, with an offended air; “I have reason to feel
myself injured by so unworthy an imputation!”

“Your pardon, Signor Capitano Smees — but our duty
is a very delicate one, on this unprotected island, in times as
troubled as these in which we live. It has been stated to
me, as coming from the most experienced pilot of our haven,
that your lugger has not altogether the appearance of a
vessel of the Inglese, while she has many that belong to the
corsairs of France; and a prudent caution imposes on me
the office of making certain of your nation. Once assured
of that, it will be the delight of the Elbans to prove how
much we honour and esteem our illustrious allies.”

“This is so reasonable, and so much according to what I
do myself, when I meet a stranger at sea,” cried the captain,
stretching forth both arms in a frank and inviting manner,
“that none but a knave would object to it. Pursue your
own course, Signor Vice-governatore, and satisfy all your
scruples, in your own manner. How shall this be done —
will you go on board ze Ving-and-Ving, and look for yourself
— send this honourable magistrate, or shall I show you
my commission? Here is the last, altogether at your service,
and that of his Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke.”

“I flatter myself with having sufficient knowledge of
Inghilterra, Signor Capitano, though it be by means of books,
to discover an impostor, could I believe you capable of appearing
in so unworthy a character; and that, too, in a
very brief conversation. We book-worms,” added Andrea
Barrofaldi, with a glance of triumph at his neighbour, for he

now expected to give the podestâ an illustration of the practical
benefits of general learning, a subject that had often
been discussed between them, “we book-worms can manage
these trifles in our own way; and if you will consent to
enter into a short dialogue on the subject of England, her
habits, language and laws, this question will be speedily put
at rest.”

“You have me at command; and nothing would delight
me more than to chat for a few minutes about that little
island. It is not large, Signore, and is doubtless of little
worth; but, as my country, it is much in my eyes.”

“This is natural. And now, Signor Capitano, added
Andrea, glancing at the podestâ, to make sure that he was
listening, “will you have the goodness to explain to me
what sort of a government this Inghilterra possesses —
whether monarchy, aristocracy or democracy?”

“Peste!—that is not so easily answered. There is a king,
and yet there are powerful lords; and a democracy, too, that
sometimes gives trouble enough. Your question might
puzzle a philosopher, Signor Vice-governatore.”

“This may be true enough, neighbour Vito Viti, for the
constitution of Inghilterra is an instrument of many strings!
Your answer convinces me you have thought on the subject
of your government, Capitano, and I honour a reflecting
man, in all situations in life. What is the religion of the
country?”

“Corpo di Bacco! that is harder to answer than all the
rest! We have as many religions, in England, as we have
people. It is true, the law says one thing, on this head, but
then the men, women and children say another. Nothing
has troubled me more than this same matter of religion.”

“Ah! you sailors do not disquiet your souls with such
thoughts, if the truth must be said. Well, we will be indulgent
on this subject—though, out of doubt, you and all your
people are Luterani?”

“Set us down as what you please,” answered the captain,
with an ironical smile. “Our fathers, at any rate, were
all good Catholics once. But seamanship and the altar are
the best of friends, living quite independent of each other.”

“That I will answer for. It is much the same here, caro

Vito Viti, though our mariners do burn so many lamps, and
offer up so many aves.”

“Your pardon, Signor Vice-governatore,” interrupted the
Signor Smeet, with a little earnestness;” this is the great
mistake of your seamen, in general. Did they pray less,
and look to their duties more, their voyages would be shorter,
and the profits more certain.”

“Scandalous!” exclaimed the podestâ, in hotter zeal than
it was usual for him to betray —

“Nay, worthy Vito Viti, it is even so,” interrupted the
deputy, with a wave of the hand, that was as authoritative as
the concession was liberal and indicative of a spirit enlightened
by study; “the fact must be conceded. There
is the fable of Hercules and the wagoner, to confirm it. Did
our men first strive, and then pray, more would be done,
than by first praying and then striving; — and now, Signor
Capitano, a word on your language, of which I have some
small knowledge, and which doubtless you speak like a
native.”

“Sairtainlee,” answered the captain, with perfect self-composure,
changing the form of speech from the Italian to
the English with a readiness that proved how strong he felt
himself on this point; “one cannot fail to speak ze tongue
of his own mozair.”

This was said without any confusion of manner, and with
an accent that might very well mislead a foreigner, and it
sounded imposing to the vice-governatore, who felt a secret
consciousness that he could not have uttered such a sentence,
to save his own life, without venturing out of his depth:
therefore, he pursued the discourse in Italian.

“Your language, Signore,” observed Andrea Barrofaldi,
with warmth, “is no doubt a very noble one, for the language
in which Shakspeare and Milton wrote cannot be else;
but, you will permit me to say that it has a uniformity of
sound, with words of different letters, that I find as unreasonable
as it is embarrassing, to a foreigner.”

“I have heard such complaints before,” answered the
captain, not at all sorry to find the examination, which had
proved so awkward to himself, likely to be transferred to a
language about which he cared not at all, “and have little

to say in its defence. But, as an example of what you
mean —”

“Why, Signore, here are several words that I have written
on this bit of paper, which sound nearly alike, though, as
you perceive, they are quite differently spelled. Bix, bax,
box, bux, and bocks,” continued Andrea, endeavouring to
pronounce, “big,” “bag,” “bug,” “bog,” and “box,” all
of which, it seemed to him, had a very close family resemblance,
in sound, though certainly spelled with different
letters; “these are words, Signore, that are enough to drive
a foreigner to abandon your tongue in despair.”

“Indeed they are; and I often told the person who taught
me the language —”

“How; did you not learn your own tongue as we all get
our native forms of speech, by ear, when a child?” demanded
the vice-governatore, his suspicions suddenly revived.

“Without question, Signore, but I speak of books, and of
learning to read. When `big,' `bag,' `bug,' `bog,' and
`box,”' reading from the paper, in a steady voice, and a
very tolerable pronunciation, “first came before me, I felt
all the embarrassment of which you speak.”

“And did you only pronounce these words when first
taught to read them?”

This question was an awkward one to answer; but Vito
Viti began to weary of a discourse in which he could take
no part, and, most opportunely, he interposed an objection
of his own.

“Signor Barrofaldi,” he said, “stick to the lugger. All
our motives of suspicion came from Tommaso Tonti, and all
of his from the rig of Signor Smees' vessel. If the lugger
can be explained, what do we care about bixy, buxy, boxy!”

The vice-governatore was not sorry to get creditably out
of the difficulties of the language, and, smiling on his friend,
he made a gentle bow of compliance. Then he reflected a
moment, in order to plan another mode of proceeding, and
pursued the inquiry.

“My neighbour Vito Viti is right,” he said, “and we will
stick to the lugger. Tommaso Tonti is a mariner of experience,
and the oldest pilot of Elba. He tells us that the
lugger is a craft much in use among the French, and not at
all among the English, so far as he has ever witnessed.”

“In that Tommaso Tonti is no seaman. Many luggers are
to be found among the English; though more, certainly,
among the French. But I have already given the Signor
Viti to understand that there is such an island as Guernsey,
which was once French, but which is now English, and that
accounts for the appearances he has observed. We are
Guernsey-men — the lugger is from Guernsey — and, no
doubt, we have a Guernsey look. This is being half French,
I allow.”

“That alters the matter, altogether. Neighbour Viti,
this is all true about the island, and about its habits and its
origin; and if one could be as certain about the names,
why nothing more need be said. Are Giac Smees, and
Ving-y-Ving, Guernsey names?”

“They are not particularly so,” returned the sailor, with
difficulty refraining from laughing in the vice-governatore's
face; “Jaques Smeet' being so English, that we are the
largest family, perhaps, in all Inghilterra. Half the nobles
of the island are called Smeet', and not a few are named
Jaques. But little Guernsey was conquered; and our ancestors,
who performed that office, brought their names with
them, Signore. As for Ving-And-Ving, it is capital English.”

“I do not see, Vito, but this is reasonable. If the capitano,
now, only had his commission with him, you and I
might go to bed in peace, and sleep till morning.”

“Here, then, Signore, are your sleeping potions,” continued
the laughing sailor, drawing from his pocket several
papers. “These are my orders from the admiral; and, as
they are not secret, you can cast your eyes over them.
This is my commission, Signor Vice-governatore — this is
the signature of the English minister of marine — and here
is my own, `Jaques Smeet', as you see, and here is the
order to me, as a lieutenant, to take command of the Ving-And-Ving.”

All the orders and names were there, certainly, written in
a clear, fair hand, and in perfectly good English. The only
thing that one who understood the language perfectly would
have been apt to advert to, was the circumstance that the
words which the sailor pronounced “Jaques Smeet',” were
written, plainly enough, “Jack Smith” — an innovation on
the common practice, which, to own the truth, had proceeded

from his own obstinacy, and had been done in the very teeth
of the objections of the scribe who had forged the papers.
But Andrea was still too little of an English scholar to understand
the blunder, and the Jack passed, with him, quite
as currently as would “John,” “Edward,” or any other
appellation. As to the Wing-And-Wing, all was right;
though, as the words were pointed out and pronounced by
both parties, one pertinaciously insisted on calling them
“Ving-And-Ving,” and the other, “Ving-y-Ving.” All this
evidence had a great tendency towards smoothing down
every difficulty, and 'Maso Tonti's objections were pretty
nearly forgotten by both the Italians, when the papers were
returned to, and pocketed again by, their proper owner.

“It was an improbable thing that an enemy, or a corsair,
would venture into this haven of ours, Vito Viti,” said the
vice-governatore, in a self-approving manner; “for we have
a reputation for being vigilant, and for knowing our business,
as well as the authorities of Livorno, or Genova, or Napoli.”

“And that too, Signore, with nothing in the world to gain
but hard knocks and a prison,” added the Captain Smeet',
with one of his most winning smiles — a smile that even
softened the heart of the podestâ, while it so far warmed that
of his superior, as to induce him to invite the stranger to
share his own frugal supper. The invitation was accepted
as frankly as it had been given, and, the table being ready
in an adjoining room, in a few minutes Il Capitano Smees
and Vito Viti were sharing the vice-governatore's evening
meal.

From this moment, if distrust existed any longer in the
breasts of the two functionaries of Porto Ferrajo, it was so
effectually smothered as to be known only to themselves.
The light fare of an Italian kitchen, and the light wines of
Tuscany, just served to strengthen the system, and enliven
the spirits; the conversation becoming general and lively,
as the business of the moment proceeded. At that day, tea
was known throughout southern Europe as an ingredient
only for the apothecary's keeping; nor was it often to be
found among his stores; and the convives used, as a substitute,
large draughts of the pleasant mountain liquors of the
adjacent main, which produced an excitement scarcely
greater, while it may be questioned if it did as much injury

to the health. The stranger, however, both eat and drank
sparingly, for, while he affected to join cordially in the discourse
and the business of restoration, he greatly desired to
be at liberty to pursue his own designs.

Andrea Barrofaldi did not let so excellent an opportunity
to show his acquirements to the podestâ go by neglected.
He talked much of England, its history, its religion, government,
laws, climate, and industry; making frequent appeals
to the Capitano Smees for the truth of his opinions. In
most cases the parties agreed surprisingly, for the stranger
started with a deliberate intention to assent to everything;
but even this compliant temper had its embarrassments, since
the vice-governatore so put his interrogatories as occasionally
to give to acquiescence the appearance of dissent. The
other floundered through his difficulties tolerably well, notwithstanding;
and so successful was he, in particular, in flattering
Andrea's self-love by expressions of astonishment
that a foreigner should understand his own country so well
— better, indeed, in many respects, than he understood it
himself — and that he should be so familiar with its habits,
institutions and geography, that, by the time the flask was
emptied, the superior functionary whispered to his inferior,
that the stranger manifested so much information and good
sense, he should not be surprised if he turned out, in the
long run, to be some secret agent of the British government,
employed to make philosophical inquiries as to the trade and
navigation of Italy, with a view to improve the business
relations between the two countries.

“You are an admirer of nobility, and a devotee of aristocracy,”
added Andrea Barrofaldi, in pursuit of the subject
then in hand; “if the truth were known, a scion of some
noble house, yourself, Signore?”

“I? — Peste! — I hate an aristocrat, Signor Vice-governatore,
as I do the devil!”

This was said just after the freest draught the stranger
had taken, and with an unguarded warmth that he himself
immediately regretted.

“This is extraordinary, in an Inglese! Ah — I see how
it is — you are in the opposizione, and find it necessary to
say this. It is most extraordinary, good Vito Viti, that these
Inglese are divided into two political castes, that contradict

each other in everything. If one maintains that an object
is white, the other side swears it is black; and so vice versâ.
Both parties profess to love their country better than anything
else; but the one that is out of power abuses even
power itself, until it falls into its own hands.”

“This is so much like Giorgio Grondi's course towards
me, Signore, that I could almost swear he was one of these
very opposizione! I never approve of a thing that he
does not condemn, or condemn, that he does not approve.
Do you confess this much, Signor Capitano?”

“Il vice-governatore knows us better than we know ourselves,
I fear. There is too much truth in his account of
our politics; but, Signori,” rising from his chair, “I now
crave your permission to look at your town, and to return
to my vessel. The darkness has come, and discipline must
be observed.”

As Andrea Barrofaldi had pretty well exhausted his stores
of knowledge, no opposition was made; and, returning his
thanks, the stranger took his departure, leaving the two
functionaries to discuss his appearance and character over
the remainder of the flask.