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 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
Reprinted from Author's Copyright Edition 
 
Doctor Antonio 
 
 BY 
 
 G. D. RUFFINI 
 
 Ho ft Hon 
 
 DAVID STOTT, 370 OXFORD STREET, W. 
 1891 
 
Third Thousand 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 
 
 
 I Ml 
 
 Giovanni Domenico Ruffini, the gifted author 
 of Dr. Antonio j was born in 1807 in Genoa, where he 
 grew up and became a student at the University of 
 that town. He devoted himself principally to legal 
 studies, and in 1830 he successfully passed his ex- 
 amination and obtained the degree of advocate. 
 
 Taking a deep interest in the burning political 
 problems of the day — especially in the question of 
 the unification of Italy — he joined the 'Young Italy' 
 party, and soon rendered himself obnoxious to the 
 governing power, and in 1833 we find him seeking 
 refuge in the south of France, and afterwards in 
 Switzerland. * 
 
 In 1836 he made his way to England, and applied 
 himself with remarkable success to the study of the 
 language of the country that gave him refuge from 
 his political enemies. 
 
 After six years' arduous study his health gave way, 
 and to recruit it a return to the Continent became 
 necessary. For six years he lived in Paris, but in 
 1848, on the promulgation of the new Sardinian con- 
 stitution, he returned to Italy, and was elected as a 
 
 340759 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 
 
 deputy to the Subalpine Parliament by the little town 
 of Taggia, near San Remo, where some members ot 
 his family were small landowners. He quickly took 
 a prominent part in the affairs of Sardinia, and in 
 1849 ne received from King Charles -Albert the 
 appointment of Sardinian minister in Paris. 
 
 This post, however, he only held for a few weeks, 
 when the disastrous battle of Novara, resulting in the 
 abdication of Charles-Albert, obliged Ruffini to once 
 more seek refuge in London. 
 
 Here he turned his attention to literature, and in 
 1852 Lorenzo Benoni was published, and, after some 
 time, his still more popular work, Doctor Antonio, 
 which has now been out of print for many years. 
 
 During a period of many years he wrote several 
 other more or less successful novels, and in 1875 he 
 retired to his dearly -loved Taggia, in the western 
 Riviera of Genoa, the district that he has described 
 so glowingly in the following pages. 
 
 Here he spent the last few years of his life, his 
 death occurring in 1881. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTE 
 I. 
 
 R 
 
 Great and Small, . 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 The Osteria, . 
 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 III. 
 
 Sir John Davenne, 
 
 
 
 
 43 
 
 IV. 
 
 Skirmishes, 
 
 
 
 
 53 
 
 V. 
 
 A Pitched Battle, 
 
 
 
 
 72 
 
 VI. 
 
 Little Occupations, 
 
 
 
 
 94 
 
 VII. 
 
 Bits of Information, 
 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Speranza, 
 
 
 
 
 121 
 
 IX. 
 
 Lucy's Scheme, 
 
 
 
 
 142 
 
 X. 
 
 In the Balcony, 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 155 
 
 XL 
 
 The 15TH of May 1840, 
 
 
 
 
 • 175 
 
 XII. 
 
 In the Garden, 
 
 
 
 
 191 
 
 XIII. 
 
 In the Boat, . 
 
 
 
 
 203 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Sicily, 
 
 
 
 
 . 214 
 
 XV. 
 
 Progress to the Sanctuary, 
 
 
 237 
 
 XVI. 
 
 New Characters and Incidents, 
 
 
 . 258 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Theatre, .... 
 
 
 277 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Antonio pledges Himself, . 
 
 
 290 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Idyl at a Close, 
 
 
 
 
 • 3 00 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XX. Absence, . . . . . . . .318 
 
 XXI. Eight Years after, .... 325 
 
 XXII. Naples, 346 
 
 XXIII. The 15TH of May 1848, . . . .364 
 
 XXIV. Tidings, 379 
 
 XXV. V^Victis, 39i 
 
 XXVI. Continuation, 4° 6 
 
 XXVII. Ischia, 422 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 GREAT AND SMALL. 
 
 ON a fine sunny afternoon of early April, in the year 1840, 
 an elegant travelling carriage was rattling, at the full 
 speed of four post-horses, over the road, famous among 
 tourists as the Cornice Road, and which runs along the 
 western Riviera of Genoa, from that city to Nice. 
 
 Few of the public highways of Europe are more favoured 
 than this — few, at any rate, combine in themselves three 
 such elements of natural beauty as the Mediterranean on 
 one side, the Apennines on the other, and overhead the 
 splendours of an Italian sky. The industry of man has 
 done what it could, if not to vie with, at least not to dis- 
 parage, Nature. Numerous towns and villages, some grace- 
 fully seated on the shore, bathing their feet in the silvery 
 wave, some stretching up the mountain-sides like a flock of 
 sheep, or thrown picturesquely astride a lofty ridge, with 
 here and there a solitary sanctuary perched high on a sea- 
 washed cliff, or half lost in a forest of verdure at the head 
 of some glen ; marble palaces and painted villas emerging 
 from sunny vineyards, gaily flowering gardens, or groves of 
 orange and lemon trees ; myriads of white casini with green 
 jalousies scattered all over hills, once sterile, but now, 
 A 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 their scanty soil propped up by terrace shelving above 
 terrace, clothed to the top with olive-trees,— all and every- 
 thing, in short, of man's handiwork, betokens the activity 
 and ingenuity of a tasteful and richly-endowed race. 
 
 The road, in its obedience to the capricious indentations 
 of the coast, is irregular and serpent-like ; at one time on a 
 level with the sea, it passes between hedges of tamarisk, 
 aloes, and oleander, at another winds up some steep moun- 
 tain-side, through dark pine forests, rising to such a height 
 that the eye recoils terrified from looking into the abyss 
 below ; here it disappears into galleries cut in the living 
 rock, there comes out upon a wide expanse of earth, sky, 
 and water ; now turns inland, with a seeming determination 
 to force a passage across the mountain, anon shoots abruptly 
 in an opposite direction, as if bent upon rushing headlong 
 into the sea. The variety of prospect resulting from this 
 continual shifting of the point of view is as endless as that 
 offered by the ever-changing combinations of a kaleidoscope. 
 Could we but give this sketch a little of the colouring, — 
 real colouring, of the country, what a picture we should 
 make of it ! But we cannot. It is past the power of words 
 to shadow out the brilliant transparency of this atmosphere, 
 the tender azure of this sky, the deep blue of this sea, the 
 soft gradations of tone tinting these wavy mountains, as 
 they lap one over the other. The palette of a Stanfield, or 
 a D'Azeglio, would scarcely be equal to the task. 
 
 Amid such scenery the carriage just introduced to the 
 reader's notice rolled briskly on. It was as fine a piece of 
 workmanship as ever issued from the hands of a first-rate 
 London coachmaker, light, elegant, well-balanced, capa- 
 cious, comfortable-looking, and wanting in none of the 
 appendages that bespeak rank and wealth, from the (scarcely 
 visible on the dark well-varnished panels) miniature coat-of- 
 arms, with numerous quarterings, surmounted by the bloody 
 hand, that fixed the position held by the travellers on the 
 
GREA T AND SMALL 
 
 social ladder of Great Britain, to the smart lady's-maid and 
 somewhat portly man out of livery, who showed their 
 appreciation of the fine Nature around by slumbering 
 placidly in the rumble. 
 
 The two occupants of the inside, an elderly gentleman 
 and a young lady, evidently father and daughter, seemed, 
 if one might judge from appearances, as insensible as their 
 servants to the various beauties soliciting their admiration. 
 White sails, gliding, like huge swans, over the heaving 
 waves, fruit trees, so laden with blossoms as to look less 
 like trees than overgrown nosegays, fields yellow with 
 daffodil, blue with anemone, white with long-stemmed 
 Star of Bethlehem, hoary rocks, armed at every crevice 
 with the lance-like leaves of gigantic aloes, passed in rapid 
 succession by our travellers, equally unnoticed or dis- 
 regarded. 
 
 Half buried in a heap of cushions, pillows, and shawls, 
 the young lady lay at full length, trying hard to sleep ; but 
 though her cheek was pale with fatigue, and a blue circle 
 round her eyes spoke sadly of want of rest, sleep refused to 
 come, as her incessant change of position, her jerks and 
 moans of childish impatience, clearly showed to her com- 
 panion. A fair specimen she was of a type of beauty not 
 rarely met with in England, especially among the higher 
 classes — a type uniting characteristics that would seem 
 incompatible, a stamp of distinction akin to haughtiness, 
 and an almost ideal suavity of outline. The veil of languor 
 spread over her person gave her loveliness a peculiar 
 charm, one irresistibly touching. Nature, who had made 
 this girl so beautiful, seemed to have written on her every 
 feature ' fragile. ' The thin blue veins marbling her temples, 
 the soft azure of her eye, the maiden-blush clearness of the 
 skin, were but too suggestive of the transitory bloom and 
 beauty of some delicate flower. The hair, locks of which 
 strayed here and there out of their elegant prison "of 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 embroidered gauze, had that rich golden hue with which 
 the Italian painters adorn the heads of cherubs. Altogether, 
 hers was as graceful and fairy-like a form as ever human 
 eye rested on, such as an angel would choose if condemned 
 to assume a mortal shape, just corporeal enough to attest 
 humanity, yet sufficiently transparent to let the celestial 
 origin shine through. 
 
 Sir John Davenne — for such was the name of the elderly 
 gentleman by the side of this fair creature — sat lost in a 
 brown study, one seemingly of no pleasant nature, and from 
 which nothing had power to rouse him, but the sound, how- 
 ever stifled, of a short dry cough, which awakened all the 
 solicitude of an affectionate parent. He would then turn 
 to his young companion, ask, in a whisper full of tender- 
 ness, if she felt worse, mutter some words of endearment 
 or cheering, and shake up or smooth the pillows. 
 
 The appearance of the father was at first sight pre- 
 possessing also in its way. The fresh complexion, almost 
 feminine in its softness, the clear blue eye, the lofty brow, 
 scarcely shaded by two scanty tufts of glossy grey hair, 
 carefully brushed forward, the tall upright figure, that 
 gave little evidence of the fifty-six or fifty-seven summers 
 its possessor had numbered, all were calculated to produce 
 an agreeable impression. A nearer inspection, a more 
 prolonged gaze, revealed blots on this polished surface. 
 The forehead, pure in colour and smooth as marble, was 
 high but narrow, and sloping backwards, like the foreheads 
 of George the Third and Charles the Tenth, an hereditary 
 feature in the family from which this gentleman descended, 
 and that kept the promise it gave, of an obstinacy which 
 would not have discredited the crowned heads it has been 
 likened to. The light-blue eye was too prominent and 
 round, the nostrils of the thin arched nose were pinched, 
 the small finely-cut lips had a pressure upwards, which, 
 with the acute angle of the nostril, indicated an indulged 
 
GREA T AND SMALL 
 
 habit of contemptuous pride. The general expression of 
 this gentleman's countenance seemed to say that the clay 
 that other men were made of * did come between the wind 
 and his nobility.' 
 
 An uninterrupted series of explosions from the postilion's 
 whip, and the stony pavement over which the carriage now 
 clatters, loudly announce its having entered a town. A 
 stentorian ' ohe ! ' from the Automedon of the aristocratic 
 vehicle, gives warning to the unseen occupant of a shabby 
 two-wheeled calessino, standing in front of the post-house, 
 to make room for its betters. Be it the effect of the bloody 
 hand, that makes itself felt even at a distance, or be it 
 simply that the owner of the gig had pressing business of 
 his own, certain it is that the word of command was 
 scarcely uttered before obeyed, and the dusty calessino 
 started away at the full speed of its shaggy horse, leaving 
 its ponderous competitor undisputed master of the field. 
 
 The lady's-maid and the man-servant get down from the 
 rumble, and wait obsequiously at the carriage doors. The 
 invalid asks for a glass of water. The water is obtained, and 
 Sir John pours into it some drops from a phial, and holds it 
 to the lips of the suffering girl. In the meantime, two pro- 
 fessional beggars, a man and woman, in pictorial rags, 
 begin a long litany of miseries, ending with an ever-repeated 
 burden that the Madonna Santissima e tutti i Santi del 
 Paradiso will repay any charity tenfold to the buoni bene- 
 fattori. Miss Davenne looks for her purse, and puts some 
 money into the woman's hand, who happens to be on her 
 side of the carriage. Sir John throws some silver on the 
 ground for the old man. Certainly, both father and daugh- 
 ter are actuated by an identically meritorious feeling, but 
 how unlike is the manner in which it is expressed ! Even 
 the beggars feel the difference — the old woman drops a 
 courtesy and a smile, while the old man picks up the money 
 and turns away sullenly. 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 'What is the name of this place?' asks Miss Davenne. 
 'San Remo,' is the answer. Sir John Davenne does not 
 approve of the name ; at least one may argue as much from 
 his pursed-up lips as he hears it. He looks up the street 
 and down the street, and finally draws in his head. Had 
 Sir John Davenne kept a note-book he would probably 
 have made an entry of this sort, — 'San Remo, a queer- 
 looking place, narrow, ill-paved streets, high, irregular 
 houses, ragged people, swarms of beggars,' and so forth for 
 a whole page. Fortunately for the public reputation of 
 San Remo, Sir John kept no note-book. 
 
 By this time four horses were already put to the carriage, 
 but the length of the next stage, and the hilly character of 
 the road, required, according to the postmaster, an extra 
 horse. This fifth horse, however, which was to be placed 
 tandem-fashion, manifested a most determined disinclina- 
 tion for the post assigned him ; kicking and plunging in 
 fair alternation, he at last broke loose, and set off full gallop 
 down the narrow street, pursued by all the men and boys 
 apparently in the town, by whose combined efforts, after a 
 keen chase, he was captured at last, triumphantly brought 
 back, and fastened in front of the other four. The postilion 
 jerked himself into his heavy saddle, waved his long whip 
 round his head, first to the right and then to the left, a 
 report like a pistol following each manoeuvre, and the car- 
 riage was at length again set in motion, amid a perfect 
 uproar of unintelligible vociferations. 
 
 In a short time it came in sight of the gig first noticed at 
 San Remo, and now toiling up a long steep hill ; a curious 
 specimen, to be sure, of the conveyances of the country, — 
 such a weather-beaten, discoloured, squeezed-in, almost 
 shapeless thing, — it was a wonder how it held together or 
 remained on its wheels. The distance between the two car- 
 riages diminished very perceptibly, the four wheels gaining 
 on the two, much in the proportion of a big steamer in stern 
 
GREA T AND SMALL 
 
 chase of a small boat. Now the thick layers of dust on the 
 road deadened the sound of wheels and horses' feet, and 
 made the usual warnings with the whip more necessary than 
 ever. Still the postilion gave no sign of life. Most likely 
 he took it for granted that the driver of the gig must be 
 aware of the coming up of his magnificent neighbour, and 
 would take proper care of himself, or may be he was so 
 engrossed by the mending of his lash as to forget his duty ; 
 however it was, it so turned out that the English equipage, 
 just as it reached the verge of the eminence, dashed unex- 
 pectedly at full speed past the unprepared humble vehicle. 
 The shaggy little horse, frightened out of its wits, made such 
 a sudden bolt to the left, that had the hand holding the 
 reins been a whit less strong and experienced, gig, horse, 
 and driver must have gone down into the sea. 
 
 The volley of expletives with which the single gentleman 
 of the gig saluted the sudden advent of his fellow-travellers 
 (and from the angry tone in which they were uttered there 
 was no mistaking them for blessings) sufficiently testified 
 his resentment of the postilion's unceremonious proceeding 
 Fortunately Miss Davenne, though a tolerably good Italian 
 scholar, did not understand the patois of the Riviera, other- 
 wise she would have had an odd and not particularly agree- 
 able illustration of passionate local eloquence. 
 
 If the unexpected encounter had shaken the shaggy pony 
 and his master out of their equanimity, the famous extra 
 horse of Sir John's carriage proved not a bit more stoical. 
 Perhaps the alarm was contagious, or perhaps the creature 
 had a special antipathy to the process of going down hill, 
 which now began. Whatever was the cause, from the 
 moment of passing the calessino, his progress became a 
 chance medley of galloping, plunging, and rearing. Sir 
 John, who, with his head out of the window, was following, 
 with momently increasing anxiety the strange evolutions of 
 the beast, would have at once called to the postilion, but 
 
8 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 from the double fear of startling his daughter out of the half 
 slumber into which she seemed to have dropped after leav- 
 ing San Remo, and of too suddenly checking the horses in 
 full career. But the carriage having reached the bottom of 
 the hill, which wag not a long one, and Miss Davenne being 
 awake by this time, Sir John ordered the postilion to stop, 
 and in the same breath desired John, the companion of the 
 lady's-maid in the rumble, to get down and see what was 
 the matter. John got down; and there ensued a parley 
 between the valet and the post-boy, unlikely to lead to any 
 satisfactory result, seeing that the postilion did not under- 
 stand one syllable of John's questions or directions, expressed 
 in the most imperfect of Italian, nor did John comprehend 
 one syllable of the postilion's explanations, given in the 
 patois of the Riviera. Each party repeated his own words 
 over and over again, without conveying any idea to the 
 other ; English John insisting on the restive horse being 
 put into the traces, and one of the quiet hind horses taking 
 his place ; while the postilion, with native fluency, persisted 
 in asseverating that there was no danger, that the plunging 
 and rearing of the leader was caused by the knocking of the 
 splinter bar against his legs, and that he could pnt that to 
 rights in no time. 
 
 At last the energetic pantomime of the Italian lad, for 
 the postilion was not above twenty, gave John a glimpse of 
 his interlocutor's meaning. The fact pointed out by the 
 youth was so evidently one, though perhaps not the sole 
 cause of the horse's restlessness, that John, glad to be spared 
 any more arguing to so little purpose, and also at some cost 
 to his dignity, readily accepted the explanation ; and having 
 reported to his master that there was only a trifle wrong 
 with the harness, which would be remedied directly, climbed 
 back gravely to his comfortable seat by Miss Hutchins. 
 
 The postilion had just begun to try shortening the chains 
 of the bar, so that it should not strike against the horse, 
 
GREAT AND SMALL 
 
 whistling loudly the while, when the gig, which had been 
 left behind, came up and stopped by his side, without his 
 having heard or seen it. ' Hallo, Prospero !' said a voice, 
 which made the young man simultaneously start, look up, 
 and take off his hat with some precipitation, 'what the 
 devil is the matter with you to-day ? Do you know, you 
 stupid boy, that you have been within an ace of pitching me 
 into the sea ?' 
 
 ' Pitching Vossignoria into the sea ! ' exclaimed Prospero, 
 with an odd mixture of anger and distress in his voice. 
 ' Vossignoria knows I would rather be drowned myself a 
 hundred times. But this is not the Signor's catessino, and 
 how could I guess the Signor was in it?' 
 
 ' And what had that to do with the matter ?' retorted the 
 voice of the so addressed ' Signor ' angrily. ' What does it 
 signify whether it was I or the Great Khan of Tartary? 
 How dare you, sir, play with the life of any one ? It is 
 your business and duty to take care that the horses you drive 
 be not the death of peaceable citizens. Do you hear ?' 
 
 Prospero, now thoroughly humbled, said he was very 
 sorry, and would do his best that the like should not happen 
 again. 
 
 * Very well; but what horse is thai you have got there?' 
 continued the voice ; and a hand stretched forth from under 
 the hood of the calessino pointed to the extra horse. 
 
 'It is a new one, Signor ; it came to the stables only 
 yesterday. He 's a fidgety beast. ' 
 
 ' Fidgety you call him. Bagatella ! he 's as vicious an 
 animal as I ever saw, and one your master ought not to put 
 to any carriage with Christians inside. I have been watching 
 your fidgety beast for the last quarter of an hour. Take 
 good advice while it is yet time, Prospero ; instead of 
 fastening that buckle, undo it, and let the horse find its 
 own way back to San Remo. ' 
 
 Had Prospero been a man of fifty, with an established 
 
io DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 character as a post-boy, the probabilities are that he might 
 have accepted of good advice ; but he was a mere lad, as 
 we have said, full of courage and confidence in the strength 
 of his own arms, and with an ardent desire to be known as 
 a first-rate whip on the road. Now, to send back a horse, 
 under the circumstances, was tantamount to the confession 
 of his own inability to manage him — a confession that 
 Prospero's self-love and ambition alike forbade. Postilions 
 have their point of honour as well as the people they drive. 
 
 So Prospero replied, with some cunning, ' Leave him on 
 the road, Signor, you mean, for how would he ever find his 
 way back, when we got him only yesterday, and that from 
 inland ? A pretty scrape I would be in with master if I 
 were to turn the horse loose here ! But there is no danger,' 
 continued Prospero, recovering his good humour and polite- 
 ness, ' any beast would kick if he had a great piece of wood 
 flapping against his legs every step he took. See here, 
 Signor, if I let down the ropes a bit, and shorten up the 
 chain, so as to keep the bar pretty stiff, he '11 go as quiet as 
 a lamb.' 
 
 'Well, you ought to know best,' answered the voice; 
 ' at all events, keep a sharp lookout on him, and try next 
 time you come up with me not to upset me, or give me a 
 cold bath, if you can help it. ' 
 
 These last words were said good-humouredly ; the postilion 
 showed all his white teeth in the merry laugh with which he 
 received the recommendation, and made a low bow as the 
 gig drove off. 
 
 This dialogue, of course not understood by the English 
 travellers, lasted scarcely two minutes ; the manner of 
 speaking of both interlocutors being rapid and ineisive. 
 The voice of the invisible one was remarkable for its rich- 
 ness of tone, and natural management of what it may be 
 allowable to call the chiaroscuro of speech. When we say 
 invisible^ we mean with respect only to those within the 
 
GREA T AND SMALL 1 1 
 
 carriage, who, the two vehicles standing one before the 
 other in nearly the same line, could see nothing of the 
 person in the hooded gig but the hand with which he had 
 pointed to the horse. 
 
 The lengthening of the ropes and the shortening of the 
 chains being at last accomplished, it was not long before 
 the great English carriage once more passed the democratic- 
 looking calessino, but this time at a very gentle pace, and 
 not till after every sort of whistle, cry, or call a throat could 
 give forth, and every possible signal a whip is capable of, 
 had been rung through the air by the repentant Prospero. 
 Sir John Davenne gave a sigh of relief as they passed. 
 Odd enough, the Baronet had condescended to take a per- 
 sonal dislike to the calessino, and he hoped that he had 
 seen it now for the last time. Ah ! Sir John Davenne, 
 there is a legend or motto older than even the Crusades, 
 ' L'homme propose, Dieu dispose. ' The shy horse was 
 behaving well for the time being, Miss Davenne was now 
 fairly asleep, so all his causes for uneasiness or annoyance 
 being at once removed, Sir John relapsed into his former 
 reverie, which, in another few minutes, and in spite of one 
 or two manful efforts, became a most flagrant doze. 
 
 A little after Sir John had closed his eyes, the road, 
 which for some time had been going up hill, began to 
 descend. For a good mile it ran sloping zigzag round a 
 barren reddish cliff that jutted into the sea, till, at a sharp 
 turning to the right, there opened to view the last but most 
 rapid part of the declivity, then a run of no more than two 
 hundred paces on a level with the sea. Here the road 
 began to rise again, and soon became bifurcated ; the lesser 
 branch climbing straight up a little promontory that shut in 
 the horizon to the west — a verdant smiling bit of land, with 
 a steeple, and here and there housetops shining in the sun 
 —the main branch skirting the rocky base to the left. 
 
 Now Prospero, whose sense of responsibility had been 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 put on the qui vive by the warnings of the occupant of the 
 gig, ventured down the slope with all possible care, and 
 with an eye to the ticklish leader. But not all his vigilance 
 or skill were sufficient to ward off a result inevitable under 
 the circumstances, namely, that the strain kept on the traces 
 of the front horse in ascending, being necessarily slackened 
 in the descent, nay, at times entirely suspended, the bar by 
 which the animal was fastened to the pole once more began 
 to hit against his hind quarters. An occasional lash out of 
 his heels gave warning of coming danger. Matters grew 
 worse, as the declivity, gentle at first, just about the turning 
 before mentioned became more abrupt, and the inconvenience 
 arising from the splinter bar increased in direct ratio to the 
 accelerated motion of the vehicle. The rage and terror of 
 the goaded animal augmented with every step, while the 
 efforts of the alarmed driver to quiet him only served to 
 frighten the other four. Feeling that the whole five were 
 getting beyond his control, Prospero suddenly loosened the 
 reins, and with a clack of his tongue launched them at full 
 gallop, keeping a sharp lookout on the road, so as to avoid 
 everything in the shape of an impediment, which, however 
 small, at the fearful rate the carriage was going, must have 
 endangered its equilibrium. He trusted, of course, to being 
 able to pull in the horses so soon as they should feel the 
 rise of the hill before them. 
 
 It was, indeed, the only chance of safety left, and in 
 another minute the attempt would have succeeded, but Sir 
 John all at once awoke. The real state of things had influ- 
 enced his sleep, for he had been dreaming all this time of 
 horses running away, and, in a very natural bewilderment on 
 first waking, he put his head out of the window, roaring to 
 the postilion to stop. The noise awakened Miss Davenne, 
 who, in her turn greatly alarmed, began to scream. The 
 call and the screams made the unlucky Prospero turn his 
 head a little, and in so doing he lost sight of the road for a 
 
GREAT AND SMALL 13 
 
 second — even a second was too much at this critical con- 
 juncture. One of the hind wheels jerked over a stone, the 
 carriage gave a bound as if it were about to take wing, 
 oscillated for a moment on the edge of the road, then 
 tumbled over, horses and all. Bad as the case was, it 
 might have been worse. The road was only a few feet 
 above the shore, and, luckily, at that spot there was a thick 
 bed of sand, which softened the fall. It was well that Sir 
 John had not been sooner roused from his nap, or the upset 
 might have proved! too much even for a man of his con- 
 sequence. 
 
 While Miss Hutchins, all in a flutter of spirits and gar- 
 ments, with her sudden flight through the air, picks herself 
 up as fast as she can, astonished to find she is all in one 
 piece — while John, as grim and dignified as ever, in spite 
 of a very ugly somerset, and a long cut across the nose, 
 which is bleeding profusely, pulls Sir John, who happens 
 to be uppermost, and seems to have sustained no injury, 
 through one of the windows — while all three uniting their 
 efforts, try to extricate from the fallen carriage Miss 
 Davenne's inanimate form — while Prospero, from the very 
 excess of despair, stares vacantly first at one and then the 
 other, leaving his horses to kick and struggle at their 
 pleasure, looking as though he had fallen from the clouds 
 instead of from off the road, the hated gig might have been 
 seen, like a thunderbolt on wheels, rushing furiously down 
 the hill. Has the shaggy little horse run away also, or does 
 the person driving belong to that rare order of beings, upon 
 whom the prospect of giving aid to fellow-creatures in 
 distress acts like an intoxicating draught, rendering them 
 insensible to personal danger ? We shall see by and by. 
 
 * Anybody hurt? any harm done?' cried the gentleman of 
 the gig, as he drew up in front of where the accident had 
 happened. * Can I be of any use? I am a medical man.' 
 At the same time there got out of the calessino, and made 
 
i 4 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 for the group standing round Miss Davenne, a tall, dark, 
 black-bearded man, wearing a broad-brimmed conical hat — 
 in short, just such a figure as, met by Sir John under any 
 other circumstances, would have made him cock the two 
 pistols he had invariably carried about him since travelling 
 in the classical land of banditti. As it was, the English 
 baronet, who did not understand one word of the stranger's 
 Italian, contented himself with staring at the new-comer 
 half in amazement, half in displeasure, as much as to say, 
 To what species does this creature belong? Nothing 
 daunted by this stare, the stranger pushed past Sir John, 
 knelt down by the side of the prostrate girl, and was trying 
 to feel her pulse, when Sir John, not catching his meaning, 
 made a dart forward, as if to thrust him away from his 
 daughter. 
 
 * Are you mad?' bawled the stranger in Italian ; then in 
 French, ' Je suis medecin, vous dis-je,' adding rapidly, this 
 time in good plain English, as if in the Baronet's face he 
 had seen the flag of Great Britain hoisted, ' Did you not 
 hear me say that I was a physician?' The sound of his 
 native tongue at length conveys to Sir John's comprehension 
 a clear and distinct conception, and a ray of consolation falls 
 on his spirit. For, to have a doctor at hand in such a strait, 
 and a doctor who speaks English, however his appearance 
 may jar with all the Englishman's preconceived notions of 
 medical gentlemen, Sir John allows to himself is something. 
 
 As if what he had said called for no further remark or 
 question, the doctor proceeded to feel the lady's pulse, took 
 off her bonnet, and gently examined her head. No wound 
 there, not even a bruise. The chest, too, was safe, for, 
 though faint, her breathing was regular ; ' unless there be 
 concussion of the brain,' said the doctor to himself. Just as 
 he shook his head at this unpleasant conjecture, his eyes 
 met those of Sir John Davenne. The keen anxiety of that 
 countenance could not for a moment be mistaken. ' You 
 
GREA T AND SMALL 15 
 
 need not be uneasy about your daughter,' said the doctor, 
 answering the unspoken question, and taking the relation- 
 ship for granted, * this is a mere fainting fit, the young lady 
 will soon recover;' and while still speaking, he pulled a 
 case out of his coat pocket, from which he took a pair of 
 large scissors. These he thrust into Miss Hutchins' trem- 
 bling hands, saying, ' You must manage to undo your lady's 
 dress, while I run down to the sea for some water. Cut 
 everything, mind, without moving her.' 
 
 Waiting for no reply, the tall gentleman strides away, fills 
 his hat with water, and returns in the twinkling of an eye. 
 All his movements are quick but sedate, and though visibly 
 excited, all he does and says, he does and says in a resolute, 
 quiet, earnest way of his own, without hurry or fuss. As he 
 comes back, the struggling horses and the petrified Prospero 
 attract his attention, and he calls out in a voice that enforces 
 immediate obedience, * Cut the ropes of those horses, do 
 you hear ? and do it at once, ' and keeps his eye on the pos- 
 tilion till he sees him twist his head round like Harlequin's 
 pantomime of distress, and begin to fumble in one of his 
 jacket pockets for a knife. 
 
 The doctor sprinkled Miss Davenne's face and throat 
 freely with water, laid a wet handkerchief across her fore- 
 head, while Hutchins held smelling-salts to her nose, and 
 bathed her hands with eau-de-Cologne. But in defiance of 
 all efforts she continued insensible. It was becoming clear 
 to a medical eye that some more energetic remedies might 
 be necessary to restore animation. The doctor again drew 
 out his case of instruments, and, to Sir John's great con- 
 sternation, set about choosing a lancet. Happily, at this 
 moment Miss Davenne half opened her eyes, and faltered 
 out ' Papa. ' Sir John stooped fondly over her, ' What is it, 
 my darling?' 
 
 * Oh, my foot ! such a dreadful pain in my foot !' 
 
 * Which foot?' asked the Italian. 
 
16 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 She looked up at him in some amazement, then pointing 
 to her right foot, said, 'This one.' The words were no 
 sooner uttered than the doctor seized his great scissors, and 
 in a second had skilfully cut open the elegant boot and fine 
 stocking, laying bare a little alabaster foot, just fit for a 
 Cinderella's slipper, but shockingly sprained. Nor was this 
 all. The leg was broken just above the ankle. This, with 
 rapid medical intuition, he rather guessed than saw, and by 
 a motion as quick as thought, he dropped a shawl over the 
 wounded limb, so as to hide it from both father and daugh- 
 ter, saying, in a calm tone, * Ah, a sprained ankle ! a rather 
 painful, but not a serious thing. I must have all the hand- 
 kerchiefs you can. give me,' he added, looking round. 
 Handkerchiefs of all sizes and qualities came forth from the 
 pockets of the bystanders. ' Enough, enough,' said he, 
 smiling, as he looked at the unexpected shower. 'These 
 will answer in the meantime for a temporary bandage, which 
 will alleviate the pain the young lady feels. ' He bound up 
 the poor foot carefully, then said, ' Now, madam, let me 
 impress upon you the importance of remaining as quiet as 
 possible. I must leave you for a little while, to fetch what 
 is necessary to enable me to dress your foot properly, which 
 must be done before you can be removed from your present 
 uncomfortable position. Do you promise me not to stir 
 while I am gone?' 
 
 'Yes,' said Miss Davenne, with a feeble effort to smile 
 her thanks. 
 
 The doctor sprang lightly to his feet, and was hastening 
 away, when, suddenly turning to John, who was standing 
 near him with a look of deep commiseration, almost comical 
 to see, on his black and blue face, he said, ' Suppose you 
 were to hold an umbrella over the lady's head, the sun is 
 full upon her '; then continuing his way, he jumped into 
 his gig, and pushed the shaggy horse to a gallop* 
 
CHAPTER II, 
 
 THE OSTERIA. 
 
 * QO that gentleman is a doctor, papa,' said Lucy, this 
 
 O being the simple Christian name given to the 
 daughter of the haughty Baronet. 
 
 ' At least he gives himself out for one, my dear,' said Sir 
 John. 
 
 ' How very lucky for me ! ' remarked the young lady. 
 
 'Very,' replied Sir John, 'though he is an odd-looking 
 figure for a physician.' 
 
 * Yes, in England we should think so,' answered Lucy ; 
 'but abroad, you know, people are less particular about 
 dress, and there is something gentlemanlike about him after 
 all. Did you observe his hands, papa? I am sure they are 
 like a gentleman's.' 
 
 'May be so, may be so,' said Sir John doubtingly. 
 
 ' I wonder whether he is English, papa ; he speaks very 
 good English. ' 
 
 ' Yes, but there is a strong smack of the foreigner in his 
 accent,' returned her father. 
 
 Lucy was silent, and, leaning her head on her hand, 
 seemed little disposed to continue the dialogue. Sir John, 
 thus left to himself, all at once remembered the postilion, 
 and as he remembered, all the anger forgotten in his anxiety 
 for Lucy returned, rose to fury and overflowed his lips. He 
 began to abuse the unlucky lad in very Doric English, inter- 
 B 
 
18 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 spersed now and then with a word intended for Italian. 
 ' Look at the cold-blooded villain,' stormed Sir John, point- 
 ing to Prospero, who, as he stood mechanically holding the 
 bridles of the horses, and staring vacantly, did look as if 
 the storm of words rattling about his ears for the last five 
 minutes did not concern him ; but this apathy was not 
 indifference nor callousness, nor cold-bloodedness; on the 
 contrary, it was the stoniness of despair. This immobility 
 irritating Sir John more and more every instant, brought 
 him at last to swear, that, since he could not remain 
 on the spot long enough to prosecute the rascal for deliber- 
 ate intent to murder, he would write to the postmaster 
 and have the lad dismissed. The post-boy never winced. 
 No, he would do better — he would apply to the English 
 Envoy at Turin ; he, Sir John Davenne, was determined to 
 make an example of the wretch for the benefit of future 
 travellers and post-boys. Still Prospero stood as unmoved 
 as if part of the rock by his side. He, Sir John Davenne, 
 would never rest, no, never, till the good-for-nothing Italian 
 ruffian had been summarily punished, though he should 
 have recourse to the King of Sardinia himself. The doomed 
 Prospero heard the sound of the Baronet's angry voice, but 
 without its ever disturbing his agreeable contemplation of 
 the postmaster's fury in posse, and the dread in esse, of hav- 
 ing done some mortal injury to the bella Signorina. This 
 outburst of ire had one use, at least, it was a diversion of 
 its kind, which helped Sir John to wait for the Italian doc- 
 tor's promised return with more patience than he -would 
 otherwise have done. 
 
 Miss Davenne felt thankful when she saw the poor old 
 gig once more. ' Now, then,' said the Doctor's cheerful 
 voice, * we must all make ourselves useful. Ah ! this 
 umbrella is in my way here, will you have the goodness, 
 sir,' turning to Sir John, ' to hold it yourself, and screen 
 your daughter from the sun ? Excuse me, but you will do 
 
THE OSTERIA 19 
 
 it more effectually if you sit down by her, thus,' and he 
 placed Sir John at his daughter's head. 
 
 * You, too,' he continued, addressing the servants, ' will 
 seat yourselves at the young lady's feet, and attend closely 
 to what I say to you. My place is here in the middle ; ' 
 and he knelt down on one knee with his back turned to Sir 
 John and the patient, so as to entirely preclude their seeing 
 anything of what was going to pass. 
 
 1 1 shall not keep you long, nor hurt you much,' he added, 
 turning his head for an instant towards Miss Davenne. So 
 saying, he undid the handkerchiefs, and bade Hutchins and 
 John support the foot. 
 
 Lucy remained as quiet and passive in his hands, with 
 even a look of faith in him shining in her eyes, as if, instead 
 of chance having brought them together on a high-road in 
 Italy, he had been her medical attendant since her infancy. 
 Indeed, all present, even Sir John, seemed under the spell 
 of the combination of simplicity and force that breathed in 
 the man. 
 
 A pull— a crackling as if of bones clasping together — a 
 suppressed groan. ' There, it is over ! ' cried the Doctor, 
 shaking off, with a jerk of his head, the large drops of per- 
 spiration breaking over his broad forehead. * You feel less 
 pain already, do you?' he asked, bending towards Lucy. 
 Poor girl, she was so bewildered she could scarcely tell how 
 she felt. The foot had to be bound up, an operation which 
 required great care, and took some time. At last it was 
 finished. Two thin flat pieces of something which were 
 among the rollers the doctor had fetched (two slips of wood, 
 we suspect, wrapped up in linen beforehand to conceal their 
 real nature from the bystanders), were fastened on each side 
 of the foot, over the bandage, so as to secure it and keep all 
 in its place, and there was an end of it. 
 
 By this time four strong sunburnt peasant women had 
 brought a very primitive kind of litter with mattresses on it, 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 and were waiting at a little distance from the principal 
 group. 
 
 ' Bring one of the mattresses here,' cried the Doctor, 
 directing them to place it close to Miss Davenne's side. 
 He then opened a sheet, saying to her, ' We are going to 
 slip this sheet under you, to lift you up gently and place 
 you on the mattress, which we can then raise into the litter 
 without fear of shaking or hurting your foot. All I beg of 
 you is, to remain perfectly passive in our hands, and even 
 guard against any involuntary movement meant to help 
 yourself or us.' 
 
 * This is the second time you have so earnestly warned 
 me. Am I then very dangerously hurt ? ' asked the young 
 lady with some alarm. 
 
 1 Not in the least,' replied the Italian ; * you are not to 
 take fright at the cautions I impose on you,' and bending 
 again towards her, he added, in an undertone, ' You can 
 understand that many unpleasant consequences may follow 
 an accident without entailing any danger to life. For in- 
 stance, to cure your leg — for, properly speaking, it is your 
 leg that is hurt and not your foot — is an easy task, one 
 depending more on time and patience than on any surgical 
 skill ; but to make sure that, when it is cured, it shall be 
 absolutely as it was before the injury, not the eighth of an 
 inch longer or shorter ' (Lucy changed colour as she heard 
 this), ' is a very different affair, and will require the utmost 
 care and nicety. Now, then, do you see why I impress on 
 you the danger of disobedience to your doctor ? ' added he, 
 with a smile of encouragement ; ' any imprudence or neglect 
 on your side may render every attention on his part useless.' 
 
 Seeing by the look which answered his that he had said 
 enough to insure his patient's docility, the doctor, with 
 Hutchins' help, passed the sheet under Miss Davenne, then 
 beckoning forward three of the women, he and they took 
 each a corner, raised her, balanced as if in a hammock, and 
 
THE OSTERIA' 21 
 
 laid her first on the mattress by her side, then carefully 
 transferred that to the litter. He covered her with a shawl, 
 put a cushion under her head, and gave the signal of de- 
 parture ; but the litter was scarcely in motion when he 
 called to the bearers to stop and turn it round, so that her 
 head being foremost the poor girl could see her father, who 
 was a little behind. ' It will be a comfort to the young 
 lady,' explained the doctor to the women carrying her, 'to 
 be able to see the dear and well-known face of her father.' 
 
 Any one of experience must often have noticed and ad- 
 mired the quick perception and delicacy of many a poor 
 peasant in all connected with the affections. More especi- 
 ally is the strength of the social bonds felt by the olive- 
 skinned passionate children of Italy. The four pair of 
 black eyes glistened with tears that made them look like 
 black diamonds, while the stout matrons uttered, with that 
 peculiar intonation of their country, so expressive, so inde- 
 scribable, the usual appeal to the Virgin. 
 
 Lucy did not need to hear the explanation to guess the 
 intention of the change thus ordered, and with a slight in- 
 clination of the head, or rather of her eyelids, accompanied 
 by a smile, made the doctor sensible of her having under- 
 stood it. The look and smile brought a pleasant glow to 
 the face and heart of the physician. This incident established 
 a sympathetic communication, something like a magnetic 
 current, according to modern parlance, between the young 
 people — the doctor was under thirty. What a kind-hearted 
 man, thought Lucy. The gentle, grateful heart, thought 
 the doctor. Thus each had had a glimpse into the nature 
 of the other. 
 
 The Italian was walking slowly behind the litter, when 
 the Baronet, coming up to his side, said, somewhat abruptly, 
 ■ I think it right to introduce myself to you : — Sir, I am 
 Sir John Davenne, of Davenne Hall, in shire.' 
 
 The younger gentleman, thus startled out of his reflec- 
 
22 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 tions, took off his hat, and, with a bow sufficiently grace- 
 ful, replied — 
 
 'And I, sir, am Doctor Antonio, the parish doctor of 
 Bordighera ; ' and there was a twinkle in his eye, as if he 
 relished something in his own reply excessively. 
 
 Sir John contracted his nostrils and pursed up his mouth, 
 just the play of muscles of one whose sense of smell is 
 offended, an habitual grimace of the Baronet's when either 
 provoked or displeased. 
 
 'May I ask you,' continued he, addressing his interlocu- 
 tor with a manner too provokingly ceremonious not to be- 
 tray an intense pique, most likely at his not having been 
 consulted in all the arrangements about his daughter, — ' may 
 I ask you where we are going ? ' 
 
 ' Excuse me, my dear sir ' (Confound his impudence ! said 
 Sir John mentally), 'in my hurry and anxiety for the lady 
 I have forgotten to tell you. We are going to that red house 
 yonder, half hidden by trees,' answered the Doctor, point- 
 ing to a shabby, two-storied, rather dismantled-looking 
 building to the left of the road, about half-way between the 
 spot where they were and the bright green little headland 
 already mentioned ; 'it is a mere roadside inn,' he continued, 
 ' kept by poor but respectable and kind people. You will 
 find there, I am sorry to say, scanty accommodation, but 
 all proper care and attention, and,' added he significantly, 
 'the thing of most importance in this moment, a bed for your 
 daughter.' 
 
 To judge from the play of the muscles about the nose, Sir 
 John would have willingly dispensed with a good deal of 
 the vaunted care and attention in favour of a little more 
 personal comfort, but he said nothing of the sort, and 
 replied — 
 
 ' Well, well, the accommodation is of little consequence, 
 for, as soon as my daughter has had some repose, we shall 
 resume our journey to Nice.' 
 
THE OSTERIA 23 
 
 1 You are surely not in earnest,' cried the Italian, stopping 
 short in his amazement ; but immediately checking himself, 
 he added, in a quiet and conciliatory manner, ' I fear, nay, 
 I am sure, that Miss Davenne will not be able to resume 
 her journey for some' — (a pause of hesitation). 
 
 ' Hours ? ' suggested the Baronet. 
 
 'Days, perhaps weeks,' concluded the Doctor gently. 
 
 * Weeks ! ' gasped Sir John, standing still in his turn. 
 ' Weeks ! ' repeated he, this time with a burst of indignation. 
 ' Impossible ! I have engagements that I cannot postpone. 
 I must be in London within ten days. ' 
 
 ' For your daughter, I regret to say, that is entirely out 
 of the question.' 
 
 1 Out of the question ! — out of the question ! ' grumbled 
 Sir John. ' Why out of the question ? ' 
 
 The tone in which this query was put was so peremptory 
 and trenchant, that the Doctor began to chafe. 
 
 'Because,' said he warmly, 'since you must have it, 
 your daughter's case — it is not my wish to alarm you, but 
 
 — your daughter's case is not ' He was going to add, 
 
 'what I stated at first,' with God knows what else ; but at 
 sight of the anxious look of the already alarmed father, the 
 young physician had not the heart to go on, and wound up 
 instead with, ' is not one to be trifled with.' 
 
 There, thought Sir John, recovering his self-possession 
 and anger, I see what it is ; this man is bent on frightening 
 me to make the most of a good job — a reflection little 
 calculated to sweeten his temper. 
 
 'Well, well,' said he impatiently, 'I know, everybody 
 knows what a sprain is. An odd pretension this, to keep 
 us prisoners for an indefinite period of time on the plea of 
 a sprain ! ' 
 
 ' Pretension to keep you prisoner ! ' exclaimed the Italian, 
 with a wonderful contraction of the temples. 'Nobody 
 keeps you prisoner, my dear sir.' (That second ' my dear 
 
24 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 sir,' the innocent translation of the common form of address 
 in Italy, the ' Caro Signor mio, ' one entirely of courtesy and 
 not of familiarity, acted on all Sir John's aristocratic fibres 
 as the grating of a file upon marble acts on the nerves of 
 most sensitive people. ) 
 
 * You are not among Moorish pirates ; there are other 
 medical men in the neighbourhood whom you can consult ; 
 there are English physicians at Nice whose advice you can 
 ask.' 
 
 'I will ask the advice of nobody,' retorted the Baronet 
 testily ; * I want none. All I want is to be off, and off I 
 will be ! ' 
 
 * You will do as you please,' rejoined the Italian, 'but I 
 have a duty to perform, and perform it I will, and must. 
 Miss Davenne, I declare most solemnly, cannot be removed 
 with safety, for, at least, "forty days.'" And having said 
 this, the young man moved on, leaving his interlocutor to 
 his own cogitations. 
 
 - Forty days ! ' gasped forth Sir John, standing stock 
 still. ' Forty days ! ' and this time he changed his first 
 tone of dismay into angry cachinnation. ' That 's a good 
 joke !' and deliberately turning back, he waved to John, 
 who was standing near the carriage, and desired him to 
 have it brought up immediately to the red house, and ascer- 
 tain what amount of injury it had sustained. This done, 
 the Baronet followed the little caravan with slow and sullen 
 steps. 
 
 The procession was not long in reaching its destination. 
 
 'Here we are,' said the Doctor, approaching Miss 
 Davenne, -as, leaving the high-road, they turned down a 
 wide lane in the direction of the beach, went through a gate 
 on the left, over which hung a branch of pine-tree, and 
 entered a garden, wherein stood the brick-coloured house. 
 The litter was carried up a steep flight of outside stairs, and 
 through a large room and a smaller one, to a little chamber, 
 
THE OSTERIA 25 
 
 where Lucy and the mattresses were deposited upon a bed- 
 stead. 
 
 The Doctor dismissed the four women, and turning to 
 his charge, who looked sad and pale, said — 
 
 1 Though everything is very homely here, you may rest 
 satisfied that the bed and linen are clean : I saw to that 
 before bringing you here.' 
 
 'You are very kind,' said Lucy, in a very low voice. 
 
 'The bare walls and want of furniture strike you dis- 
 agreeably, I dare say,' went on the Doctor ; ' we shall soon 
 try and make the room a little more cheerful. Shall I in- 
 troduce your landlady, Rosa, and her daughter Speranza, 
 to you? Pretty names, are they not?' added he, as he 
 noticed a smile on Lucy's face ; ' they sound like a good 
 omen. Both are very desirous of making themselves useful, 
 and you will make them very happy by accepting their 
 services.' 
 
 Lucy nodded to the women he pointed out to her, and 
 who were standing at the door, one an elderly woman, the 
 other a pale, black-eyed girl. They came forward at a sign 
 from Doctor Antonio, and kissed the hand of the beautiful 
 young lady with a mixture of enthusiastic tenderness and 
 reverence. The fair skin, blue eyes, and golden hair made 
 Lucy seem to them more of an angel than one of the same 
 species as themselves. 
 
 The Doctor, satisfied with the good feeling he saw 
 already established between the guest and her hostesses, 
 said to Lucy, ' I must tell you what are the best arrange- 
 ments I have been able to make for you. The four rooms 
 of which this floor consists, the only decent ones in the 
 house, are given up for your use ; this for yourself, the one 
 next it for your maid, and on the other side of the large 
 entrance-room or lobby we came through, a bedchamber 
 for your father. Your man-servant will have a room down- 
 stairs.' 
 
26 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 'That will do nicely,' said poor Lucy, trying to look 
 cheerful. ' I hope papa will be as well satisfied as I am.' 
 The Italian ventured no reply to this extravagant hope, 
 but asked, ' Have you any appetite ? do you wish for any- 
 thing to eat ? ' 
 
 * No, I thank you, I am not in the least hungry.' 
 
 ' So much the better. I should not advise your taking any 
 solid food for the present. I shall now leave you, and I 
 hope you will be able to sleep. At all events, remain quiet, 
 and make no attempt at moving, remember. I will send 
 you a mixture, of which you may take a spoonful, from time 
 to time, if you are thirsty.' 
 
 ' But I shall see you again, soon ? ' asked Lucy, rather 
 dismayed at hearing that her new friend was going away. 
 
 ' In an hour or two,' returned the Doctor quietly, 
 ' and then we shall see what can be done to make this room 
 a little more comfortable. I speak, of course, only of 
 relative comfort. Everything here below is relative non Z 
 vero ? ' 
 
 There seemed as though a sigh struggled with the smile 
 with which the question was put. 
 
 1 Use your scissors freely in undressing your young lady,' 
 said he to Miss Hutchins, on leaving the room. ' Miss 
 Davenne must not move, must not, — you understand ? ' and 
 then he repeated the same caution in Italian to Rosa and 
 Speranza. 
 
 As he issued from the chamber, on the threshold he met 
 Sir John, who had lingered a while below to catch sight of 
 the carriage. The Baronet intimating by neither act nor 
 word any wish for communication, Doctor Antonio walked 
 on in silence. Reflecting, however, that the Baronet might 
 have something to say after seeing his daughter, he loitered a 
 few minutes in the lobby (thus we shall call henceforward the 
 entrance-room). But the Englishman came forth, and, con- 
 ducted by the girl Speranza, crossed the room towards his 
 
THE OSTERIA 27 
 
 own without noticing in any way the presence of the Italian, 
 who, perceiving that he was not wanted, left the house. 
 
 Sir John, when ushered into the room destined for him, 
 threw himself doggedly on a chair, and darted an angry 
 glance around. ' A charming place, indeed, to spend forty 
 days in ! ' sneered the Baronet. ' Why not six months ? ' 
 and he laughed aloud. The room, to say the truth, fully 
 verified, if it did not surpass, the account of the inn given 
 by the Doctor. The once white walls, now grown yellow 
 from age, with not even a series of wretched prints of the 
 Via cruets, or a wretched bit of a glass to break their barren 
 uniformity ; the undraped window ; the old deal table ; 
 the hard cane-bottomed chairs, two in number ; the long 
 coffin-like ' cassapanca ' (locker) at the foot of the un- 
 curtained bed, made the room look more like the cell 
 of an anchorite, than the bedchamber of a Protestant 
 Baronet. 
 
 'We must get out of this hole, at all events,' murmured 
 Sir John, rismg and walking fretfully up and down, till the 
 sound of approaching steps caused him to stop. It was 
 John, who came as bidden, to report casualties. John 
 brought good news. Save the glasses that had been 
 smashed, and some scratches on the panels, there was 
 nothing in the state of the carriage to prevent their going 
 on to Nice. 
 
 ' Very well,' said Sir John, ' have the glasses immediately 
 replaced. ' Unfortunately that could not be done. John had 
 already made inquiries on the subject, and the result was 
 that panes of the required size were not to be found at the 
 neighbouring town. Sir John pished and pshawed at this 
 intelligence, and declared, in the bitterest of tones, that he 
 should have much wondered indeed if it had been other- 
 wise. John proceeded to state that he had not been able to 
 bring the carriage to the door, on account of the garden 
 gate being too narrow to permit of its passage ; and then 
 
28 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 there was no coach-house there, added John. What was to 
 be done ? 
 
 Sir John made no reply, but led the way down to the 
 garden gate, and after a short survey of the spot, a look at 
 the carriage, one at the sky, and some further hesitation, 
 bade John have the carriage removed a little to one side, 
 where it might stand for the night, if necessary. l For, ' 
 explained Sir John, with an angry sigh, ' the nights are still 
 fresh, and unless we can start in an hour or two, which is 
 not sure, those damned glasses will detain us for the night. 
 But to-morrow,' continued the Baronet resolutely, — 'to- 
 morrow, glasses or no glasses, we shall be off to Nice. ' 
 
 1 Please, sir,' observed John, hesitating, ' will it be safe to 
 leave the carriage and luggage all night in the lane ? ' 
 
 * Certainly not,' returned the master. ' Let me see, — in 
 case we are detained you had better keep watch in the 
 carriage with a brace of pistols.' 
 
 Having thus settled the matter, whether much to John's 
 personal satisfaction we cannot say, Sir John mounted the 
 stone steps leading to the second story, his present quarters, 
 and walked towards Lucy's room, but was met half-way by 
 Miss Hutchins on tiptoe, with a report that her mistress 
 felt very faint indeed, and had just closed her eyes to try 
 and sleep. Whereupon Sir John, much grieved at the 
 news, which confirmed but too well his fear of being kept 
 where he was for the night, betook himself to his own 
 room. However, he had not stayed there for a quarter of 
 an hour when out he went again, and down the steps, and 
 took to walking to and fro in front of the house, pushing on 
 now and then to the outer gate, to cast a melancholy look 
 at the carriage and up and down the lane. A second 
 attempt to see his daughter having been foiled by the 
 identical circumstances that had foiled the first, the un- 
 happy Baronet took some dozen turns up and down the 
 lobby, and repaired to his own room, sank into a chair, and 
 
THE OSTERIA 29 
 
 said aloud, as he consulted his watch, ' Why, time stands 
 still in this confounded country ! ' 
 
 Yet time had moved on and brought with it a fresh addi- 
 tion to this poor gentleman's already superabundant stock 
 of spleen and discomfort. Alas for the frailty of all flesh, 
 even for that of the proudest man in England ! Sir John 
 was hungry, very hungry, and ashamed of being so, and 
 provoked at being so, and terror-stricken at the dire 
 necessity — a necessity which made itself more felt at every 
 passing moment — of having to ask for food. Ask for food 
 in that house ! — sit down to dinner under that roof ! It was 
 tantamount to laying down arms in the face of the enemy ; 
 it was giving up at a blow all the heroic of his situation. 
 Fancy Attilius Regulus, the first thing on his return to 
 Carthage, asking for a beef-steak ! Sir John felt all this. 
 Sir John struggled bravely for a time, but at last sur- 
 rendered. He instinctively put out his ha"nd for a bell, of 
 which there was no vestige whatever, and to his mortifica- 
 tion had to go to the top of the stairs and call for John. 
 'Go and see what there is in the larder,' said Sir John 
 languidly, ' supposing that there is anything like a larder 
 in this — in this place ; however, find out if anything fit to 
 eat can be procured.' 
 
 The sacrifice being consummated, Sir John went to see 
 his daughter. Poor Lucy ! she had all the heroism to her- 
 self. She was suffering acutely. ' Where, my child ? ' — 
 ' Oh papa, everywhere. I feel bruised all over. I have 
 such an odd and disagreeable sensation at my foot, just as 
 if it were swelled into a mountain of cork.' 
 
 * But, my dear, you know that can be only fancy. Try 
 and sleep.' 
 
 'Dear papa, I have tried, and I cannot.' 
 
 Poor thing, she was fainting with fatigue, and yet could 
 not get a wink of sleep. Sir John did his best to soothe her, 
 and, as he fondly stroked the stray curls that lay on her hot 
 
30 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 cheek, promised that she should go to Nice the next day, 
 where, if she were forced to remain, she would have every 
 comfort. But his words failed of their intended effect. Lucy 
 felt no courage for the journey to Nice on the morrow, she 
 did not care for the comfortable apartments which her 
 father was sure their courier must easily have found for 
 them, in a place so much the resort of the English, ' and 
 first-rate English physicians, my child,' he added, by way 
 of something better than all. 
 
 'As to that,' said Lucy, ' I am quite satisfied with this 
 Italian doctor ; he is kinder, and more considerate than any 
 of the doctors I ever had — and you know, papa, I have had 
 plenty.' 
 
 Sir John puckered up his nose ; he made no answer, how- 
 ever. * Don't you think so too, papa ? ' asked Lucy, with 
 the obstinacy of an indulged child. 
 
 'Why, Lucy, I cannot say, I have seen so little of the 
 gentleman, and I am not given to take hasty likings.' A 
 silence ensued, for pretty Lucy did not like being answered 
 in this way. 
 
 In about half an hour there was a tap at the open door, 
 and John's voice formally announced that dinner was on the 
 table. ' You must try and eat something,' said her father, 
 rising ; ' I will send you in the wing of a chicken, or an 
 egg — that can be had here, at least. It will do you good, 
 and raise your spirits. ' 
 
 ' No, papa ! ' said Lucy, with marked determination, 
 ' the doctor said I was not to eat. ' 
 
 ' Well, my dear, follow his directions for to-day,' replied 
 Sir John, as obstinate in his feeling as the young lady ; 'to- 
 morrow, I hope, you will have better advice to go by ; ' so 
 saying, he left the room. 
 
 The cloth was laid in the lobby. The dinner, much to 
 Sir John's surprise, and a little to his annoyance, though 
 very simple, was excellent. Fish, a roast fowl, vegetables, 
 
THE OSTERIA 31 
 
 an omelet, cheese, preserved fruit, oranges, and a bottle of 
 the wine of the country, not to be despised even by the 
 most fastidious palate of a connoisseur. Sir John ate and 
 grumbled ; but though he grumbled, he ate very heartily all 
 the time. John, a large black patch across his wounded nose, 
 a napkin, not of Flemish damask, but of good white home- 
 spun linen under his arm ; John, in white cravat and suit of 
 sables, waited on his master as solemn and erect as on a 
 gala-day at Davenne. 
 
 The Baronet was in the moody enjoyment of his second 
 orange, fresh plucked from the bough, when Doctor 
 Antonio, a large bundle under his arm, made his ap- 
 pearance at the top of the steps. The Doctor, with a bow 
 to Sir John, passed on to the left — Sir John's room was on 
 the side opposite — and was ushered by Hutchins into Miss 
 Davenne's chamber. 
 
 1 How long you have been ! ' said Lucy, with all the im- 
 patience of sickness, as soon as she caught sight of him. 
 
 ' I am very glad to hear you say so,' he replied ; * it is a 
 good sign when the patient longs for the presence of the 
 physician ; it implies confidence in him, and that is half the 
 battle. I have been detained against my will. But tell 
 me how you are.' Doctor Antonio listened to his patient's 
 account of herself with that interest which is so consoling 
 to any one suffering, then said, ' I wish I could relieve you, 
 but I confess that, for the present, at least, I do not think 
 I can. You have gone through much agitation and much 
 pain, and nature so disturbed requires a little time to 
 recover its equilibrium. All that we doctors can do is to 
 help, we cannot force nature. Drink freely of the mixture I 
 sent you, perhaps it will make you sleep in a little while. ' 
 
 Lucy shook her head, as if she were quite sure she should 
 never sleep again, but only said, ' What have you got there?' 
 pointing to the bundle. 
 
 ' Some curtains for your window. All these rooms are to 
 
32 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 the south, and we must try and guard you from the intru- 
 sion of our Italian sun. ' So saying, suiting the action to 
 the word, he got on a chair, and began driving in some 
 nails as gently as he could. ' One learns to be a little of 
 everything in these small country places,' said he, looking 
 at her from his not very heroic elevation, and with one of 
 the curtains on his arm ; ' we are differently off from you 
 dwellers in large cities ; we are poor folks, who can offer 
 no inducement to tradesmen to come and settle amongst 
 us. Every one hereabouts is his own gardener, carpenter, 
 and upholsterer, as you see in this moment. Indeed, very 
 often, to save the small fee, a man is his own doctor.' 
 
 'You say "we" in speaking of this neighbourhood,' 
 observed Miss Davenne ; ' you do not mean to say that 
 you really belong to this place ? ' 
 
 ' And what makes you suppose that I do not ? ' asked the 
 Doctor, somewhat amused. 
 
 'I don't know exactly,' answered the young lady, 'but 
 there is something about you which makes me fancy that 
 you have not lived all your life here.' 
 
 1 In plain words, you mean to say that I do not look 
 quite like the boor you would expect to find in the doctor 
 of a village. You are an acute observer for your age, young 
 lady.' 
 
 ' And how old do you think I am ? ' inquired Lucy, 
 amused in her turn. 
 
 'Sixteen or seventeen at most.' 
 
 ' Much older, I am very nearly twenty. ' 
 
 ' Ah ! indeed ? then you look younger than your age. 
 Well, I must do homage to your penetration, and own that 
 you are right, so far, in guessing that I do not belong to the 
 Riviera. I am a native of Sicily ; I was born in Catania.' 
 
 ' Will you forgive my being so full of curiosity, but have 
 you not lived in England ? ' 
 
 'No, I have never been there,' answered the Doctor. 
 
THE OSTERIA 33 
 
 * My English puzzles you also, does it ? I will tell you at 
 once how I learnt to speak it. My mother's eldest sister 
 married, in 18 10, a British officer of one of the regiments 
 quartered at that time in Sicily. My aunt's children were 
 brought up in every respect like English children, and, 
 having English nurses, talked English from their cradle. 
 Now, as I was educated with my cousins, I naturally learnt 
 the language also, which became almost as familiar to me 
 as that of my own country.' 
 
 Thus, alternately talking and hammering, the busy Doctor 
 entertained the sick girl, and managed to put up the cur- 
 tains. He contemplated for a moment, and with an air of 
 great satisfaction, what his talents in the upholstery line had 
 accomplished, then glancing round the room, he said, 'Ah ! 
 more work for me. I see a split in that door behind your 
 bed. Nothing is more treacherous than a draught, the 
 smaller it is the worse. ' Away went the Doctor, but was 
 back again in an instant, a long slip of paper in one hand, 
 and an egg-shell in the other. 
 
 * Did you ever see a more economical or expeditious way 
 of making paste ? ' asked he, showing Lucy the pinch of 
 flour and drop of water contained in his egg-shell. 
 
 She laughed and wondered at his activity and ingenuity. 
 Then no one could help being struck by the noble simpli- 
 city with which he did things gentlemen, in general, think 
 beneath them, even putting himself into postures that would 
 make most people ridiculous, without ever losing, for a mo- 
 ment, that comely manliness of appearance which would 
 not have let him pass unnoticed even in a crowd. 
 
 Sir John came in just as Antonio was stooping down to 
 paste the paper over the chink. The Baronet followed 
 each of the Doctor's movements, at first with a look of un- 
 easiness, as if he suspected him of being mad, and then, as 
 he perceived the nature of the stranger's occupation, Sir 
 John's features relaxed into a smile, expressive at once of 
 c 
 
34 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 the most intense disgust and contempt. Sir John's beau 
 idial of a gentleman was himself: now, not to save the 
 world from ruin would Sir John have condescended to what 
 he considered a menial act ; and the man who would paste 
 paper over a chink in the door, do the work of a carpenter, 
 or paperhanger, be it even for a Davenne, lost all right to 
 respect and consideration in his eyes. 
 
 While Sir John was wasting a great deal of thought on 
 the Doctor, who never thought of him at all, Speranza, 
 the landlady's daughter, brought in a large nosegay, chiefly 
 of wildflowers, and handed it to Doctor Antonio, who, 
 apparently as contented with his success in pasting paper 
 as in hanging curtains, began at once to examine and 
 arrange the bouquet. Lucy, observing that he placed only 
 some of the flowers in a vase, and threw others out of the 
 window, inquired why he threw away some of the prettiest. 
 
 * Because the scent of those you call the prettiest may be 
 injurious to you. I intend you to have a nosegay to 
 gladden your eyes, and not one to perfume your room. It 
 is wrong to put scented flowers into a sleeping apartment 
 at any time, and, afortiori^ they are still more out of their 
 place in a sick-chamber. Nor do I mean to leave even 
 these here,' and walking into the adjoining room, he set the 
 vase on a table, where Miss Davenne could see them from 
 her bed. 
 
 ' Now, what next ? ' said he, rubbing his forehead with 
 his forefinger, as if trying to recollect something. ' Ah ! 
 that is it ; ' and turning to Lucy, — ' Are you in the habit of 
 having a light in your room at night ? ' On her saying ' Yes, ' 
 he continued, — • Then we must try and contrive one safe for 
 you. ' He called to Speranza to bring a cork and a bit of 
 the wick used in their oil-lamps, out of which materials he 
 ,made a night-lamp, that answered as well as one of Child's 
 patent. After once more looking to the bandages on Miss 
 Davenne's foot, he said — 
 
THE OSTERIA 35 
 
 ' It is getting late, so I must wish you good evening. If, 
 during the night, you should feel worse, which I hope and 
 think will not be the case, — mind I say this solely in refer- 
 ence to you and not to myself, — send at once over to Bor- 
 dighera for me. The people of the house will find a mes- 
 senger ; and then everybody knows where Doctor Antonio 
 lives.' 
 
 ' And pray how far is this — Burdigore, or whatever you 
 call it ? ' inquired Sir John, speaking for the first time since 
 he came into the room. 
 
 ' About ten minutes' walk,' answered Antonio. ' If you 
 come to this window you can see it. There, on the top of 
 the hill to our right.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; and may I beg you to tell me whether 
 there is a magistrate to be found in this neighbourhood ? ' 
 
 1 We have a justice of the peace at Bordighera,' replied 
 the Doctor. 
 
 * Ha ! that will do very well. I shall find time to see 
 him to-morrow early, for I don't intend to let that 
 scoundrel of a postilion escape so easily. ' 
 
 ■ If that is the case, you must have a little patience,' re- 
 joined the Doctor ; ' Prospero could not obey any summons 
 just now. He is ill in bed, not from any bodily injury, but 
 from the moral shock he has received. I had to bleed him 
 before coming here this afternoon. ' 
 
 * I am sorry to hear it,' said Sir John mollified. ' At 
 the same time you must agree with me, sir, that it is a duty 
 I owe to all travellers not to overlook the flagrant miscon- 
 duct of a drunken fellow, and ' 
 
 ' Excuse my interrupting you, sir. I have no wish to 
 screen Prospero from blame, but, believe me, intoxication 
 had nothing to do with the unhappy event of to-day. Pro- 
 spero was never drunk in his life. I can affirm this posi- 
 tively, as I have known him for three years. The vice of 
 drunkenness is very rare in these parts, and our postilions, 
 
36 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 especially, are looked upon as patterns of sobriety. Ask 
 all the guards of the mail-coaches that go daily from Genoa 
 to Nice, and vice versa, and they will tell. you, as they have 
 told me many a time, that if so few accidents occur on this 
 road,' in spite of its almost unbroken series of ascents and 
 descents, and not a few sharp turnings, it is owing to the 
 care and proverbial soberness of the postilions.' 
 
 Sir John did not reply to this defence, so the Doctor, 
 with a bow, took his leave. 
 
 1 1 hope you will not prosecute that poor young man, 
 papa,' said Lucy. 
 
 'It would be useless for the present, my dear, as you 
 have just heard, and ere the fellow is about again we shall 
 be a good way off. ' 
 
 ' Ah, papa,' returned Lucy, ' I fear I shall not be able to 
 bear the fatigue of a journey for some time, I feel so weak 
 and shattered. I am very sorry on your account, dear 
 papa.' 
 
 'Don't vex yourself about me, my dear girl,' said Sir 
 John, patting her cheek. ' First of all, you don't know 
 yourself what a night of sound sleep may do for you ; and 
 then, at the worst,' added the Baronet, grown more mag- 
 nanimous since his dinner, ' so that you get well, I shall 
 not care about a little discomfort for a few days.' Lucy 
 caught his hand and kissed it gratefully. 
 
 ' Do you know, papa,' said the invalid, after a short 
 pause, ' that I have found out what countryman he is ? ' 
 
 ' Who ? — the postilion ? ' asked Sir John, rousing himself 
 from not very pleasant reflections. 
 
 1 Papa, papa, how can- you ? — the Doctor. He is a 
 Sicilian.' 
 
 ' Indeed ; I have been told that Sicily is a very fine 
 country,' answered the Baronet, rather coldly. 
 
 ' I am sure there is some mystery about him,' continued 
 Lucy. ' I don't believe — do you, papa ? — that he was ever 
 
THE OSTERIA 37 
 
 born to be a doctor. I should not wonder if he turned out 
 to be one of the noblemen who have been banished. I 
 remember hearing at Rome about political refugees. He is 
 just like one of those heads by Vandyck we saw at Genoa. 
 Don't you think him very handsome, papa ? ' 
 
 * Yes, he is a fine man, and would make a capital 
 chasseur, with his long beard,' said Sir John drily. 
 
 ' Oh, papa, that is too bad — how can you say so of a 
 person so evidently a gentleman and who has been so very 
 kind to us ? ' 
 
 1 My dear Lucy, your gratitude is not very logical. This 
 person having been of use to us is no reason for my at once 
 believing him to be a prince in disguise. However, my 
 dear Lucy, I don't object to your romancing about this 
 black-bearded Esculapius, only I suspect he will prefer the 
 mode I shall take of showing my sense of the obligations 
 we are under to him. ' 
 
 Lucy fixed her eyes with some anxiety on her father's 
 face. ' Don't be afraid, Lucy, the fee I offer to your hero 
 shall be in proportion to his presumptive rather than to his 
 apparent rank.' As Lucy still looked uneasy, the Baronet 
 continued, 'You foolish child, do you think this Doctor has 
 given himself all this trouble for the love of your pretty 
 face ? ' 
 
 Lucy sighed, for she had a very strong idea of her own 
 that the Doctor had given himself all that trouble out of 
 pure kindness ; perhaps she was romantic in thinking thus. 
 However, she said nothing more, as the sigh was followed 
 by an attack of cough which left her in a state of exhaus- 
 tion. 
 
 Sir John, when she was again quiet, thought it best to 
 leave her alone, in the faint hope that she might fall asleep. 
 As he stooped to kiss her, his eye was attracted by some- 
 thing strange at the head of her bed, which he had not 
 noticed before. On looking closer, he found slightly fixed 
 
38 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 to the wall a little leaden crucifix, a plaster cast of the Holy 
 Virgin, with a small vessel of holy water incrusted under- 
 neath, and a palm branch, which, in fact, had been blessed. 
 Any one who has ever travelled in Italy must have seen 
 such things daily, either for sale in the streets, or in the 
 bedrooms of the poorer houses. Sir John, as exclusive in 
 matters of external worship as in everything else, lost his 
 little remaining patience at finding what he considered 
 idolatrous emblems over his daughter's head, and peremp- 
 torily ordered Hutchins to carry away all that trash, and 
 to take care that he never saw such in any of the rooms 
 again. He waited to see his order obeyed, and then, in no 
 very charitable frame of mind, took a candle, and retired to 
 his own apartment. 
 
 Lucy's discouragement as to moving next day, and the 
 state of complete prostration in which he had left her, 
 caused Sir John, once more alone, to recur with sad mis- 
 givings to Doctor Antonio's alarming declaration as to the 
 impossibility of his daughter's removal, and as he thought 
 on it, the firm determination hitherto nourished to pay that 
 declaration no attention, began to waver. Evidently a re- 
 action was taking place in Sir John's mind. For the first 
 time since entering the Osteria, the proud gentleman felt 
 as if the terrible award of ' forty days ' in that wilderness 
 might be fulfilled. An admission, it is true, no sooner made 
 than recalled, nay, put at nought by a mental rejoinder, to 
 the effect that will, and money to execute that will, could 
 not fail, after all, to conquer all difficulties. If a mattress 
 were placed across the seats of the carnage, thought Sir 
 John, and the horses made to go at a walk, why, Lucy 
 would lie there as safe and comfortable as in her own bed. 
 An excellent arrangement, to be sure, but — there were still 
 ' buts ' in the way. Alas ! do what he would to see it not, 
 reality, stern reality, stared the unhappy Baronet in the 
 face. 
 
THE OSTERIA 39 
 
 Amid such conflicting thoughts he prepared to lie down 
 on his bed with a heavy sigh, — a sigh not merely called up 
 by the appearance of the miserable couch and the prospect of 
 an uncomfortable night ; other grounds for disquietude now 
 awoke out of old recollections in the Baronet's mjnd. That 
 he was in a strange land, amid foreigners, none of his 
 countrymen within reach, was in itself enough ; but that he 
 was among Italians was more than enough to occasion and 
 authorise all sorts of fears. There was in a cellof his brains 
 a tapestry of notions about Italy, on which stilettos, banditti, 
 and vendette, figured in juxtaposition with solitary inns, or 
 gaunt houses by the seashore, where travellers were enticed, 
 murdered, and plundered. ' Devilish disagreeable country !' 
 sighed forth Sir John, ' and where your village doctors must 
 needs look like Rinaldo Rinaldini.' The bells of the 
 churches at Bordighera tolling the De Profundis, marking 
 the first hour of night ; the voices of the fishermen hailing 
 each other in the distance ; the very sound of the sea 
 breaking lazily on the beach, had something sinister to the 
 Baronet's ear. He stole quietly out of his room, went to the 
 lady's-maid's door, and calling to her, bade her, in a cautious 
 whisper, lock and bolt her door, then returning to his own 
 chamber he barred himself in, and went to bed in as happy a 
 disposition of mind as if he had fallen in with a tribe of Red 
 Indians. 
 
 We must render this justice to Sir John. Had he known 
 and believed that the accident met with by his daughter 
 was of the serious nature it really was, uneasiness about his 
 darling would have prevented all such paltry misgivings 
 and fears from raising their hydra heads ; whereas, indulging 
 the belief that there was nothing worse the matter than a 
 sprained ankle, and seeing in that no cause for apprehension, 
 Sir John was sufficiently at ease to be able to brood to his 
 heart's content, not only over the real annoyances, but over 
 what he was pleased to fancy the dangers of his situation. 
 
40 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 But how could he, in the face of many a suspicious circum- 
 stance, and after Antonio's transparent hints, still labour 
 under such a delusion ? The answer is obvious. Sir John 
 was misled by a preconceived idea, the idea that Doctor 
 Antonio had every interest in rather exaggerating than 
 diminishing the seriousness of the injury sustained by Miss 
 Davenne. And as to his ever supposing that an utter 
 stranger, a village doctor, and an Italian to boot, could, 
 out of regard for his, Sir John's feelings, have kept back 
 the worse feature of his daughter's case, such an absurdity 
 could never enter his mind. The haughty Baronet might 
 as well have supposed that — that the Davenne family was 
 not one of the first families in all the United Kingdom. 
 
 While Sir John bolted himself in, and his humble name- 
 sake, in a state of intense nervousness, kept watch in the 
 carriage, Rosa and Speranza, their services being no longer 
 required by their guests above, had betaken themselves to 
 their intended sleeping-place — a small dark back-kitchen, 
 and in which a little store of charcoal and wood was 
 habitually kept. A straw mattress, and a blanket between 
 the two, were to be their bed and covering ; it was all these 
 poor, simple, hard-working creatures had thought of reserv- 
 ing for themselves. Between compassion for the young 
 lady and awe of Sir John, and his man John, they had given 
 up for their use not only that part of the house destined to 
 the few humble chance travellers who sometimes passed the 
 night there, but also their own room, and all they possessed 
 in shape of bedsteads, mattresses, linen pillows, etc. Far 
 from regretting the sacrifice of their usual little comforts, 
 mother and daughter were entirely engrossed by how they 
 could add to those of their unexpected inmates. — 'How 
 fortunate,' said Speranza, 'that these gentlefolks should 
 travel with their own plate ? But for that, what should we 
 have done with our four silver spoons and forks? For only 
 think, mother, the old gentleman must have clean forks and 
 
THE OSTERIA 41 
 
 spoons with every dish.' And the two women fell to re- 
 viewing in their minds the households of their wealthier 
 neighbours, and weighing the chances they had of having 
 such and such articles of furniture lent to them on the 
 morrow. But, after all, what was the use of their racking 
 their bfains, when there was Doctor Antonio? Doctor 
 Antonio would manage to get all that was wanting — Doctor 
 Antonio would set everything to rights. To hear the two 
 women anybody might have supposed that this country 
 doctor was one of the genii in the Arabian Nights, who had 
 only to stamp his foot to make the earth bring forth a palace, 
 with all its appurtenances. 
 
 'There is one thing, mother,' said the girl, 'we must do 
 at once, and that is to take down the pine branch from over 
 the gate. I know the old gentleman cannot bear the sight 
 of it, he made such a face when he passed it.' — 'Then it 
 shall come down,' replied the mother; 'perhaps we had 
 better take the benches and tables out of the garden. To- 
 morrow is Sunday, and the folks from Bordighera will be 
 coming here after Vespers, and I am sure the gentleman 
 won't like to see so many people about the garden. We can 
 give those who choose their bottle of wine in the parlour, 
 and those who don't must go elsewhere. It won't do to 
 have smoking and singing going on under the windows of 
 the SignorinctS — ' That 's true,' said the daughter ; ' Doctor 
 Antonio, of all things, said she was to be kept quiet. Oh, 
 mother, did you ever see such a sweet face ? she looks like 
 the Madonna over the altar. ' — ' Ay, she does indeed,' agreed 
 Rosa. ' God bless her ! ' — ' God bless her ! ' echoed 
 Speranza ; and with that blessing on their lips mother and 
 daughter fell asleep. 
 
 Having for the present disposed of all our personages save 
 the principal one— the one at least who ought to be so, 
 according to our title-page — we may as well take a peep at 
 him. 
 
42 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Doctor Antonio's dwelling at Bordighera consists of one 
 tolerably large room, which answers at once for drawing- 
 room, consulting-room, and library, and within which opens 
 a small bedchamber ; one side of the sitting-room is entirely 
 covered with well-filled book-shelves, half a dozen chairs 
 and a middle-sized table complete the furniture. On the 
 wall opposite to the book-shelves hang a flute, a guitar, two 
 foils, some fencing gloves and masks ; below these is a map 
 of Sicily. Books are lying on the chairs, on the ground, 
 everywhere ; and there is a mountain of them on the table, 
 before which sits our hero, caressing his beard, and poring 
 over a volume, which absorbs all his attention. Between 
 the printed leaves there are coloured engravings of legs in 
 all stages of dilapidation, and of every variety of mode of 
 dressing and bandaging them. Now and then Doctor 
 Antonio rises and walks up and down the room, in deep 
 meditation, goes to the book-shelves, takes down a large 
 folio, and seems to be comparing notes. Hours are going 
 swiftly by, and he is still reading and stroking his beard. 
 Presently he looks at his watch, exclaims aloud in astonish- 
 ment at how time has passed, lifts his lamp as if about to 
 go to his bed in the next room, then stops suddenly, puts 
 down the light again, and once more goes to the book- 
 shelves. There is yet one point on which he is not quite 
 clear, there is a complication which may arise, and which 
 he has not yet found mentioned. 
 
 The dawn shining through the windows found him still 
 reading. At length he closed the book, extinguished his 
 now useless lamp, and, all dressed as he was, threw him- 
 self on the bed. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 SIR JOHN DAVENNE. 
 
 SIR JOHN DAVENNE, the fifth Baronet of that name, 
 had inherited with his paternal acres, what was to 
 the full as much, a family possession, and one as carefully 
 transmitted from generation to generation — the tic of over- 
 weening and most exaggerated pride ; pride of pedigree, of 
 every person that could, in the remotest degree, claim 
 kindred with the Davennes, of everything belonging or 
 having belonged to them, and a corresponding contempt 
 of every thing or creature less favoured in a line of ancestry, 
 and historical recollections. 
 
 The Davennes of Davenne, in the county of , professed 
 
 to be descended from the Norman Squire of the name of 
 D'Avesne, mentioned in sundry chronicles as having 
 attended a De Vere at the Battle of Hastings. Sir John 
 asserted, as his father and his father's father had done before 
 him, that the Davennes had always shared in the glories 
 and dangers of the warlike De Veres, who, history tells us, 
 were among the hosts of Cceur de Lion's crusaders. Emerg- 
 ing from the borrowed light of these nobles, a Davenne 
 won his golden spurs about that period, and from that time 
 their family history became incorporated with that of their 
 country. The Davennes took their share in the wars of 
 the Roses : one was killed at Bosworth, another went with 
 
 43 
 
44 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Essex to Ireland ; a Davenne, after manfully fighting at 
 Marston Moor and Naseby, was among the few who 
 accompanied Charles in his flight to the Scots, and re- 
 mained near his unfortunate master to the last — one of the 
 most obstinate and undaunted of the Cavaliers. When the 
 power of Cromwell became supreme and established, 
 Davenne, whose property had been confiscated, fled with 
 his family to join the Court of the young Charles in Holland. 
 His loyalty and devotion to the Royal cause met with a 
 more favourable denouement at the Restoration than that of 
 many other Cavaliers as loyal and devoted. He not only 
 received back his own estate, but, the tables being turned, 
 got that of his neighbour to boot, who was, in the language 
 of the times, a crop-eared Roundhead. It was at this 
 epoch, also, that the Davenne of that day was created a 
 Baronet, a title that the two Baronets, the father and 
 grandfather of our Sir John, had refused to have converted 
 into a higher one ; the late Sir Aubrey saying he liked 
 better to be at the head of. the baronets than at the tail of 
 the lords. 
 
 From the Restoration to the Revolution of 1688, the 
 Davennes seem to have thought more of attending to the 
 hereditary paternal acres, than of intermeddling with the 
 quarrels of Kings and Parliaments. It is certain that the 
 family remained at Davenne when James the Second took 
 refuge at St. Germains. Probably the Sir John of that day 
 had youthful recollections, which counselled him to shrug 
 his shoulders at the wickedness of the times, and to content 
 himself with damning, in his own halls, the refractory 
 Bishops and Commons. The only evidence he gave of his 
 adherence to the Stuart dynasty was in refraining himself 
 and all his family from appearing at the Court of William 
 and Mary. 
 
 The warlike spirit of the old Davennes suddenly blazed 
 out again in the eldest son of this prudent father. He 
 
SIX JOHN DA VENNE 45 
 
 fought and distinguished himself under Marlborough, and 
 attained to the rank of General. His successor, Sir 
 Aubrey, paid tribute to the military exigencies of his sire 
 by serving during the war of the American Independence. 
 Keeping in mind the professional feeling of Sir Aubrey, and 
 his high Tory principles handed down for centuries from 
 Davenne to Davenne, it is easy to imagine the bitterness 
 with which he viewed the success of the Americans, 
 and the acknowledgment of their autonomy. But one 
 must have lived in those days, or received from the lips of 
 those who were then actors on the scene, a description of 
 the English citizen, and of the country gentleman in par- 
 ticular, to be able to conceive the virulence, hatred, and 
 horror that took possession of Sir Aubrey when the Revo- 
 lution of 1789 broke out in France. His feelings at 
 moments were worked up almost to frenzy, when in the 
 daily papers he read speeches of English orators, which, to 
 the angry Tory, seemed to express, in the very Parlia- 
 ment of Great Britain, sentiments little better than those 
 of the French Republicans. 
 
 The reigning Sir John, bora in 1783, had consequently 
 been educated and had grown up to manhood amid all the 
 violent feelings roused on this side of the Channel by the 
 state of affairs in France, and twenty years of incessant 
 war. From the day when a child he stood by his father's 
 chair, and gave the daily toast of ' Confound the French ! ' 
 up to the present moment, Sir John's opinions, likings, and 
 dislikings, all partook of the colouring of the passionate 
 medium through which they had passed, and in which they 
 had been developed. An unbounded and exclusive admira- 
 tion for all that was, and an utter abhorrence of all that 
 was not, English, enclosed his mind and perceptions as 
 within a Chinese wall. 
 
 Sir John had married in 181 1, two years after his father's 
 demise, the daughter of Viscount Deloraine, and grand- 
 
46 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 daughter by the mother's side of the Duke of . It was 
 
 a happy chance that this marriage united safety to the 
 1 sangre azul ' of his line, and satisfaction to his own inclina- 
 tions, for Sir John was not the man to have done violence to 
 his affections, for a twofold reason ; first, because he hated 
 contradiction in any shape ; secondly, because he believed 
 the lustre of his family to be such as to make up for all 
 deficiences of escutcheon in his intended bride, had his 
 choice fallen even on the daughter of a cobbler. In the 
 spring of the year following this union, his son and heir 
 was born, and became the point on which his pride and 
 affections centred, it not being till 1820, when the little 
 Aubrey was in his eighth year, that a girl came to put in a 
 claim for her share of interest and love. 
 
 In 1815, when the Continent was thrown open to British 
 travellers, Sir John, prevented in his youth from making the 
 grand tour, thought it befitting a man of his quality to 
 make up, though rather late, for this deficiency in an 
 aristocratical education, and, with his wife and little son, 
 spent some months in visiting France, Germany, and Italy. 
 It is scarcely necessary to say, that Sir John's sojourn 
 abroad left undisturbed the spider's web of prejudice spread 
 over his intellect, which kept safe all the dead flies of his 
 youthful notions. Intercourse with foreign people and 
 manners, such intercourse at least as fastidious morgue and 
 a perpetual fear of * deroger' would allow of, rather 
 strengthened than otherwise what Sir John considered his 
 patriotism ; that sort of patriotism which shut up all honour, 
 all good, all worth, within the narrow circle in which he 
 himself was born and lived and moved. 
 
 Shortly after this foreign tour, a vacancy having taken 
 
 place in the representation of shire, where Davenne 
 
 was situated, Sir John was urged to stand for the county, 
 but declined that honour, as, indeed, he had constantly 
 declined being returned for the family borough. Sir John 
 
SIR JOHN DA VENNE 47 
 
 had good enough sense to know that he was neither born to 
 shine as an orator nor a statesman, and too much pride to 
 figure only among the silent ' yes and noes ' of the House. 
 But the ambition which he had not for himself, Sir John 
 cherished, and thought himself amply justified in cherishing, 
 for his son. Aubrey was a fine Hercules of a boy, full of 
 the sportiveness and arrogance of the unchecked childhood 
 of the rich. His high animal spirits, vivacious boldness, 
 and dauntless repartees, were, in his father's eyes, so many 
 tokens of precocious genius. Far cleverer men than Sir 
 John are blinded by parental partiality and pride of 
 authorship. Aubrey, then, evidently destined to become a 
 great man, was devoted to Parliament and statesmanship 
 while still in petticoats, and, scarcely out of them, placed 
 in the hands of a tutor, who was to drive him full gallop 
 to the first stage of the journey, . Oxford. But the little 
 William Pitt in the bud, opposed to all scientific and literary 
 inoculation a vis inertia worthy of a better cause ; which 
 being perceived in the long-run even by the infatuated 
 father, he sent his son to Eton, where, in fact, the young 
 gentleman soon distinguished himself, not in classical 
 learning, but in the native arts of boxing and singlestick. 
 
 At seventeen, Aubrey, at once a petit maitre and a bold 
 young scamp, took leave of Eton and schoolboy life. He 
 had already all the appearance of a man, his physical 
 development being in the inverse ratio to the intellectual. 
 When informed by his father that he was to go to Oxford, 
 and that he was vowed from his childhood to the priesthood 
 of Downing Street, Aubrey begged distinctly to state that he 
 hated politics, thought books in general a bore, and, as sure 
 as he went to Oxford, he should be rusticated, if not 
 expelled ; that he had long made up his mind to serve no 
 other god or goddess but Mars ; and that the best thing 
 his father could do was to purchase him at once the right 
 of defending his Majesty's colours. All this was said 
 
48 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 with a fluent flippancy that struck to the earth the father's 
 cherished ambition. Sir John tried reasoning, coaxing, 
 expostulating, and at last threatening : but Aubrey was his 
 father's own son ; he tossed his handsome head, damned the 
 family borough and the House of Commons ; and gave it 
 as his ultimatum, that if his father did not consent to let 
 him enter the army as a gentleman, he would enlist as a 
 common soldier. 
 
 Sir John's hair rose on his head as he listened to young 
 Wilful's declaration, and as he listened the conviction 
 flashed upon his mind that the boy would be as good a,s his 
 word. Sir John knew something of the Davenne blood, 
 and had sundry recollections of Master Aubrey's early 
 obstinacy. The struggle was kept up for some time, but 
 ended, of course, by Aubrey's being victorious ; for, under 
 the dignified coating, which made of Sir John Davenne a 
 somewhat remarkable person, there lurked, as we have 
 hinted, a host of weaknesses, — the most natural among 
 them paternal over-indulgence. Now Aubrey, with his 
 manly swagger and great good looks, was born to be the 
 successful opponent, nay, tyrant of his father. In the 
 Baronet's eyes, the arrogance which was the base of his 
 son's character — an arrogance so intense that it seemed as 
 if all the pride of the buried Davennes ran liquid in his 
 veins, was a grace the more. Even all Aubrey's boyish 
 scrapes at Eton, which, as recounted by himself, showed 
 they took their origin from an unwarrantable assumption 
 on his own part, had but endeared him the more to Sir 
 John, who saw in this spirit which brooked uneasily an 
 equal, only the proper pride befitting the representative of 
 the Davennes. Thus it came about, that within six months 
 after leaving Eton, Aubrey was gazetted cornet in a dragoon 
 
 regiment, and within the year sailed with the for India ; 
 
 he having brought his father not only to consent to his 
 entering the army, but— more difficult still, for here his 
 
SIR JOHN DA VENNE 49 
 
 idolatry of his son militated against the son's wishes — to 
 negotiate an exchange for him into a regiment under orders 
 for Calcutta. Aubrey's waking and sleeping dreams had 
 long been on tiger and elephant hunts, and India his land 
 of Canaan. Thus the realisation of the son's aspirations 
 had crushed those of the parent. 
 
 While smarting under this severe disappointment, the 
 first of any importance in his hitherto unchequered life, Sir 
 John, looking round him in search of consolations, perceived, 
 for the first time, that he had at hand a balm for his heart- 
 sore in the pale lovely cherub who lifted up to him her tiny 
 arms, and seemed to ask for her share in his affections, a 
 share that was soon all hers. The wound that Aubrey's 
 egotistical wilfulness had inflicted was scarcely skinned 
 over, when the decease of Lady Davenne again threw a 
 deep gloom over the Baronet's home. Lady Davenne's 
 health had long been declining, and more rapidly so ever 
 since her son's departure. The blow was none the less felt 
 for being anticipated. Sir John's grief was extreme, 
 though silent and subdued ; for the haughty Baronet con- 
 sidered all outward demonstration of strong feeling incon- 
 sistent with his dignity. He had another also, and better 
 reason, for controlling his emotions, viz. the fear of adding, 
 by his own, to his daughter's violent affliction. 
 
 Sir John retired to his home in the country, and lived 
 there in comparative seclusion, entirely engrossed by his 
 daughter, who had now become his one occupation — his one 
 pleasure. Lucy was a weakly, sensitive, intelligent child, 
 truly needing all a parent's fostering care, one of those 
 lovely fragile blossoms which equally call forth fond hope 
 and tender anxiety. Country air, however, regular hours, 
 and a prudent alternation of exercise and repose, of study 
 and amusement, under the management of a sensible gover- 
 ness, so successfully strengthened her health, that at seven- 
 teen Miss Davenne, though still somewhat delicate, was 
 
50 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 grown into a tall, blooming, cheerful girl, and passing 
 beautiful withal. 
 
 The life of a London belle was now before her. Sir 
 John never dreamed of her departing from the habits of her 
 caste. She was to be presented at Court ; and the closed 
 
 shutters of the house in Square were once more opened, 
 
 and such sun and light as is to be found in the metropolis 
 of Great Britain shone in on the stately rooms. To town, 
 then, Sir John and his daughter went in the spring of 1837 ; 
 and Lucy, once launched into the current of London gaiety, 
 was soon whirling giddily in its eddies. The end of her 
 first season found her with pale cheeks and exhausted 
 spirits ; but the qualm that Sir John had felt was easily for- 
 gotten, when he saw that some months of comparative quiet 
 at Davenne seemed to set her to rights again. Youth is a 
 potent auxiliary to recovery ; so when spring came round, 
 it found father and daughter again in London. But party 
 giving and party going, heated rooms and late hours, were 
 not long in counteracting Nature's beneficial effects. Lucy's 
 head drooped before the height of the season was reached ; 
 the alarmed father heard again the dry short cough — the 
 signal of an enemy he had not forgotten. 
 
 Poor Sir John called in first one physician and then an- 
 other ; one advocated country air and milk diet ; a second, 
 cold ablutions and horse exercise ; a third, sea-bathing and 
 port wine, — but all agreed in the necessity of an entire 
 abstinence from every kind of excitement or gaiety. All 
 was tried, but not any of all the remedies were able to 
 banish the fits of teasing cough that thrilled through the 
 heart of the terrified father, nothing could vanquish the 
 morbid languor which seemed about to arrest the current 
 of his daughter's life. Lucy continued thus for some months, 
 until the physicians gave that advice, which to experienced 
 ears sounds like the passing bell : ' Try a change of climate ; 
 let Miss Davenne spend next winter at Rome,' was the fiat 
 
SI J? JOHN DA VENNE 
 
 issued. In spite of an old grudge he had against Rome, — 
 'the dullest place in Christendom,' Sir John was used to 
 call it, and at the cost of the newly restored delights of 
 clubs and coterie, the Baronet had not a moment's hesita- 
 tion. The house in London again exhibited closed shutters 
 — that dreary mark of desertion ; the housekeeper at 
 Davenne had a month's work in dressing up all the furniture ; 
 and Sir John and his daughter went to Rome. 
 
 The sacrifice was repaid. The winter of 1839-40 proved 
 one of the finest and mildest ever recorded at Rome, and 
 six months' breathing of the soft congenial air had a most 
 restorative effect on Lucy's constitution. Sir John was so 
 happy at this result, that, with the approbation of an English 
 physician of some renown, he determined to prolong his 
 stay until the hot weather set in, travel in Switzerland during 
 the summer, and return again to Piazza di Spagna for an- 
 other winter. Just as he had made all his arrangements 
 there came a letter from Aubrey, now Captain Davenne, 
 dated from Madras, announcing his intended return by the 
 next mail, on a furlough of three years. This necessitated 
 a change, or rather modification of Sir John's plan. They 
 must leave Rome earlier than he had purposed, and England 
 would have to take the place of Switzerland in their itinerary. 
 The only embargo laid by the doctor, when consulted 
 again, was that the journey should be made by sea and not 
 by land, to spare the newly convalescent Lucy all possible 
 fatigue. 
 
 In compliance with this advice, Sir John and his daughter, 
 towards the middle of March, embarked at Civita Vecchia 
 on board a Government steamer, bound for Marseilles. 
 The sea was like a lake when they sailed, but the fine 
 weather lasted only a few hours. One of those furious 
 gales, frequent in the Mediterranean at that time of the 
 year, suddenly came on. The vessel, with both paddles 
 disabled, lay at the mercy of the winds and waves for a 
 
52 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 night and day, and it was not till after a narrow escape of 
 being wrecked in the Gulf of Spezia, that the passengers 
 were landed at the town of that name, which lies to the 
 east of Genoa. The protracted terror and sea-sickness 
 had so completely worn out Lucy that she was unable to 
 move or even stand ; she had to be carried ashore in this 
 pitiable state, and more than a week's rest was required ere 
 she could recover sufficient strength to resume the journey, 
 — this time by land, and by easy stages, the courier being 
 sent forward every morning to provide the best possible ac- 
 commodation for the night. Exhaustion was unluckily not 
 the only result of the combined fright and sea-sickness. 
 Some of the old symptoms, which had vanished during the 
 sojourn at Rome, reappeared, to Sir John's great alarm. 
 
 It was on the fourth day since their leaving Spezia, when, 
 having slept at Qneglia, they expected to be at Nice by the 
 evening, that our story found the father and daughter ; the 
 latter, as we described, tossing restlessly in search of ease 
 and sleep, the former, divided between newly awakened 
 anxiety for one child and the mental delivery of sundry 
 speeches to the other, all intended to persuade him to leave 
 the army and take to statesmanship. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SKIRMISHES. 
 
 RATHER thoughtful, but with his usual air of self-pos- 
 session, at a good steady pace, but without hurry, 
 Doctor Antonio, early the next morning, might have been 
 seen coming down the hill of Bordighera in the direction of 
 the roadside inn, where his young charge lay. Doctor 
 Antonio was not handsome, at least not handsome as heroes 
 of novels generally are. He had a large mouth, a nose of a 
 cut neither Greek nor Roman, rather high cheek-bones, in 
 short, a cast of features altogether irregular and somewhat 
 leonine, — all that could be said in its favour being, that it 
 was highly expressive and intellectual. There was power of 
 will and thought in his round prominent temples, which he 
 could contract wonderfully at times. His smile, occasion- 
 ally tinged with a shade of quiet irony, was habitually sweet 
 and winning. The appearance of the man, on the whole, 
 was remarkable, with more in it, perhaps, of what com- 
 mands respect than attracts sympathy. 
 
 Our Doctor, then, early in the morning, made his way to 
 the Osteria del Mattone, such being the name of the humble 
 roadside inn ; whether so called from its red brick colour, 
 or from standing upon a ground once occupied by a brick- 
 kiln, we have no data to go by. That it had a wretched as 
 well as a quaint appearance, no one with eyes in his head 
 
54 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 could venture to deny. The fact was, that, when first built, 
 the house had been intended to have its front to the north, 
 that is, to face the road, but in course of time, probably to 
 escape from the dust, the original windows and entrance 
 had been blocked up with stones and plaster, and new ones 
 broken out on the opposite side, viz. on the side that faced 
 the south. The consequence of this was a twisted and dis- 
 torted, and somewhat unnatural look, most ludicrous to 
 behold. To replace the stairs which formerly had led from 
 the ground floor to that above, and which the present 
 arrangement rendered useless, a double flight of massive 
 stone steps, connected at the top by a wide landing-place 
 or balcony, had been added on the outside, and went up 
 from the garden as high as the middle window of the upper 
 story, cut down to answer as a glass door. These com- 
 paratively enormous steps and balcony being sadly out of 
 proportion with the diminutive house against which they 
 rested, increased the oddity of its physiognomy, and sug- 
 gested the idea of a grown man's coat put on the back of a 
 boy ten years old. 
 
 Doctor Antonio found his patient in a state far from 
 satisfactory. Lucy had scarcely closed her eyes all night ; 
 complained of headache and constant thirst ; her lips were 
 parched ; her pulse bad — she was in a high fever. ' I wish 
 I had bled you yesterday,' said the Doctor after feeling her 
 pulse ; ' have you any objection to being bled ? ' 
 
 'None in the least, if you say it is necessary,' replied 
 Lucy ; ' but you had better speak to papa first.' 
 
 1 Very well ; will you be so good, then, as to send your 
 maid and tell Sir John Davenne that I wish to see him ? ' 
 
 Hutchins, with a glance at her mistress, moved to go. 
 1 Wait a moment in your own room, Hutchins, before 
 you go to papa, ' said Lucy ; ' I want to ask Dr. Antonio 
 something.' 
 
 As soon as they were alone, Lucy, opening wide her 
 
SKIRMISHES 55 
 
 eyes, bright with fever, fixed them earnestly on the rather 
 astonished Doctor, and then said, ' Am I in danger ? ' 
 The Doctor laughed outright. 
 
 ' No more than I am,' he answered ; ■ what put such a 
 notion into your head ? ' 
 
 1 Pray, ' said Lucy, ' don't try to cheat me ; don't treat 
 me like a child. I am not afraid to die, and if I am dying I 
 ought to be told, and I must, and will know. ' 
 
 * You have a brave heart, I am sure,' replied the Doctor, 
 with some emotion, * but I can assure you that your present 
 situation calls for none of your fortitude. Believe me, you 
 are no more likely to die just now than I am.' 
 
 1 Parola ? ' asked Lucy, putting out her little thin hand. 
 1 Parola,' answered Antonio, grasping it with his own. 
 ' Thank you,' said Lucy ; ' I will tell you now what made 
 me think that I was in danger. Early this morning the 
 first thing I saw was the girl you called Speranza. I sup- 
 pose I had been half-asleep, for I did not see her come 
 into the room. She was seated in a chair watching me 
 intently. Her eyes, so expressive at any time, were so full 
 of pity and sadness when they met mine, that a thrill of 
 fear shot through my heart. Tears, big tears, were actually 
 rolling down her cheeks. Methought that a girl would 
 not have been so distressed about a stranger, except some- 
 thing very wrong was the matter with me, and as I felt very 
 
 ill I could only fancy ' 
 
 ' Very absurd things,' interrupted the Doctor. ' Sper- 
 anza is a foolish girl, full of feeling, which she cannot help 
 showing, in and out of season. We Italians are noted as a 
 silly demonstrative people, you know,' added he, smiling. 
 * Besides, I do not wonder that a warm-hearted girl, such 
 as I know Speranza to be, should be moved to tears to see 
 one so young and so ' — (here Antonio stopped and hesi- 
 tated, but not more than a second), — ' and so lovely, suffer- 
 ing so much. Will you allow me now to see your father ? ' 
 
56 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 * Oh yes, ' and raising her voice a little, Lucy bade 
 Hutchins go and deliver Doctor Antonio's message. 
 
 Sir John had got up very early in the deplorable frame 
 of mind of one who had passed a deplorable night, and had 
 some hints of the gout into the bargain. Sir John had 
 already seen Hutchins, and received from her an unfavour- 
 able report of his daughter's state, and consequently lost all 
 hope of leaving that day. Sir John had called for John to 
 bring him his razors, and heard that John was not in the 
 house. This string of annoyances had told in a forcible 
 manner on the nerves of the absolute Baronet, who waited 
 impatiently for the return of his servant to pour out on his 
 large round head all the amount of crossness — crossness, not 
 wrath, is the word — that was pent up in his breast. ' Every- 
 thing goes wrong in this cursed country ! ' exclaimed the 
 Baronet, by way of relief. 
 
 Sir John had few but very decided notions about Italy 
 and Italians. Italy, Sir John allowed, was a fine country, 
 but scarcely habitable : a furnace in summer, a glacier in 
 winter. Rome was a place worth seeing, but dull ! dull ! 
 dull ! The Italians he pronounced to be a rapacious, 
 shabby-looking, oily-tongued people, who never went out 
 without a rosary in one pocket and a stiletto in the other. 
 Every second man met with in the street was either a singer, 
 or a bandit, or a ruined noble who lived by his wits ; a cata- 
 logue of the constituent elements of the Italian social body, 
 enriched of late by the fresh addition of the bloodthirsty 
 republican conspirator, plotting for ever against his lawful 
 sovereign — a new variety of the species Italian, of which 
 Sir John had heard much during his late stay at Rome, from 
 a young Roman prince, the nephew of a Cardinal, and who 
 greatly affected English society. For, the better to study 
 Italian character, habits, and manners, Sir John frequented 
 only English families ; had an English physician, English 
 servants, even an English cook ; ate English dinners, 
 
SKIRMISHES 57 
 
 drank soidisant English wines, and bought from English 
 shops — in short, Sir John had realised at Rome a little 
 London of his own. 
 
 When John, on his return, presented himself before his 
 master, his face had on it such a lively expression of de- 
 spair, that even in his present mood the Baronet changed 
 the meditated storm of invective into the question of— 
 
 4 What the devil is the matter now ? ' 
 
 * I have been at Eoidighera, sir,' replied John, ' and 
 there is neither beef, nor tea, nor fresh butter to be had ! 
 What are we to do ? ' asked John in so piteous a tone that 
 three parts of a smile extended Sir John's lips. 
 
 Just at this interesting moment there came a rap at the 
 door, and Miss Hutchins with the message. Sir John, a 
 little alarmed, went at once to the lobby, where he found 
 the Doctor. Sir John begged the Doctor to be seated. 
 
 ' I find Miss Davenne this morning,' began the Doctor, 
 as he took a chair, ' with a good deal of fever. It is only 
 what I expected. I think she would be relieved by a little 
 bleeding. ' 
 
 Sir John, one of whose favourite crotchets it was that all 
 Italian Doctors bled all their patients to death, on hearing 
 this proposal gave a bound on his chair, and said with 
 great warmth, — ' Bleeding ! no bleeding whatever, on any 
 account. I will have no bleeding ! ' 
 
 Doctor Antonio coloured up to the white of his eyes, — 
 and who knows what he was going to reply ? — but check- 
 ing the ready rejoinder by a strong effort, he said slowly, and 
 calmly, ' Not even if I assure you that it is absolutely 
 necessary ? ' 
 
 ' I do not admit the necessity,' replied Sir John, 
 doggedly ; ' and I make no bleeding the sine qua non of 
 your attendance on my daughter.' 
 
 ' It is so, is it ? ' said the Doctor ; and without further 
 parley he drew out his memorandum-book and wrote down 
 
58 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 some names on a fly-leaf, handing which to Sir John, he 
 continued, — ' These are the names and addresses of the 
 two nearest medical practitioners ; the young lady will 
 be safe with either of them. I shall not withdraw till one 
 of the gentlemen is here. ' So saying, he rose, with a bow, 
 went to the balcony, and stood against the railing with 
 folded arms, in the attitude of a sentinel waiting to be 
 relieved. 
 
 Face to face with the resolve so suddenly acted upon by 
 the Italian, Sir John, like most people who have been 
 hurried on by passion, began to regret having gone so far. 
 Like Alp on Alp, one difficulty after another showed its 
 rugged head. Suppose neither of the other two doctors 
 spoke English, — not very probable they would ; suppose 
 Lucy, who had taken a fancy to this Antonio, refused to 
 see them ; suppose this man was right, and suppose her life 
 should be endangered by his opposition. There is nothing 
 for it, thought Sir John, but a little conciliation with this 
 most disagreeable of Italians — the man, of course, waits 
 but for a word ; and making a prodigious effort, he called 
 out in a querulous tone, ' Why do you wish to bleed ? ' 
 
 ' Because,' replied Antonio, turning towards the Baronet 
 as he uttered the words, and then resuming his former 
 position, — 'because, as I have already stated, I 'think it 
 indispensable.' 
 
 A dead pause ensued. 
 
 ' Italian practice everywhere the same,' broke out Sir 
 John, soliloquising aloud ; ' nothing but the lancet — the 
 same quacks all through the country. No, no, it can't be ; 
 how can I authorise bleeding ? ' 
 
 Antonio heard, but made no reply. 
 
 'Doctor Antonio, you are then determined to bleed?' 
 exclaimed the Baronet, walking about the room in exaspera- 
 tion. 
 
 retorted the young man, with some 
 
SKIRMISHES 59 
 
 haughtiness ; * I am determined to do no more in this case 
 but resign the young lady into better hands. I shall wait 
 the arrival of my successor below,' and he moved towards 
 the steps. Sir John came to the glass door, and in utter 
 desperation said — 
 
 ' Perhaps I have been too hasty ; but you can understand 
 my feelings, sir, — the feelings of a father for an only 
 daughter. ' 
 
 There was real distress in the voice, real distress in the 
 working of the Baronet's features, as perceived by the 
 Doctor, who had faced round upon him. 
 
 'The proof that I understand and respect your feel- 
 ings, ' said Antonio, ' is, that instead of resenting your 
 taunts on my profession and country, which I would have 
 done with anybody else, I adjure you once more to let me 
 do for my patient what I consider necessary. ' 
 
 The words were spoken so simply, yet so earnestly, there 
 was such a stamp of dignity about the whole man, as he 
 stood on the threshold in the attitude of one giving a 
 solemn warning, so much reserve yet courtesy in his voice, 
 that Sir John, provoked as he was, could not help being 
 struck by the ensemble, and said, with marked hesita- 
 tion — 
 
 ' If I were to consent to your bleeding my daughter, I 
 should be going against the express caution of every 
 physician who has ever attended her. ' 
 
 * I should myself have given you similar advice,' said 
 Antonio ; ' but there are certain conditions which must 
 modify the most salutary rules, and Miss Davenne's state is 
 a case in point. ' 
 
 ' Well,' said Sir John, 'situated as I am, I have no alter- 
 native but to let you do what you think proper; only 
 remember, that in bleeding Miss Davenne you act entirely 
 on your own responsibility.' 
 
 'A thing I have never shrunk from, and I accept it 
 
6o DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 willingly,' replied Antonio, brightening, and without any 
 further delay he returned to Lucy's room. 
 
 Sir John had no sooner given this ungracious consent 
 than he was angry with himself for giving it, and walked 
 back to his room with the feeling of one sorely aggrieved. 
 At the end of a quarter of an hour, this feeling, duly nursed 
 and fondled, had grown up, expanded, and ripened into a 
 clear and decided conviction that he had been unfairly got 
 the better of, a discovery immediately followed by intense 
 commiseration for himself, the victim, and a burst of fresh* 
 hot indignation against Antonio, the victimiser. ' And so 
 here I am at the mercy of this man ! ' said Sir John to him- 
 self. All the Davennes' proud blood tingled in his veins at 
 the idea. He angrily strode to the glass door and called to 
 John, who was pacing the garden in low spirits, to order 
 post-horses for the carriage at once, and to come up to him 
 afterwards. Then opening his desk with a violent jerk, 
 the Baronet began to write, not with his usual pompous 
 composure, but much in the approved stage mode, making 
 dashes right and left, fit to tear the paper to the heart, 
 accompanied by a scratching and spluttering of the pen, 
 sufficient to set on edge the teeth of any but a man in a 
 passion. 
 
 Sir John had finished and sealed his angry missive, when 
 his servant brought in the consoling intelligence that the 
 horses would come up immediately. ' Put them to the 
 minute they come,' said the Baronet, 'and go to Nice as 
 fast as you can with this letter to the British Consul there, 
 and deliver it into his own hands. I have asked him to 
 give you the name and address of the first physician, — 
 English physician I mean, of the town. Find him out and 
 bring him here at any cost, and with the least possible 
 delay. No stoppages on the road ; you must be back here 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 John bowed, and in ten minutes more Sir John had the 
 consolation of hearing the carriage roll off. 
 
SKIRMISHES 61 
 
 One word is due to the messenger. John Ducket was 
 the lineal descendant of a generation of servitors of the 
 Davenne family, all like himself born and reared on the estate 
 of Davenne, and succeeding one another as butlers with a 
 regularity that had finished by making the office hereditary 
 in their family. John, born while his master was still in 
 petticoats, had been named by Sir Aubrey after his heir, in 
 recognition of the faithful services of the Duckets. As 
 Time used his scythe, John succeeded his father and grand- 
 father, and was now Sir John's confidential valet, — a man 
 in whom the Baronet put infinite trust, and less to his 
 master's credit, often his souffre-douleur. John had been 
 drilled to passive obedience from his youth upwards, and 
 continued to walk in that way, — an obedience far from 
 onerous, for if there was a man in the world who thought 
 more highly of the Davenne family than Sir John himself, 
 that man was John Ducket. He worshipped the very name ; 
 every word that fell from Sir John's lips had all the authority 
 of an oracle with this man. Had Sir John ordered him to 
 go to Nice and bring him back the first person he met in the 
 town instead of the first physician, John would have set out 
 with the same determination to obey literally, and believed- 
 Sir John to be perfectly in the right. 
 
 While John, lolling at his ease inside his master's carriage, 
 plays the Baronet, and looks down superciliously on the 
 pedestrian wayfarers, who take him for a great personage, 
 and touch their hats to him as they get out of the way — 
 while Sir John counts the passing hours, and savours in 
 spirit revenge, that fruit so sweet in anticipation, so bitter 
 in the tasting, Doctor Antonio awaits with disguised anxiety 
 the effect of the morning's bleeding. He has already called 
 four times in the course of a few hours, and Hutchins con- 
 tinues to give the same answer, which he continues to re- 
 ceive with the same look of intense satisfaction : ■ Miss 
 Davenne is quiet, and appears to sleep.' As no one is to 
 be permitted to enter her room for fear of disturbing a rest 
 
62 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 so longed for and so necessary to the poor girl, Hutchins, 
 who watches her through the door left open between the 
 rooms, from time to time goes on tiptoe to Sir John and 
 gives him a similar bulletin. The house, thanks to Rosa 
 and her daughter's attentive care, is so quiet that one might 
 fancy it uninhabited. The Sunday customers from Bordi- 
 ghera are pitilessly sent away. Towards evening Lucy calls 
 her maid, and asks if the Doctor is come. He has been 
 sitting alone in the balcony for the last hour, and goes 
 to her at once. Lucy feels better, even thinks she has 
 slept. Antonio places his fingers on her pulse, desires her 
 not to speak, holds a glass containing a bland soporific to 
 her lips, and wishes her a good night. No doubt of it ; 
 the timely bleeding has dissipated the complication that 
 he apprehended ; you see in his face that a great weight is 
 taken off his mind. His step, as he walks homewards, is 
 more springy than in the morning, and he hums a tune as 
 he goes. 
 
 Lucy slept, and soundly ; indeed did not awake till ten 
 the next morning, and then so refreshed and composed that 
 she felt quite another creature. ' I was beginning to think 
 you meant to dismiss me altogether,' said Antonio cheer- 
 fully, as he was ushered in by Miss Hutchins. ' I have 
 called twice already this morning, and each time found 
 closed doors.' 
 
 'I really have slept unconscionably late,' said Miss 
 Davenne, in a little confusion. 
 
 'All right,' replied the Doctor; 'you have to make up 
 forlnuch lost time. And how do you feel ? Your counten- 
 ance is a herald of good news.' 
 
 ' What does it say ? ' asked Lucy ; ' let me hear if it 
 speaks the truth.' 
 
 ' It says,' Antonio went on, * first, that you have got rid 
 of fever ; secondly, that you are wishing for some breakfast. 
 Have I guessed aright ? ' 
 
SKIRMISHES 63 
 
 ' Like a secoad Daniel,' answered Lucy, smiling ; ' I 
 was really just longing for a cup of tea and some fresh 
 butter.' 
 
 1 Hum,' said the Doctor, ' for the cup of tea we are all 
 safe. I was so sure that an English young lady would be 
 sighing for her tea, that, see, I put some in my pocket for 
 you.' 
 
 ' How kind of you ! ' said Lucy. ■ Do you, as an Italian 
 gentleman, disapprove of tea ? ' asked she, with some re- 
 turn of archness. 
 
 'Quite the contrary, — I am a great devotee of " the cup 
 that cheers but not inebriates " ; I always take tea for break- 
 fast myself. As to fresh butter, that is a veiy different affair. 
 I believe if I were to offer its weight in gold, I could not 
 find any for you in this neighbourhood. ' 
 
 * Don't people eat butter here ! ' exclaimed Lucy ; * or 
 do you mean to say that no one here knows how to make 
 it?' 
 
 ' They are not quite so behindhand,' answered the 
 Italian ; c but I will tell you all about it presently. As you 
 have been such an amiable patient, doing me such credit, 
 I must contrive to reward you. I shall make you some 
 butter myself.' 
 
 ' You ! ' cried Lucy, — 'you churn butter ! ' 
 
 'You will see,' he answered, almost laughing at her 
 genuine surprise ; and went out of the room, and returned 
 in a quarter of an hour, carrying a large bottle three-parts 
 full of milk. 
 
 He now seated himself^ near the bed, and with all the 
 gravity in the world began shaking the bottle with a violence 
 and perseverance that soon made him as red as fire. Lucy 
 tried in vain not to laugh. 'You are laughing at my 
 churn,' he said, very calmly ; 'it is a primitive one, to be 
 sure, but it will do its work very well ; ' and up and down 
 went the bottle again. 'Look,' he said — and he held it 
 
64 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 before the large pair of eyes that were fixed upon him with 
 such a mixed gaze of merriment and wonder — ' do you see 
 those little balls? That's the beginning of your pat of 
 butter. ' 
 
 * But you forget,' said Lucy, ' that you have not told me 
 why you are obliged to make the butter yourself; ' and as 
 she spoke the thought crossed her, What would papa think 
 if he saw the Doctor now ! 
 
 'In the first place,' explained the Doctor, 'the soil is 
 too dry here to afford good pasture, and that is the reason 
 why our farmers do not keep more than one or two cows. 
 Now the milk of one or two cows does not give cream 
 enough to make it worth while to churn every second day, 
 you know.' 
 
 'No, I don't know anything about it,' said the still 
 laughing girl ; ' but go on. ' 
 
 'The consequence is,' he resumed, 'that they wait till 
 they have a week's cream before they make any butter, and 
 as by that time most of the cream is rancid, the butter it 
 makes is detestable stuff, that burns your throat, and half 
 chokes you. Yet, it might be very good, for, owing to the 
 aromatic plants that grow about in abundance, the milk, 
 though not rich, is very sweet. But the truth is, there is no 
 demand for butter.' 
 
 ' No demand ! ' repeated Lucy. ' How do all the people 
 in the neighbourhood, I mean the gentlemen's families, 
 manage ? ' 
 
 The Doctor smiled. ' We are not in England, signora, 
 and we find our oil an excellent substitute.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Lucy, ' I have such a horror of oil. ' 
 
 ' One of your English prejudices,' he answered. A short 
 silence ensued, while Lucy considered the manly intelligent 
 face and commanding figure of the Doctor, so at odds with 
 his occupation. 
 
 At last, after an earnest searching gaze into his bottle, 
 
SKIRMISHES 65 
 
 the Doctor exclaimed, ' Eccolo, oh caro, here 's your pat of 
 butter ' ; and with a little triumphant air, he added, * Now, 
 I must see to the washing and pressing of my microscopic 
 production, lest it should melt away during the process.' 
 Hutchins' countenance during the whole of the performance 
 would have been a good study for a painter ; incredulity, 
 derision, and at last wonder, being admirably expressed in 
 every feature of her face. 
 
 'As I cannot come and churn for you every day,' said the 
 Doctor, returning, ' I think the best way to have fresh butter 
 for you and your household daily, is to hire a couple of 
 cows for your use. Speranza will manage the matter for 
 you, if you like, and milk them herself, she said, to be sure 
 that the article is genuine. And since we are on the subject 
 of eatables, let me give you one or two hints which may be 
 useful, as you will not be able to leave this poor place for 
 some little time to come.' 
 
 1 What will papa do, then ? ' asked Lucy anxiously ; * he 
 is so impatient to go to London.' 
 
 ' My dear young lady,' answered Doctor Antonio sooth- 
 ingly, ' depend upon it, Sir John cares for nothing so much 
 as for your recovery ; so now listen to what I was going to 
 say. Two mail-coaches are daily passing this, one from 
 Genoa to Nice, and one from Nice to Genoa, and you can 
 by their means be regularly supplied from the markets of 
 either place with anything you may require, only you must 
 have" some one at Genoa or Nice to purchase for you, and 
 have the things brought to the coach-office. I have friends 
 in both places who will undertake all this for you, if you 
 like.' 
 
 'Thank you very much,' said Lucy, 'but we have our 
 courier at Nice who can do all that for us without troubling 
 your friends. ' 
 
 'So much the better,' replied Antonio. Hutchins at 
 this moment entered with the breakfast, and Miss Lucy 
 
 £ 
 
66 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 attacked the toast and butter with an alacrity of good omen, 
 pronouncing the butter to be the very best she had ever 
 tasted. ' Now that I think of it,' said Miss Davenne, * what 
 has become of Speranza ? I have not seen her since yester- 
 day morning. ' 
 
 * Speranza,' answered the Doctor, ' has had a good scold- 
 ing, and is ashamed to show herself. ' 
 
 * Ah ! so you have been scolding ; why did you scold 
 her?' 
 
 ' For frightening a certain young lady with her nonsensi- 
 cal scared looks,' returned Antonio ; 'I should never have 
 guessed her to be such a simpleton.' 
 
 ' How ? ' asked the young lady. 
 
 ' I suppose I shall do no harm by telling you of her fool- 
 ishness. You must know,' continued the Doctor, 'that 
 when the girl heard that you had sent away the crucifix and 
 the Madonna hanging by your bed ' 
 
 ' She took offence, did she ? ' suggested Lucy. 
 
 ' No, no ! but she at once jumped to the hasty conclusion 
 that you were not a Christian, and she felt so sorry, so 
 sorry, as she told me, to think that you never could go to 
 Paradise, that when she next saw you, she could not help 
 crying about it.' 
 
 'Dear kind soul!' exclaimed Lucy ; 'she must not be 
 allowed to believe that I am not a Christian. Pray, Doctor 
 Antonio, go and fetch her. ' 
 
 He went at once, and presently returned drawing in after 
 him the reluctant Italian girl, looking prettier than ever, her 
 cheeks as red as cherries with the glow of shame. ' I beg 
 your pardon, signora, ' she faltered to Lucy, ' I did not mean 
 to offend you, indeed I didn't.' 
 
 ' I am not offended, cara miaj said Lucy prettily, in 
 Italian, though with a little embarrassment on her side also, 
 which brought a faint blush on her pale face : the two girls 
 made a nice picture. 'Truly, I am grateful to you for 
 
SKIRMISHES 67 
 
 taking so much interest in an utter stranger. If I were not 
 a Christian, I should indeed be an object for the pity of 
 every one. But I am, my good Speranza, and I worship 
 and pray to the same Father in heaven whom you worship 
 and pray to.' 
 
 Speranza took the young lady's hand, and was about to 
 carry it to her lips, when Lucy drew her hastily forward, 
 and kissed her on the cheek. 
 
 * That will do now,' interfered the Doctor, who did not 
 want his patient to grow excited ; ' you must not forget that 
 some of my butter is still on your plate.' 
 
 Sir John came into the room a little after this scene, and 
 while the actors in it, still under its impression, were look- 
 ing very pleased. For, though not new, it is nevertheless 
 a consoling truth, and one worthy of being recorded, that 
 nothing is so wholesome, nothing does so much for people's 
 looks, as a little interchange of the small coin of bene- 
 volence. Sir John was in a mood that allowed of his taking 
 the infection of the good humour he saw in the others. 
 Unlike the first night, Sir John had slept very well — is it 
 not wonderful and mortifying to think how much the colour 
 of one's mental perspective depends upon the sort of night 
 that one has passed ? — Sir John, then, had slept very well ; 
 had shaved to his heart's content; had received a good 
 account of his daughter ; had had a cup of excellent tea 
 — the Doctor's own tea— and altogether felt in good 
 spirits. 
 
 ' You see, Sir John,' said Doctor Antonio, good- 
 humouredly, after the morning's salutations had been ex- 
 changed, — ' you see that even so terrible an extremity as 
 bleeding may be attended with satisfactory results. Here 
 is your daughter to witness to the fact.' 
 
 '* No one rejoices more sincerely than I do at the success 
 of your remedy ; and Miss Davenne and myself are much 
 indebted to you,' replied Sir John, with no little embarrass- 
 
68 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ment, as the thought came upon him all at once of the 
 possibility of the English physician arriving while the Italian 
 was still there. But just as the apprehension of such a 
 collision presented itself before him, Doctor Antonio took 
 his hat, saying, that he was afraid he should not be able to 
 call again before the evening. 
 
 'Are you going to desert me now that I am better?' 
 asked Miss Davenne, with a cloud on her brow. 
 
 'Not for the world,' replied the Doctor earnestly; 'but 
 I have a visit to make at a place some miles off, which 
 I have delayed for the last two days, and can do so no 
 longer. ' 
 
 ' One moment, Doctor Antonio,' said Sir John, so much 
 relieved that his good humour waxed active, and with an 
 instinctive wish, so common in human nature, to do some- 
 thing to please the man for whom he had prepared a rod of 
 mortification ; ' can you give me any news of that unlucky 
 postboy ? ' 
 
 'Of Prospero?' replied the no little surprised Doctor, 
 ' he is poorly enough ; he has an intermittent fever.' 
 
 ' Is it dangerous ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 'Not dangerous,' was the answer, 'but likely to nail him 
 to his bed for weeks ; — a very sad prospect, Miss Davenne, 
 for people who have nothing to trust to for their bread but 
 the labour of their hands, and who, besides, have others 
 dependent upon them. ' 
 
 ' Is Prospero married ? ' inquired the young lady. 
 
 ' Not yet, but he has an old mother and a younger brother 
 whom he supports, for poor Prospero is a better son and 
 brother than postilion. But I really must leave you, so 
 good-bye, and a rivederla.'* 
 
 ' Papa,' said Lucy, when the sound of the Doctor's steps 
 had died away, ' you have no objection, have you, to my 
 sending some money to that poor man ? Doctor Antonio 
 gives him such a good character. ' 
 
SKIRMISHES 69 
 
 Sir John checked an exclamation of satisfaction that rose 
 to his lips at a proposal which gratified at once his parental 
 pride in the warm feelings of his child, and reconciled the 
 promptings of his really kind heart with those extravagant 
 notions of dignity, before whose tribunal all soft impulse 
 was a weakness. The fact is, that Sir John, to his praise 
 be it said, on hearing of poor Prospero's case, had instantly 
 begun to think how he could manage to send him a little 
 money without committing himself. Now, Lucy's proposal 
 was just what he could have wished. Prospero would have 
 the money, and it would be her doing, not his ; so he 
 answered, with a studied carelessness, ' You may do so if 
 you wish it, my dear, though no thanks to him that we did 
 not break our necks ; however, that 's no reason why the 
 mother should suffer. Send the money to the poor old 
 woman, who certainly deserves to be pitied for having such 
 a hairbrained son.' 
 
 * I think, papa, I had better talk to Doctor Antonio about 
 it : he will tell us what is best to be done. ' 
 
 'As you like, my dear,' said Sir John ; then, to change 
 the subject, he remarked what a beautiful day it was. 
 
 ' Is it not ? ' said Lucy ; ' and the air is so sweet. Go 
 and take a walk, papa ; it will do you good.' 
 
 ' I have half a mind to do so ; but you will be lonely, 
 perhaps. Would you like Hutchins to read to you while I 
 am out ? ' 
 
 1 1 asked the Doctor if she might do so, papa, but he said 
 it would not do yet. ' 
 
 • Your Doctor Antonio, my dear,' said Sir John fretfully, 
 ' is a dreadfully slow man.' 
 
 'You know the Italians have a proverb that says, "Chi 
 va piano va sano, chi va sano va lontano"* replied Miss 
 Davenne playfully. 'I will be quiet and think. A 
 pleasant walk to you, papa.' 
 
 The sea, the sky, the mountains, everything was smiling 
 
70 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 around, and a soft breeze tempered the ardour of the noon- 
 day sun. As, fanned by the genial air, Sir John walked on 
 leisurely towards Bordighera, a sense of physical comfort 
 stole over him, and under its influence all the better feelings 
 of his nature awoke. Indeed, so softened was his heart, 
 that had he been called on to specify his grievances against 
 Doctor Antonio, — windmills which yesterday he had mis- 
 taken for giants, — he would have just now been sorely at a 
 loss how to do so. We may even go so far as to aver that 
 there was a moment in which Sir John wished, actually 
 wished, that he either had not sent John to Nice, or that 
 John might return alone. 
 
 But this good humour was short-lived. Exactly because 
 Sir John was a very proud, he was also a very sensitive 
 person, and likely to be ruffled by finding a doubled rose- 
 leaf on his couch of grandeur. The doubled rose-leaf came 
 to disturb him this time in the bodily shape of a lusty 
 villager, with a frank good-humoured countenance. Sir 
 John had already met several people, all of whom had lifted 
 their caps as they passed, which he felt was only just as it 
 ought to be. The news of the accident which had befallen 
 the English gentleman and his daughter, the description 
 given by Rosa and Speranza of the surpassing beauty and 
 gentleness of the latter, had spread both far and wide, and 
 had naturally created a warm sympathy for the strangers. 
 This feeling the good-natured people met with by Sir John 
 had expressed on this morning, as we said, by taking 
 their caps off to the gentleman ; but the stout labourer just 
 mentioned was not to be satisfied with silent pantomime. 
 He accosted the Baronet, and addressed him at some length, 
 winding up with an attempt to shake hands ; a familiarity 
 hateful to Sir John at elections and public rejoicings in 
 England, and one he was little inclined to tolerate on a road 
 in Italy. The burly peasant, whose professions of interest 
 and good- will were expressed in a patois utterly unintel- 
 
SKIRMISHES 71 
 
 ligible to his listener, was far from dreaming of the offence 
 he had given when he saw the embarrassed Englishman 
 suddenly turn his back upon him, and retrace his steps to 
 the Osteria, where he arrived in a very different temper from 
 that which had graced the beginning of his walk. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A PITCHED BATTLE. 
 
 SIR JOHN had not been long home, when the sound 
 of fast-approaching wheels made him spring to his 
 feet and hurry to the balcony, from whence he perceived 
 his own carriage standing at the garden gate, and his own 
 man John, who, after assisting a short, plump, middle-aged 
 gentleman to alight, conducted him across the garden. Sir 
 John hastened to close the door between Hutchins' room 
 and the lobby, and returned to his observatory in time to 
 see the new-comer stop at the foot of the steps, take off his 
 hat, draw forth a snow-white handkerchief, and while slowly 
 wiping his large bald head, shining in the sun like a golden 
 ball, take a hasty survey of all that he could see of his own 
 person ; then after first stamping one foot and then the 
 other, to shake away some small particles of dust that 
 dimmed the brilliancy of his polished patent-leather boots, 
 mount the stairs with a deliberate step. { Something like 
 a physician,' murmured the Baronet, as he caught a nearer 
 view of the broad, honest, English face, close-shaved chin, 
 and rigorous professional black costume, to which the irre- 
 proachable white neckcloth and finely-plaited wide shirt- 
 frill gave an exquisite finish. Sir John's heart expanded as 
 a flower bitten by the first frost expands under the cheering 
 
 rays of an October sun. 
 72 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 73 
 
 Sir John's reception of the stronger was as cordial as Sir 
 John's nature and habits permitted : he put out the index and 
 medium of his right hand in sign of welcome, and positively 
 made a slight apology for the trouble he had given. The 
 English doctor received with due deference between his own 
 thumb and index the two fingers held out, giving them a 
 gentle professional pressure, as if he were feeling their pulse. 
 This done, Doctor Yorke — for such was the name of the 
 new doctor, such a contrast to the other — with the self- 
 possession of a man long habituated to deal with all classes 
 of all nations, and to detect at a glance the besetting foible 
 as well as the besetting malady, proceeded to beg Sir John 
 not to speak of trouble. His services were, as they ought to 
 be, at the behest of sufferers in general ; it was his duty to 
 be prepared for all emergencies. In the present case, any 
 little personal inconvenience was more than compensated 
 for by the honour of making the acquaintance of Sir John 
 Davenne (here both gentlemen bowed), and by, as he fondly 
 hoped, the satisfaction of being of use to Miss Davenne, of 
 whose unfortunate accident he had heard from the servant. 
 
 This was all according to Sir John's ideas of propriety ; 
 and the sense of relief he felt in listening to Doctor Yorke 
 was something only to be compared to what a man feels 
 who escapes from suffocation. While the stout little doctor 
 paused to take breath, Sir John had time to bless his good 
 fortune that had sent him a man so well bred. At last, all 
 the preliminaries being over, the two Englishmen sat down, 
 and Sir John entered at length on the tale of his misad- 
 ventures, — the embarking at Civita Vecchia, the horrors of 
 the storm, the landing at Spezia (what a hole that Spezia ! 
 beds as hard as stone, and too short by a foot), and the- 
 journey by land up to the climax of the overturn. To hear 
 Sir John, one would have thought that the storm in the 
 Mediterranean, and the short beds at Spezia, were both 
 contrived for his personal annoyance ; but he made no 
 
74 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 specific charge until he came to the unlucky wight of a 
 postilion, when,, forgetful of the morning's mercy, the 
 Baronet declared his belief that the overturn was a deliber- 
 ate act, nothing less than a clear attempt at murder. ' Ask 
 me not his motives,' pursued Sir John, waxing warm — for 
 Sir John wanted to be angry, and was trying all he could to 
 lash himself into a passion — ' his motives ? do I know what 
 may have been his motives? — But that there was premedita- 
 tion, cool premeditation, sir, I have an unanswerable proof 
 in the scoundrel's indifference after the mischief was done. 
 Did he so much as lift his little finger to render assistance ? 
 No, sir, he stood as unconcerned as his horses — No, I am 
 wrong, the poor beasts shook with terror.' 
 
 Sir John next described Doctor Antonio bursting on them 
 like a Congreve rocket. ' The queerest-looking figure for 
 a medical man I ever met with,' said the Baronet, 'with a 
 bear.d like a French pioneer, and a sugar-loaf hat just 
 like a captain of banditti in a melodrama.' Doctor Yorke's 
 polite attention redoubled at this point, and in the left 
 corner of his mouth there quivered an arch smile, either in 
 compliment to Sir John's graphic powers, or in enjoyment 
 of some odd conceit of his own. ' This Doctor Antonio, if 
 that be really his name, says he is a physician, and without 
 the smallest ceremony pounces upon my daughter, sets 
 about examining her foot, declares there is nothing the 
 matter but a sprained ankle, and with not so much as "by 
 your leave," takes upon himself to order her to be carried 
 here. Well, sir,' proceeded Sir John, with angry and 
 significant emphasis, ' that is not all. I naturally enough 
 express my intention of continuing my journey to Nice after 
 a few hours' rest. " Hours ! " cries the man, staring at me ; 
 ' ' rather weeks. " Weeks ! and on my remonstrating at the 
 mention of such a monstrous period, the oracle pronounces 
 his award, that my daughter cannot be removed for at least 
 forty days. Forty days ! very easy for him to say, but not 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 75 
 
 so easy for me to get through in such a place as this ; to say 
 nothing of my only son, Captain Davenne, being expected 
 in London at the end of this month, after an absence of ten 
 years.' 
 
 'Very provoking, indeed,' remarked Doctor Yorke. 
 
 I Not that this circumstance can alter the case in point,' 
 added Sir John condescendingly ; ' but I put the question 
 to you, Doctor ' 
 
 ' Yorke,' suggested the Doctor. 
 
 I I put the question to you, Doctor Yorke, speaking to 
 you as a distinguished member of the medical profession — 
 (Doctor Yorke bows) — Is it likely that a mere sprain would 
 prevent any one from travelling in an easy carriage for the 
 enormous length of time of forty days ? ' 
 
 Doctor Yorke, thus directly appealed to, drew a massive 
 gold snuff-box with an inscription on it out of his waistcoat 
 pocket, gave it the three consecrated taps, held it to Sir 
 John, who declined, took a pinch himself, and after a second 
 of self-indulgence, and meditation, said that the query put to 
 him was not so easily answered as might seem on a prima 
 facie view. Generally speaking, a simple sprain cured in a 
 week or two, though he must add that he had met, in the 
 course of his practice, with accidents of that description at- 
 tended by such aggravated symptoms, as to necessitate 
 absolute repose for even a longer period than that mentioned 
 by the Baronet. In which category was Miss Davenne's 
 sprain to be placed ? that was the point at issue, and which 
 nothing, resumed Doctor Yorke, could decide but a careful 
 examination of the foot. 
 
 'Exactly so,' chimed in Sir John, 'a careful examina- 
 tion by a gentleman of your standing and experience is all 
 I can wish for. I shall willingly bow to your authority. ' 
 
 ' Then, Sir John, the less time we lose the better,' ob- 
 served Doctor Yorke. ' Is the Italian gentleman here ? ' 
 
 Sir John replied in the negative. 
 
76 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 1 1 beg you will send for him immediately, as his presence 
 is indispensable.' 
 
 * I am sorry to hear it, Doctor Yorke,' answered the 
 Baronet, rather shyly ; ' for when Doctor Antonio paid his 
 visit this morning, he mentioned that he had a call to make 
 at some distance, and was not likely to return before the 
 evening.' 
 
 ' Very strange ! ' exclaimed Doctor Yorke, ' when he 
 knew you had sent to Nice for a consulting physician. 
 
 Sir John, with increasing embarrassment, was here 
 obliged to confess that he had not mentioned the circum- 
 stance to Doctor Antonio. 
 
 1 God bless my heart, this is very awkward ! ' said the little 
 gentleman, beginning to look very blank. 'Do you not 
 know, my dear Sir John, that it is a rule, a canonical rule 
 among us medical men, never to examine another man's 
 patient except in his presence ? ' A fine mess we are in, 
 added he mentally to himself. 
 
 1 But, Doctor Yorke, under the present circumstances, 
 cannot you dispense with a mere formality ? ' observed Sir 
 John, in a persuasive tone ; ' we are in Italy, you know, 
 not in England.' 
 
 ' The rule holds good here as well as there,' quietly re- 
 turned the English practitioner; 'it is not the mere for- 
 mality it appears in your eyes, nor a mere act of courtesy 
 either. It has been accepted as a law amongst us, with a 
 view to prevent abuses, most likely to arise if there were 
 not restrictions. You know the vulgar adage, Too many 
 
 cooks Ah ! there you are, 'continued the Doctor, in quite 
 
 a different key ; ' how lucky ! we were just regretting your 
 absence.' 
 
 These last words were addressed to Doctor Antonio, 
 whose tall figure here darkened the outer door. Doctor An- 
 tonio had returned sooner than he expected, and as he rode 
 past the Osteria, a sort of misgiving had seized him that the 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 77 
 
 toast and butter of the morning might have proved hard of 
 digestion, so, to clear this doubt, he had alighted' and called. 
 Antonio's round salient temples worked fearfully, and aflash 
 of anger darted from his eyes — but it was only for a second, 
 and as he entered the room his countenance was restored to 
 its usual serenity and placid smile. Doctor Yorke rose with 
 extended hand to meet his brother in medicine. Sir John 
 now became disagreeably aware that the two physicians 
 were acquainted, and to all seeming on excellent terms, 
 which in fact they were. They had become known to each 
 other at the time the cholera was raging at Nice and in the 
 environs, and had met for many a consultation on that sad 
 occasion, and stood side by side at many a deathbed. 
 
 * How do you do, my dear sir?' said Antonio cheerfully, 
 ' how glad I am to shake hands with you ! Come down to 
 see the young lady, eh ? We will go to her presently.' 
 
 * You see me here,' said Doctor Yorke, desirous of divest- 
 ing his position of all ambiguity, * at Sir John Davenne's 
 express invitation, to consult about Miss Davenne with 
 Miss Davenne's physician, who, I am glad to find, is your- 
 self. I am sure when the patient is in such good hands 
 there is no need of me ; however, if you have no objec- 
 tion ' 
 
 ' None in the world,' said Doctor Antonio, not allowing 
 his colleague to finish the sentence ; ' to submit the measures 
 I have employed to so kind and competent a judge, is at all 
 times an honour for me ' — Doctor Yorke waved his fat white 
 hand deprecatingly — ' yes, an honour, and, allow me to add, 
 a gratification,' wound up Antonio. 'But enough spoken 
 between old friends ; I fear I have already detained you too 
 long. Had Sir John Davenne been so good as to let me 
 know this morning that he expected you,' pursued the 
 Italian, with meaning in his voice, and facing round upon 
 the Baronet, ' you should not have found me out of the 
 way ' 
 
78 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Sir John's conscience lent weight to the words, and he held 
 his tongue, glad that he had not found time to mention the 
 bleeding, the second count in the indictment against Antonio. 
 ' I am now at your service, Doctor Yorke, but I think there 
 is a point to be considered before we go to Miss Davenne, 
 that is, if she be unprepared also ' 
 
 1 Quite so,' said Sir John. 
 
 'Well, then,' went on the Italian, 'Miss Davenne 
 may, perhaps, take fright, be alarmed, I mean, as sick 
 people are apt to be, by the unexpected sight of two 
 doctors at her bedside' — ('And, enough, too,' said the 
 English physician, in a stage-aside) — ' she may very natur- 
 ally suppose, ' continued Antonio gravely, 'that something 
 very serious is the matter with her. ' 
 
 'Ah, true! very right, very thoughtful indeed,' smiled 
 Doctor Yorke ; ' an old head on young shoulders, Sir John. ' 
 
 $ir John wished Doctor Yorke would not be so facetious. 
 
 ' It would be prudent, therefore,' resumed the Italian, 
 ' to introduce Doctor Yorke as a friend of mine. ' 
 
 1 No lie that,' put in Doctor Yorke. 
 
 ' A friend of mine, met with by chance on his way back 
 to Nice, and of whose advice I was glad to avail myself. ' 
 
 This proposal being agreed to, Sir John went to his 
 daughter to tell her of the intended visit. 
 
 As soon as Sir John had left the two doctors alone, 
 Antonio said, ' I must profit by this moment to warn you 
 that the case in question is of a serious nature, nothing less 
 than a fractured leg, and a foot severely sprained. ' 
 
 Doctor Yorke drew in his lips ejaculating, ' Tut, tut, 
 very bad, very bad ! ' 
 
 'Yes, indeed,' pursued Antonio, 'a most disagreeable 
 complication. Unwilling to alarm my patient, who is a 
 delicate, excitable young creature, I termed it a sprained 
 ankle.' — ('A good notion that,' struck in the Englishman.) 
 — ' And as I was about to state to the father the real nature 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 79 
 
 of the case, the old man looked so scared that my heart 
 failed me : the more so as I knew that he was condemned 
 to remain in this out-of-the-way place, and among strangers. 
 Now I think it over,' continued Antonio, 'perhaps I was 
 wrong ; and if you consider it more advisable to make him 
 acquainted with the truth ' 
 
 ' By no means, by no means,' interrupted the short gen- 
 tleman hurriedly. ' What could be the use of doing so ? 
 You have acted like a fine fellow, as you are ; ' and seizing 
 Antonio's hand, the little doctor gave it a warm squeeze. 
 Hutchins made the English doctor put a bridle on his sen- 
 sibility, by announcing that her young lady was ready to 
 receive the gentlemen, who followed, and entered Miss 
 Davenne's room arm in arm, to satisfy any demur on her 
 part as to their friendship. The Italian formally intro- 
 duced the Englishman as his colleague and intimate friend. 
 Doctor Yorke followed the lead, and said a multitude of 
 little prettinesses to the young lady, whose reception of the 
 new doctor, if polite, was very cool. The inspection of the 
 foot scarcely lasted a minute. After a few questions from 
 Doctor Yorke, for form's sake, and the expression of his 
 gratification at the prospect of her speedy recovery, the two 
 doctors withdrew, and so did Sir John. 
 
 They found the cloth laid in the lobby, and a succulent 
 refection served — thanks to provident John, who had taken 
 advantage of his trip to Nice to bring back a supply of beef, 
 tea, and fresh butter, likely to suffice for six months, and 
 stuffed every spare inch of the carriage with all the delicacies 
 of the table he could lay hands on, both in the way of eat- 
 ing and drinking. Sir John and the English doctor sat 
 down to lunch, Doctor Antonio declining the Baronet's 
 invitation to join them. Antonio placed himself in a 
 manner to face both Sir John and the doctor, and after a 
 little silence addressed himself to the latter. 
 
 * As I have some engagements,' said he, 'that rather 
 
80 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 press on my time, I beg leave to enter at once on the matter 
 which has brought us together. Sir John Davenne's pre- 
 sence is also material to me.' Sir John's nostrils curled 
 ominously at the announcement. ' To put you in possession of 
 the case,' continued Antonio, * I will briefly recapitulate 
 its circumstances from the beginning, then submit the 
 
 course ' 
 
 ' My dear Doctor Antonio, that is quite unnecessary, 
 interrupted Doctor Yorke, with polite haste ; ' the very 
 satisfactory state of your patient bears more than sufficient 
 testimony to the masterly course you have pursued.' 
 
 I Thank you,' said Doctor Antonio ; ' but I have my rea- 
 sons for wishing to proceed in this matter as regularly and 
 methodically as possible. Will you oblige me by allowing 
 me to have my own way ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly, certainly,' replied Doctor Yorke, prescient of 
 a storm in the air. 
 
 * When I first saw the young lady,' began the Italian, 
 ' which was immediately after the accident, I found her 
 lying on the beach in a deep fainting fit. The usual restora- 
 tives proving unsuccessful, yet there being no external 
 injury visible to account for the protracted swoon, I appre- 
 hended a concussion of the brain, and I was about mak- 
 ing preparations to bleed her, when she revived, and by 
 her exclamations directed my attention to her right foot. 
 Upon examination I found that she had sprained her ankle 
 in the peculiar way I mentioned to you before you saw her.' 
 
 Doctor Yorke here nodded most significantly. 
 
 I I bound up the foot as well as I could with handker- 
 chiefs, and drove home for a proper bandage. You have 
 seen the dressing of the foot ; does it meet with your 
 approbation ? ' 
 
 1 Most entirely,' said Doctor Yorke ; ' it would do no dis- 
 credit to a first-rate surgeon, — a rare aptitude, which it 
 would be well if more of us physicians possessed.' 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 81 
 
 Doctor Antonio bowed slightly, and went on. ■ 
 
 * I then had the lady placed on a sort of litter— the only 
 conveyance she could bear, and conveyed to this house, 
 cautioning her repeatedly against attempting the slightest 
 movement, for fear of unpleasant consequences. Is it your 
 opinion that I was too particular ? ' 
 
 'No, no, my dear fellow,' said Doctor Yorke, his wish 
 growing stronger with every detail to prevent the bursting of 
 the storm-cloud ; * caution is never de trop, and you are not 
 the man to make a fuss about nothing. The foot is a very 
 delicate member,' continued he, turning to Sir John, 'so 
 full of ligaments, tendons, and — a — in short, a monstrous 
 ticklish matter. To manage a foot is like walking upon 
 eggs.' 
 
 ' Sir John Davenne,' continued Antonio, ' being naturally 
 anxious to pursue his journey, I felt in duty bound to tell him 
 at once that for forty days at least the lady could not pos- 
 sibly travel. Do you think that I overrated the time ? ' 
 
 * I wish I could say "yes," — I wish I could,' blurted out 
 the English doctor, ■ but I can't ; I am forced to agree with 
 you that she cannot stir from hence for many a day to come.' 
 Sir John heaved a sigh, and the faint sunshine on his face 
 vanished. 
 
 1 All this,' went on Antonio, ' was taking place on Satur- 
 day afternoon. Early on Sunday morning I found my 
 patient very far from well, restless, thirsty, with parched 
 lips, no sleep, a good deal of excitement, and a pulse up to 
 120. I did not hesitate for a moment and ' 
 
 ' You bled her, of course,' suggested Doctor Yorke. 
 
 Sir John hated his fellow-countryman at that instant. 
 
 ' Yes, I bled her,' rejoined Antonio. 'Would you have 
 done so ? ' 
 
 'Necessarily — the symptoms were imperative.' 
 
 ' By six o'clock in the evening the fever had abated, and 
 this morning, after a good night's rest, entirely disappeared. 
 F 
 
82 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 The patient, as you say, is going on as satisfactorily as can 
 be expected. I have nothing more to add touching the 
 case,' concluded the Italian. 
 
 ' And I,' said Doctor Yorke, with an animation intended 
 to satisfy Doctor Antonio's legitimate anger, and to bring 
 Sir John to a sense of the necessity of some acknowledg- 
 ment of the services rendered, — ' and I have only to say, 
 Go on, and prosper as you have begun.' 
 
 ' I thank you,' said Doctor Antonio, with some reserve. 
 Then turning to Sir John, he added, ■ I hope you are satis- 
 fied, sir.' The Baronet, rather at a loss what to say, bowed 
 as graciously as he could. 
 
 'And now,' resumed Doctor Antonio, rising, 'it only 
 remains for me to say that I resign my patient into abler 
 hands than mine, and to wish you good morning.' 
 
 'You don't mean what you say, my good fellow,' said 
 Doctor Yorke, who felt that it was all over with them ; and 
 so perturbed was the good man, that his fork, with a slice 
 of ham on it, remained suspended between his plate and 
 mouth, while his extended eyes wandered from the Baronet 
 to the dark-visaged Italian. 
 
 1 Excuse me, Doctor Yorke, but I do fully mean what I 
 say. I have reasons that are peremptory with me for act- 
 ing as I do. A medical man, to enable him to fulfil his 
 trust, must have his will unfettered, and mine is not ; he 
 must possess the confidence, not only of his patient — and 
 in that here I am fortunate — but also of those in authority 
 round his patient. Now, this too is wanting. Sir John 
 Davenne has no confidence in me. ' 
 
 Doctor Yorke made an attempt to speak. 
 
 i Grant me one moment more,' said Antonio, with a 
 kindly smile to him, ' and I have done. Sir John Davenne, 
 I repeat, has no confidence in me. I simply point out the 
 fact ; I do not complain of it. And the best proof of this 
 want of confidence is your presence here, the presence of a 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 83 
 
 medical gentleman without any previous intimation to me. 
 My course in this state of affairs, the only one consistent 
 with what I owe to my patient, with what I owe to myself, 
 and to the dignity of our profession, is to withdraw ; and 
 this I do without any ill-will, — on the contrary, in the 
 best possible humour with everybody.' And hastily shak- 
 ing the hand Doctor Yorke had held out to detain him, the 
 Italian bowed to Sir John, and walked away, neither 
 humbled nor elated, rather sad. Doctor Yorke ran to the 
 balcony, which he reached just in time to see his retreating 
 friend disappear through the garden gate. 
 
 I Fine mess we are in ! ' muttered Doctor Yorke, as he 
 resumed his seat at the table, with the face — such as pro- 
 bably he had caused many of his patients to make— of one 
 who has just swallowed a very disagreeable medicine. 
 There ensued an awkward silence, broken at last by Doctor 
 Yorke saying, ' It is a pity you had not mentioned to 
 Doctor Antonio your intention of sending for me.' 
 
 I I did not see the necessity,' replied Sir John curtly ; 
 ' Doctor Antonio's attendance upon my daughter arose from 
 a chance, of which he cleverly availed himself, with the 
 view of making a good thing of it.' 
 
 Though a worldly man, exclusively bent on making his 
 own fortune, and generally disposed, as such, to humour 
 the whims of his clients, especially if wealthy, Doctor Yorke 
 had feelings, and in spite of all his systematic efforts to 
 keep them down as a nuisance, these feelings, like spirited 
 horses in harness, would now and then kick, and plunge, 
 and run away with him, as now when he felt that Sir John 
 was an ungrateful old English baronet indeed. So, utter- 
 ing an * oh ! ' that sounded like a groan, Doctor Yorke 
 took a pinch of snuff, ab irato, and said with some warmth, 
 ' Allow me to say, that in this you are entirely mistaken. 
 Doctor Antonio is the last man to be influenced by sordid 
 motives. ' 
 
84 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 * Is he ? ' returned the Baronet, letting loose at once all 
 the spleen heaped up during the last half-hour. ' I am 
 glad to hear it. I am ready to give him credit for being a 
 pattern of disinterestedness. But what if I am sick of his 
 overbearing manner, and will not endure any longer his 
 airs of superiority ? Am I not at liberty to choose my own 
 physician ? Now, will you oblige me, sir, with dropping 
 the subject ? ' 
 
 ' As you please,' returned the doctor coolly, and with an 
 imperceptible toss of his head, as much as to say — of what 
 use is reasoning? — 'but just allow me a last question in 
 reference to it. Is it your opinion, then, that Miss Davenne 
 can do without medical attendance ? ' 
 
 ' I rely upon yours,' replied Sir John. 
 
 1 Certainly,' said Doctor Yorke, with marked hesitation, 
 ' as far as directions by letter, and a call now and then — 
 say once a week, can do, I am at your service.' 
 
 1 Cannot you remain with us,' said Sir John, with a 
 beginning of dismay, ' and undertake my daughter's case ? 
 The remuneration,' he went on haughtily — 
 
 'Do not mention a word of the kind,' interrupted the 
 little gentleman with quickness. ' I wish with all my heart 
 that I could stay here, or that you were nearer to Nice, so 
 that I could get you out of your difficult predicament. It 
 so happens, however, that my staying here, were it only 
 for a day, is a matter of absolute impossibility just now. I 
 have a set of sick people at Nice whom I cannot leave ; 
 
 Lord B , with a severe fit of gout, a patient of twenty 
 
 years' standing — not to be deserted, you see ; then there 
 
 is little Viscount F with the measles, — his mother, a 
 
 poor nervous creature, dotes on him, takes fright at every- 
 thing and nothing, wants to be assured every two hours 
 that the child is doing well — keeps me constantly on the 
 trot. I cannot leave these patients, quite impossible ; you 
 see yourself. ' 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 85 
 
 Though disappointed beyond expression, Sir John did 
 not for one moment question the validity of the plea, and 
 the two aristocratic names fell like two drops of oil on the 
 wound inflicted by Doctor Yorke's refusal. Would the 
 Baronet have been so patient had the people concerned 
 been plain Mr. Smith or Mr. Brown ? 
 
 ' This being the case, can you recommend any good 
 practitioner near this ? ' asked Sir John, after a second's 
 reflection. The Doctor rubbed his forehead violently, 
 turned his eyes to the ground, as if studying a map spread 
 there, then answered — 
 
 * Why, within a circuit of ten miles, indeed, I may say 
 in all the Riviera, there is no one to be compared to Doctor 
 Antonio. ' 
 
 ' Doctor Antonio again ! ' broke in the Baronet angrily; 
 1 name any one but him.' 
 
 Doctor Yorke recurred again to his snuff-box for counsel. 
 * I wish I could,' said he ; ' but men like this — Italian 
 doctor do not grow on every bush by the wayside. He 
 might be an Englishman : see how he speaks English. 
 Yes, he ought to be an Englishman. Certainly his appear- 
 ance and manners are so foreign that I do not wonder at 
 your being startled. I quite understand that ; still — the 
 young lady, our first consideration in all this, seems satis- 
 fied with him.' 
 
 As Doctor Yorke stopped purposely here, as if expecting 
 an answer, Sir John was obliged to give a reluctant bow of 
 acquiescence. 
 
 ' Important point,' resumed the Doctor; ' a patient satis- 
 fied—mind kept unruffled — very capital consideration this, 
 Sir John, and well worth the sacrifice of any little unplea- 
 sant first impressions. In short,' wound up the doctor, after 
 taking breath, ' the best course, in my opinion, would be to 
 take up matters with this — Italian doctor, and get him to 
 resume his visits.' 
 
86 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' Resume his visits ! ' exclaimed the Englishman, within 
 a hairbreadth of losing his temper, but recollecting in time 
 that it would never do for a man like him to get into a 
 vulgar passion with a man like Doctor Yorke, who could 
 revenge himself by showing him up to his patients at Nice. 
 ' Ask him to return after what has passed, expose myself to 
 the humiliation of a refusal ! — lower my dignity with this — 
 a confounded touchy foreigner ! ' 
 
 1 Come, come, ' said Doctor Yorke, in a soothing manner, 
 ' who talks of humiliations, who speaks of your asking any- 
 thing ? Am I the man to advise Sir John Davenne to any 
 step derogatory to his character and position in society ? 
 What if I can arrange this business to the satisfaction of all 
 parties, while you remain neuter and quiet here ? what if I 
 guarantee that the proposal I have suggested shall be 
 accepted with — with gratitude ? ' 
 
 The word 'gratitude,' no sooner dropped in the heat of 
 argument than mentally recalled, did more for the success 
 of Doctor Yorke's diplomacy than all his eloquence, which 
 was not little. Sir John felt replaced, as if by magic, on 
 his pedestal or hobby-horse ; his own superiority, the 
 honour conferred by his notice, were both openly confessed, 
 and the inferiority of his adversary was implied, if not 
 acknowledged. Doctor Yorke saw and urged his advan- 
 tage with great nicety of tact. Sir John, after a decent 
 show of resistance, relented, and empowered his country- 
 man to negotiate Antonio's return, with but one stipulation : 
 Doctor Yorke was to promise that he had taken upon him- 
 self to declare on behalf of the Italian that Doctor Antonio 
 had intended no offence. Upon this understanding, the 
 medical plenipotentiary, after one hesitating glance at the 
 sun, armed himself with an umbrella, and sallied forth in 
 search of Doctor Antonio. 
 
 Doctor Antonio had retired to his tent, in other words, 
 had taken himself home, where, the door remaining wide 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 87 
 
 open, his brother physician found him desperately fencing 
 with some imaginary enemy, represented for the time being 
 by one of the walls of his sitting-room. ' An excellent way 
 of getting rid of one's spleen,' gasped forth the little man, 
 ' though rather hard work in this hot weather.' 
 
 ' Hot weather ! ' said Antonio, * but it is most pleasantly 
 cool. ' 
 
 * Ouf ! allow me to close that window, if you please, 
 I am in a perfect bath of perspiration. Thank you. 
 Fine mess we are in ! ' added he to himself, as, after 
 one look at Antonio, he fell rather than sat down on a 
 chair. 
 
 *■ Very good of you to venture so far in the sun, you who 
 have such detestation of it,' said Antonio ; * what will you 
 take ? a glass of old sherry, or rosolio, or, as you are so 
 hot, some warm negus ? ' 
 
 1 No, no wine — some lemonade, if you please. Ouf ! 
 these chairs are none of — the softest, my good friend, ' said 
 Doctor Yorke, fanning himself with his handkerchief. 
 
 * Not comfortable, eh ? ' said Antonio, smiling. ' How 
 did you leave Miss Davenne ? ' asked he, squeezing a fresh 
 lemon into a glass. 
 
 f I am not made of stone like you,' answered Doctor 
 Yorke, beginning his attack, ' so I did not see her before 
 coming here. I had not the heart to go and tell her that 
 you had forsaken her. ' 
 
 1 Poor little dove ! ' said Antonio, with a feeling that did 
 not proceed from stone, ' as gentle as a lamb, and so 
 sensible withal. ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Doctor Yorke coolly, ' you had time to find 
 all that out.' 
 
 * She will regret me, I am sure. ' 
 
 ■>* No doubt she will,' said the little man delightedly ; 
 1 and that poor Sir John ! one cannot help feeling for him 
 also. I never in my life saw a man half so puzzled.' 
 
88 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' What about ? ' asked the Italian, stirring the sugar into 
 the glass of lemonade. 
 
 * None so blind as those who don't choose to see. You 
 abandon him, and I cannot stay. So what 's to become of 
 his daughter, sweet, pretty creature ? ' 
 
 ' You cannot stay ! ' 
 
 1 Impossible ! I must return to Nice this afternoon, I 
 have so many ill there.' 
 
 ' Very provoking ! ' sighed Antonio, ' very — unfortunate ! 
 I am very sorry, very sorry on account of the poor young 
 lady. As for that stiff old incarnation of pride, her father, 
 he has only got what he deserves. I never saw such a 
 hard, self-conceited, stubborn, arrogant, unfeeling old 
 mummy.' 
 
 Doctor Yorke put up his shoulders to shelter himself 
 from this pelting of epithets. 
 
 ' If his daughter had been my own sister,' continued 
 Antonio, ' I could not have done more for her ; and what 
 has been the return I have met with at this worthy gentle- 
 man's hands ? Nothing from the first but opposition, dis- 
 trust, contradiction, insolence, and Heaven knows what 
 not.' 
 
 ' You must make allowance for him, my dear fellow,' in- 
 terposed Doctor Yorke soothingly — ' force of habit — people 
 of rank, you know — one of the first families in England. ' 
 
 * Zounds ! ' exclaimed Antonio, all in a blaze, ' what 's 
 that to me ? Let all England worship his rank and his 
 family then ; I don't choose to do so ; I am made in God's 
 image as well as he, and won't be trampled on were he 
 twenty times as rich or as great as he is. You English 
 are a proud race — so much the better — I am proud myself, 
 and like people to know their worth. But is a noble 
 pride, such as is founded on the consciousness of one's 
 value, to exclude a proper regard for the dignity of 
 others ? ' 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 89 
 
 1 Certainly not,' remarked Doctor Yorke, with his hands 
 clasped over the respectable bulk of his waistcoat, twirling 
 his thumbs first one way, then another. 
 
 'Methinks a little courtesy,' resumed the Italian, 'such 
 as even perfect strangers accord to one another, was the 
 least I was entitled to, had that man had an atom of sense 
 or feeling, considering the relation in which we stood to 
 one another. For, after all, was he or I the obliged party? 
 Had he rendered me a service, or I him ? I see a carriage 
 overturned ; I hasten to give assistance ; I— but now that I 
 think of it, perhaps that was an intrusion. Yes, yes, to be 
 sure ! Fool that I was, not to read it at once in the old 
 man's face ! Yes, he was right ; what business had I to 
 meddle with the lady's foot, or to bandage it, or to do any- 
 thing that I did, without first asking permission of this 
 English potentate ! When you see him again, pray offer him 
 my unfeigned apologies, and tell him that I shall never sin 
 
 in that way again. I will be d if I do ! Henceforward 
 
 all English ladies may break their legs and arms and necks 
 without any fear of my proffering assistance in a hurry. ' 
 
 Have you ever seen a skilful angler with a large salmon 
 on his hook, ever watched how he lets the infuriated fish 
 run all the line off the reel without the slightest check, nay, 
 yields rod and line to the utmost of his power, encouraging 
 the captive to spend his energies, how he waits the moment 
 when it shall have exhausted itself by some vigorous leap, 
 and then, with one dexterous jerk, throws his prey panting 
 and helpless on the bank? By an identical process did 
 acute Doctor Yorke let his young friend go on uninter- 
 ruptedly with his philippic, giving his wrath plenty of line, 
 and watching all the while for the favourable moment to 
 wind up, and land him high and dry. 
 
 * But the young lady,' said Doctor Yorke, seizing the first 
 pause ; ' you don't mention the young lady. Did she behave 
 ill too ? ' 
 
90 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 1 Bless her, ' said Antonio, in a suddenly softened voice, 
 ' no ; from the very beginning she was grateful and kind. ' 
 
 ' Why, then, in the name of wonder,' cried the little Doc- 
 tor, turning sharply round on Antonio, ' should you visit the 
 sins of the father on his unoffending child ? ' 
 
 Antonio was silent. 
 
 'Very well,' said Doctor Yorke ; 'I understand your 
 silence. The question with me now is' (tightening the 
 line), ' who is to attend Miss Davenne ? You will not, and 
 I cannot. ' 
 
 1 No lack of doctors,' replied Antonio, with a grim smile; 
 1 there is one at Ventimiglia, another at San Remo. I have 
 already given Sir John Davenne the names and addresses of 
 both.' 
 
 1 Very considerate of you ; but you know very well that 
 neither of them will do. Yes ; stare at me as long as you 
 please — but you know very well that Miss Davenne's case 
 requires a degree of manual skill that neither of the gentle- 
 men you mentioned possesses, and an unremitting care and 
 attention that only a person on the spot can give. Now, 
 then,' continued the Doctor, giving a great pull, ' what if 
 this innocent young lady — such a lovely girl too ! — should 
 be lame for life, and all for want of proper care ? ' 
 
 ' God forbid ! ' ejaculated Antonio fervently. 
 
 'Come, now,' pursued Doctor Yorke, 'say a word, and 
 help an old friend out of this scrape, will you ? ' 
 
 'What scrape?' asked the astonished Italian, who ex- 
 pected quite a different request. 
 
 'Why,' said the Englishman, landing his salmon, 'you 
 must feel that, whatever my engagements at Nice maybe — 
 and they are really of consequence, even at a certain risk to 
 my practice, I cannot decently leave father and daughter in 
 such a dilemma, alone in a strange land.' 
 
 'Am I to understand,' inquired Antonio, after a short 
 silence, ' that you come from Sir John ? ' 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 91 
 
 1 Of course I do,' was the answer. 
 
 ' And that Sir John is willing ' 
 
 ' Willing is not the word,' interrupted the delighted little 
 gentleman ; ' happy, my dear sir, happy to receive you back 
 on your own terms. You are to be absolute monarch in the 
 sickroom.' 
 
 'Well, let it be so,' said Antonio, vanquished. 'I will 
 return, and again take upon myself the care of his daughter; 
 but bear in mind, that if I do so, it is for your sake and 
 that of the young lady. ' 
 
 1 Thank you, thank you, ' said Doctor Yorke, with real 
 feeling ; ' you are a noble fellow, and worth a dozen Sir 
 Johns. Thank you,' he repeated again, cordially shaking 
 Antonio's two hands. The Italian put on his hat, the very 
 conical hat that had so scared and shocked Sir John at their 
 first meeting, and the two doctors, side by side, directed 
 their steps towards the Osteria del Mattone. Doctor Yorke 
 avoided the mention of the ' no offence ' declaration, which, 
 according to Sir John's instructions, was to be the sine qua 
 non preliminary of all negotiation. He did not choose to 
 risk the success of his diplomacy by any such complication. 
 He knew Antonio's warm and generous nature too well not 
 to be certain that any hint on the subject from the Baronet 
 would be met more than half-way by the Italian, and re- 
 sponded to in a kindly spirit. 
 
 Sir John had all this time been pacing to and fro the 
 lobby, in a state of considerable perplexity, every now and 
 then stepping out into the balcony, which formed the limit 
 of his perambulation on one side, to look up the road to 
 Bordighera. During one of these halts the Baronet descried 
 the two gentlemen coming down the hill, arm in arm — a 
 sight which, far from seeming palatable, made his nostrils 
 suddenly contract, as though every orange and lemon tree 
 perfuming the air in the garden exhaled baneful and 
 nauseous vapours. However, by the time the two gentle- 
 
92 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 men entered the room, there was no indication left of con- 
 tending feelings on Sir John's smooth brow, and the 
 reception he gave to both his visitors proved most gracious. 
 He even condescended to address to Doctor Antonio a few 
 polite but rather formal words, expressive of his regret for 
 the misunderstanding that had taken place, and which eli- 
 cited from the Italian a declaration identical in substance, 
 but far more satisfactory in tone. Doctor Yorke, whose 
 anxiety during this transaction betrayed itself by sundry 
 desperate appeals to his snuff-box, drew an enormous 
 breath at last, and said inwardly, ' Fine mess I am out 
 of.' — 'And now,' said Sir John, turning to Doctor Yorke, 
 'it only remains for me to tender my thanks, and, by 
 releasing you at once, offer the best amends in my power 
 for trespassing so long on your valuable time. Shall I 
 order horses to the carriage at once ? ' The alacrity with 
 which the offer was accepted showed how welcome it was. 
 ' Well then, gentlemen,' pursued the Baronet, ' I must 
 leave you to entertain one another, as I shall take this 
 opportunity of sending some letters on business to Nice ; ' 
 and, glad of an excuse to escape, he hurried from the 
 room. 
 
 Sir John made good use of the time it took to procure 
 horses ; he wrote letter upon letter to his son Aubrey ; ad- 
 dressed to the house in Square, to his bankers, to his 
 
 man of business in London, and to his head man in the 
 country (directions being given to the three last named to 
 forward all his letters and papers to him at Bordighera), 
 added to which he penned a long list of articles which his 
 courier was desired to forward without delay to the Osteria. 
 John was also intrusted with a score of verbal instructions, 
 all of which, letters, lists, instructions, and directions, im- 
 plied that Sir John had made up his mind to a protracted 
 stay in his present disagreeable quarters. It was so in fact ; 
 Sir John had at last realised his situation, and though much 
 
A PITCHED BATTLE 93 
 
 against the grain, sulkily submitted to its necessities. This, 
 and this alone, was the result of the experience of the last 
 few hours. Pique is a bad counsellor, and few men can 
 afford to be just under the smart of a double defeat. We 
 regret to say it, for in spite of his prejudices we confess to a 
 foible for Lucy's father ; but truth must be told, and the 
 truth is, that the leaven of resentment was fermenting in 
 Sir John's breast as fast as ever. 
 
 Sir John insisted on accompanying Doctor Yorke to the 
 carriage and seeing, with his own eyes, that everything was 
 as it ought to be. This was the pretext which enabled him 
 to lay on the seat, by Doctor Yorke's side, a folded paper, 
 that the Doctor chose not to see at the moment, but which, 
 as soon as the carriage-door had been banged to by John, 
 he carefully unfolded and examined, and, with manifest 
 marks of satisfaction, deposited in his pocket-book. What 
 with mental worry and bodily exertion, the English physician 
 was so worn out, that after once more exclaiming, ' Fine 
 mess I have been in ! ' he stretched himself at length, and 
 fell so soundly asleep that he never awoke till the carriage 
 stopped at his own door at Nice. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LITTLE OCCUPATIONS. 
 
 ' T HAVE a thousand questions to ask you,' said Lucy, 
 
 X when Antonio made his appearance the next morning. 
 
 * Have you ? ' replied the Italian good-humouredly ; ' very 
 well, I am ready. You will be sooner tired of asking than 
 I of answering. But first, will you tell me how you are, and 
 allow me to feel your pulse ? ' 
 
 The medical inquiries being properly satisfied, ' Now,' 
 said Lucy, ' to begin, let me tell you that I wish to give 
 Prospero some money. How much shall I send him ? ' 
 
 'Let me see,' said Antonio, pondering. 'Supposing 
 that Prospero is unable to work for a fortnight, and it is 
 more likely than not, fifteen days' work at thirty sous a 
 day, his usual wages, come to twenty-two francs, fifty 
 centimes. If you send him five-and-twenty francs there 
 will be a little over to procure some better food during his 
 recovery. ' 
 
 Lucy desired Hutchins to bring her her purse. Be it re- 
 marked once for all, that Hutchins was always at hand 
 during the Italian's visits, either working by the side of her 
 young mistress, or at a little table in her own room facing 
 the open door between them. Lucy handed some money 
 to the Doctor. 
 
 'Fifty francs!' .said he, 'that is double the sum I 
 named.' 
 
 94 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS 95 
 
 'The additional five-and-twenty francs,' observed Lucy, 
 * will pay for Prospero's medicines. ' 
 
 ' Prospero has neither doctor nor medicines to pay for. I 
 am the doctor of the parish, and the parish pays me to 
 attend the poor.' 
 
 ' But who provides them with medicines? ' 
 
 ' Myself. I have plenty of which I am only too glad to 
 be rid. We must be very careful how we relieve the poor. 
 A larger gift than positively necessary only encourages idle- 
 ness, and is a doing of evil instead of good.' 
 
 'That's just what papa always says,' replied Lucy. 'I 
 shall not insist on having my own way this time, Doctor 
 Antonio, if you promise me that, should Prospero require 
 more help, or should you hear of any one in distress, you 
 will let me know.' 
 
 ' Indeed, I am not sure that I shall make any promise of 
 the kind, said Antonio, with a smile that softened the 
 words ; 'had you your own way, as you call it, I fear that 
 the poor but independent people of this country would be 
 spoiled before long. Are your questions already at an 
 end?' 
 
 ' Scarcely begun. Tell me next why yesterday you 
 brought that odious English doctor to see me ? ' 
 
 ' Odious ? in what way odious ? ' asked Antonio in his 
 turn, and with surprise in his tone. 
 
 I Odious, because he is so sweet and oily. I hate honey- 
 tongued people. I will have no other doctor but you, so you 
 need not bring any one_ to see me. ' 
 
 ' Thank you for the preference, which, if I guess right, I 
 owe to my uncourtly manner. There is no fear of Doctor 
 Yorke starting a competition with me : he is quietly at home 
 in Nice by this time.' 
 
 I I hope he will stay there then. But why did he come 
 at all ? ' said Lucy resolutely. 
 
 ' He came at my request, as he told you. He chanced 
 
96 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 to. pay me a visit on his way back to Nice, and I was glad 
 to consult him about your foot. Now, as this could not 
 be done without his examining it, I brought him to you. 
 Independently of the weight I attach to his opinion, I 
 thought also that, should our views of the case coincide, as I 
 hoped, his advice would give mine an additional authority 
 with Sir John.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' asked Lucy, as pertinacious as a child. 
 
 ' It seems very natural to me, does it not to you, that an 
 Englishman should have more confidence in an English 
 than a foreign physician ? ' 
 • ' Have you and papa disagreed, then ? ' 
 
 ' Disagreed ! no. Sir John not being a doctor, could 
 not be expected to view certain points as I did — that is 
 all.' 
 
 • And, pray,' insisted Lucy, 'what were those points?' 
 
 'You are cross-examining me, I believe,' said Doctor 
 Antonio, laughing. 
 
 'Yes, I am,' resumed Lucy gravely, 'but not out of 
 idle curiosity, as I dare say you think. I do not know 
 exactly what it is that makes me suspect there has been 
 some misunderstanding between you and papa about me, 
 but I do suspect it,' and she looked into Antonio's face ; 
 ' and I want to know all about it, that I may do what I can 
 to smooth it away. ' 
 
 'You are very good, but there is no occasion now for 
 any mediation. Thanks to that " odious " Doctor Yorke,' 
 said he, smiling, ' Sir John has been made to see the 
 necessity of a more prolonged stay in this poor place than 
 he might have expected or wished. Now you know the 
 point on which we were at variance. ' 
 
 ' Ah ! that is why papa was so silent and thoughtful all 
 last evening. Shall we be able to leave this by the end of 
 this month ? ' 
 
 ' I fear not.' 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS 97 
 
 * How provoking ! ' exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 ' Are you then also so anxious to leave Italy ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! I was only thinking of papa. Shall we be able 
 
 to go away in a month from this day ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I think so, within a month or thereabouts.' 
 
 ' A month, I am afraid, will seem very long to papa. He 
 
 is so dull here, with not even a horse to ride, he who used 
 
 to take his ride every morning. Is there any saddle-horse 
 
 to be hired in this neighbourhood ? ' 
 
 * Not the least chance of it. ' 
 
 I How provoking ! ' exclaimed Lucy again. ' And when 
 shall I be allowed to get up ? ' 
 
 I I am sorry that I cannot answer that question. Best 
 put it ad referendum, as they say in the Swiss Diet.' 
 
 ' Sine die, you mean,' said Lucy; 'your Latin may be 
 classical, but it is little pleasant.' 
 
 1 Cannot you make an effort, and fancy for a while that 
 you have no feet at all ? ' said Antonio gravely. Lucy had 
 a great mind to laugh, but said instead that it was a shame 
 and all nonsense, and that she had never seen such a cross 
 doctor in her life ; for Lucy, though nearly twenty, had 
 preserved much of the freshness, the charm, and even the 
 pouting ways of childhood. 
 
 $ I assure you,' said the Italian, in answer to this boutade, 
 1 that I shall not keep you in bed an hour longer than indis- 
 pensable. ' 
 
 1 Very much obliged to you,' said Lucy pettishly. 
 
 The Doctor did not speak. 
 
 ' Do you know, Doctor Antonio,' continued Lucy, after 
 a while, '- that I long to get up to see again that little sun- 
 shiny hill that was right before us, just when we were over- 
 turned ? I should like to see it quietly, not passing by at 
 full gallop. ' 
 
 * You mean the Cape of Bordighera ? ' said Antonio. 
 
 1 Yes, I suppose so. I had been half asleep, when papa, 
 G 
 
98 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 calling to the postilion, startled me, and on opening my 
 eyes, I had a glimpse of something so green, so fresh, so 
 beautiful ; only a glimpse, but comprehensive of such loveli- 
 ness, that the recollection haunts me like the vision of a 
 fairy land.' 
 
 ' Do not let your fancy have too much play,' was the an- 
 swer, ' or you will lose the benefits of reality.' 
 
 * How do you mean ? ' 
 
 1 1 mean that reality, my dear young lady, be it ever so 
 charming, rarely keeps pace with the promises of imagi- 
 nation.' 
 
 1 I don't know much about the charms of fancy,' said 
 Lucy, ' but I do know that reality is often disagreeable.' 
 
 'As when one is obliged to keep in bed,' said the Doctor 
 slyly. 
 
 1 Exactly so. But tell me, pray, did I imagine or really 
 see big palm-trees on the hill of Bordighera ? ' 
 
 'You saw them. Bordighera is famous for its palm- 
 trees. ' 
 
 Lucy having apparently exhausted her stock of queries, 
 Antonio was taking leave of her, when she detained him, 
 saying, ' One more question, and then you may go ; it is 
 about Speranza. She interests me very much ; at times she 
 looks so very unhappy. Do you know what is the matter 
 with her ? ' 
 
 ' Speranza has trials of her own,' said Antonio : ' hers is 
 a simple but affecting story, which would lose all its effect 
 if told by me. I am glad that you feel an interest in that 
 girl. There is much primitive nobility in her nature. Do 
 not disdain to seek her acquaintance, and try to win her 
 confidence. The moral world, dear lady, is just like the 
 physical one. We have only to stoop to find in the humble 
 spheres much to notice and sympathise with. ' 
 
 The Doctor remarked, not without some surprise, that 
 from that day Miss Davenne never complained again of 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS 99 
 
 having to stay in bed, or so much as hinted at the possibility 
 of getting up. 
 
 On the morrow Lucy was permitted to read in modera- 
 tion, and Doctor Antonio brought her a volume of Shake- 
 speare, and Manzoni's Promessi Sposi. In a day or two she 
 was allowed to sit up in bed. According to the Doctor's 
 directions, the bed was taken out of its corner and moved 
 near to the window, which, the Osteria standing on rising 
 ground, commanded a full view of the Mediterranean. 
 
 1 Have you ever lived by the sea ? ' inquired the Doctor. 
 
 1 Never. When I was sent to Brighton for sea-bathing, 
 the doctors forbade my being in any of the houses near the 
 beach. ' 
 
 ' So much the better,' answered Antonio ; ' our sea, then, 
 will have all the charms of novelty for you. It is a sight al- 
 ways new, a book that never tires. It will afford you un- 
 ceasing occupation and matter for wonder to watch the 
 changeableness and richness of its colours, varying from the 
 pure white of snow to the deep black of ink. Then ask it 
 the secret of its thousand sounds, from the low plaintive 
 murmur, so like a sigh or a kiss, to the thunderlike roaring 
 that makes the earth quake. All poets have sung of the 
 sea, but none more powerfully than the Hebrew king.' 
 And taking up an English Bible that was lying on the 
 table near Lucy, he sought out in the Psalms, and read 
 these verses : '" They that go down to the sea in ships, 
 that do business in great waters ; these see the works of 
 the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. For he com- 
 mandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up 
 the waves thereof. They mount up to the heaven, they go 
 down again to the depths : their soul is melted because of 
 trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken 
 man, and are at their wit's end." No matching that, Miss 
 Davenne, for simplicity, truth, and grandeur. ' 
 
 Lucy looked and listened to him as certainly she had 
 
ioo DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 never listened to or looked at any one before ; then she 
 said, ' How strange ! you seem to know the Bible well ! ' 
 
 ' And does that astonish you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I thought that Roman Catholics never read the 
 Bible.' 
 
 1 That is a common error with Protestants. If you were 
 acquainted with our Church services, you would be aware 
 that portions of the Scriptures form their chief part, and are 
 read and chanted daily in our churches, both morning and 
 evening ; in Latin, it is true, but a translation is to be 
 found in all our prayer-books. In fact, the whole Bible, 
 translated into Italian, is open to all readers, with only 
 two conditions : first, that it be the translation of the 
 Scriptures commonly called the Vulgate, collated and 
 completed by St. Jerome ; and, secondly, that the Latin 
 text be printed opposite the Italian. If the Bible is not so 
 generally diffused in Italy as might be wished, I think the 
 fact depends partly upon the want of popular instruction, 
 and chiefly upon the little encouragement given by the 
 clergy to its perusal. However, I can assure you, that 
 many among the educated class in Italy know the Bible 
 thoroughly, and read it both in the authorised and un- 
 authorised translation.' 
 
 Lucy was grateful, and enjoyed both the reading of her 
 books and the contemplation of the sea, as he had hoped 
 she would ; she even gave the Doctor a full and vivid 
 description of a charge of cavalry, in which the waves, 
 furiously dashing and breaking against each other, and 
 plunging and rearing like maddened horses, were the 
 actors. But by degrees both the sea and her reading lost 
 some of their power to interest ; and Antonio, who watched 
 his patient with a solicitude that had something motherly 
 in it, became aware that it was time to find her some new 
 occupation. First, he proposed that she should read to him 
 a chapter of Manzoni every day; then he was sure it 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS 101 
 
 would improve his accent if she could bear to hear him 
 read a scene or two from Shakespeare. With these readings 
 came now and then those little laughs, tinkling like silver 
 bells, that sounded so sweet in Antonio's ears, and in which, 
 though at the expense of his not faultless pronunciation, 
 he joined so heartily. 
 
 His visits were now very frequent — he called three or four 
 times a day ; indeed, every moment he could spare from his 
 duties found him by the couch of the fair invalid. And he 
 rarely came empty-handed, bringing almost always some- 
 thing with him that he thought would amuse or interest her. 
 It was at first an album of views and costumes of Sicily, a 
 small collection of ancient coins, a few specimens of lava — 
 all his scanty stock of curiosities. This exhausted, it was a 
 flower, a rare plant, a curious insect ; a scarabaeus in an 
 armour of jet, a green locust with a head like a horse, a 
 butterfly with wings of gold or silver, or one of those 
 canary-coloured hairy caterpillars with regular black stripes 
 round its body. Hours went by unnoticed, while the 
 Doctor explained to her, in clear and brief sentences, their 
 habits and peculiarities, and even the use of many of them. 
 ' That little creature, whose shining green coat you admire 
 so much,' he would say, ' will sadly fall in your estimation, 
 I am afraid, when you know its name and the use that is 
 made of it. Do you not guess now what it is ? ' 
 
 'No,' replied Lucy, 'I do not think I ever saw one 
 before, at least I never noticed it. ' 
 
 ' That is a specimen of the genus cantharides, or Spanish 
 fly, of which blisters are made, and a sly wee thing it is, for 
 as soon as you touch it, it emits a nauseous smell, and 
 counterfeits death. Is it not wonderful how every living 
 being, however small or ugly, has its special purpose, and 
 is provided with some means of self-defence ? Now, look 
 at this many-legged thing, which runs so nimbly about ; see, 
 it rolls itself up into a ball. That is its defence against im- 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 pending danger. This slow, ill-favoured little fellow, 
 whom you scarcely deign to notice in the bright daylight, 
 has often, I dare say, attracted your admiration in an evening 
 walk.' 
 
 1 Is that the glow-worm, then ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 'Yes; he also makes believe that he is dead when his 
 liberty is about to be interfered with, though he is extremely 
 tenacious of life. I once made an experiment with one of 
 them. He bore first the imprisonment of a week under a 
 glass, and afterwards a three-hours' stay at the bottom of a 
 vase full of water, and nevertheless came out of it alive, so 
 I thought it but fair to set him free.' 
 
 Doctor Antonio succeeded perfectly in his object, to make 
 the hours of her confinement less long and dreary for Lucy. 
 She was never tired of asking questions, which Antonio an- 
 swered with a good-humour highly creditable to his patience 
 as an instructor. 
 
 One day, after just such another conversation, Lucy lay 
 back as if in deep thought, which Doctor Antonio, by his 
 own silence, seemed to respect. What was Lucy thinking 
 of? or was she thinking at all ? No, she was enjoying 
 one of those rare moments when the mere sense of existence 
 is happiness ; when the blue sky, the rippling sea, the 
 soft air, all seem bluer, brighter, sweeter, than ever 
 known before. Doctor Antonio's eyes, from the sea on 
 which they had been fixed, wandered to, and settled on, 
 the thoughtful countenance of his companion. A mo- 
 ment more and she looked at him. ' Have I wearied you ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 1 Oh no ! ' said Lucy, in a very reassuring manner. 
 
 During the question and answer, the evening breeze came 
 floating by, laden with the rich odour of the orange and 
 lemon trees, that grew in the plot of ground below the 
 window. ' What a delicious fragrance ! ' exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 'Delicious, indeed,' echoed Antonio; 'are you fond of 
 flowers ? ' 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS 103 
 
 ' Very, very fond,' said she. * I had plenty of them at 
 Davenne, but none that ever smelt half so sweet as the 
 plants in this garden.' 
 
 * If I were a young lady,' said Antonio, * I am sure that a 
 garden would be one of my chief amusements.' 
 
 * So you think, because you are a man,' said Lucy ; ' you 
 do not know anything about young ladies ; you have no 
 idea how much they are made to learn — to find out after- 
 wards, as I have done,' added she, slightly colouring, * that 
 they know nothing.' 
 
 ' As to that,' answered Antonio, laughing, ' I am sure 
 most young men can say as much for themselves. ' 
 
 There was another moment of silence, then Lucy returned 
 to the point from which she had started. ' I always fancy,' 
 said she, 'that the orange flowers smell sweetest in the 
 evening. ' 
 
 'It is not fancy,' replied the Doctor; 'orange and all 
 strongly-scented flowers do really give out more perfume to- 
 wards the close of day, and during the first hours after sun- 
 down. There are even some, like the Indian jessamine, 
 which, scentless in the day, are very sweet at night. ' 
 
 ' Then what does make flowers smell ; do you know ? ' 
 
 ' I will show you to-morrow,' he said, 'it is too late this 
 evening — I greatly rejoice,' he went on kindly, ' at the in- 
 terest you take in these subjects, it helps you well through 
 this wearisome confinement. It is incredible, is it not, 
 what a rich mine for observation and wonder we may find, 
 if we choose, close to us in an insect, a plant, even a blade 
 of grass ? ' 
 
 The colour rose in Lucy's face as the Italian spoke, and 
 holding out her hand, she said, ' How much I owe you \ ' 
 Antonio laughed outright at the strange notion, and bid 
 good-bye in great haste. Left to herself, she gazed long out 
 upon the sea, the distant tremulous lines of which illumined, 
 during the last minutes of Antonio's visit, by the golden 
 
104 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 glories of the sky, were fast vanishing in the dying light 
 of the horizon ; and as she watched, she seemed to listen, 
 as though the inarticulate language of that immense creation, 
 soft as a sigh this evening, was answering the silent ques- 
 tionings of her heart. Sky, and sea, and garden had lost 
 all colour, motion, and form, still Lucy remained looking 
 into the darkness. 
 
 'Why, Lucy, my darling,' exclaimed Sir John, opening 
 the door, with a light in his hand, ' all in the dark, and 
 alone !' 
 
 ' Yes, papa, after Doctor Antonio went away I sent 
 poor Hutchins to take a walk.' 
 
 Sir John advanced close to the bed, still holding the 
 light. \ See, Lucy, I have taken quite a fancy to this odd- 
 shaped lamp. The woman of the house told John that 
 they were to be had at Genoa, in silver. I must have some 
 to take home with us ; ' — and Sir John showed Lucy the 
 object of his admiration, one of the common lamps used 
 throughout Italy, — a brass globe for the oil, with three 
 beaks on a very slender shaft, that, passing through the 
 centre, was terminated at the top in a handle, from under 
 which hung the chain, that held an extinguisher, and a pin 
 for quickening the light. 
 
 * It is very pretty, papa. ' Sir John's eye fell on his 
 daughter's face, as she turned it towards the lamp, and he 
 exclaimed, ■ How well you look to-night, Lucy ! I have 
 not heard you cough to-day. ' 
 
 'Oh! I have lost my cough for these last two days,' an- 
 swered Lucy ; ' the air of this place does me so much good.' 
 
 ' I think it does,' observed the father in a pleased 
 manner ; ' we must not have too much of a good thing, 
 however,' added he, closing the window. 
 
 On the following morning, Doctor Antonio brought Lucy 
 a sprig of orange flowers, its pure white blossoms nestling 
 among the glossy dark green leaves. ' Here, I present 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS 105 
 
 you,' he said, ' with what may be called the crown of our 
 shores.' 
 
 ' You beautiful triing ! ' apostrophised Lucy, as he gave 
 it into her hand ; then inhaling the odour eagerly, ■ Now, 
 where does such a fragrance come from ? ' 
 
 Antonio detached from the flower one of its thick white 
 petals, and bade her hold it up between her and the light. 
 'Do you see those transparent dots in its texture?' he 
 asked. 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 1 Now then,' he added, 'you see where the smell comes 
 from. Each of these diaphanous dots is a diminutive 
 essence-bottle ; it holds a particle of the essential oil, which 
 perfumes the flower, as you might scent your wardrobe with 
 a cassolette of attar of roses.' 
 
 ' How strange ! ' cried the delighted girl ; ' how glad I 
 am to know this ! ' 
 
 He then cut a bit of the rind of an orange, and showed 
 her that it was full of the same kind of little vessels for oil. 
 ' So it is,' said Lucy ; 'and are all flowers scented in the 
 same way ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, and many green leaves ; those of the myrtle, for 
 instance, have receptacles of the same sort.' 
 
 ' I always thought, ' said Lucy, ' that the smell was in 
 these small powder puffs ; ' and she pointed to the anthers. 
 
 ' They have quite a different destination,' answered he ; 
 and he told her the names and uses of the different parts of 
 the flower. 'I shall never remember all that,' said Lucy, 
 with a sad shake of her head. 
 
 ' I will write them down for you, if you really wish to 
 remember them,' said Antonio. 
 
 ' Oh, do, Doctor Antonio, and I will repeat my lesson to 
 you to-morrow.' The bright animation of the fair speaker's 
 countenance made Antonio say, ' You have a taste for 
 botany, you see.' 
 
106 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' Botany ! ' exclaimed Lucy, 'oh no! I cannot bear the 
 very name of botany and its hard scientific words ; but I 
 like to hear you talk of flowers. ' 
 
 'Well,' said Antonio, smiling, 'we will busy ourselves 
 about flowers, and only about your favourite flowers. I 
 suppose you will not object if I bring you some more rare 
 than usual, to read about them, because I warn you my 
 knowledge on the subject does not extend very far.' 
 
 ' Far enough to tell me all I wish to know, ' said Lucy ; 
 j but if you get tired of teaching me, then I suppose I must 
 have one of your terrible wise books. ' 
 
 From that day flowers became Miss Davenne's favourite 
 occupation, and Antonio's most useful auxiliaries in his task 
 of kindness. Delightful to her were those long conversa- 
 tions, in which he told her Nature's mysterious processes 
 and the all-wise distribution of qualities allotted to the 
 vegetable in relation to the animal creation, the similitude 
 and dissimilitude existing between the two kingdoms, and 
 the link connecting them into one great whole. 
 
 Antonio happened to call one afternoon during a violent 
 shower. ' See,' said he, pushing Lucy's bed nearer to the 
 window, that she might have a peep of the trees at the 
 further end of the garden, — 'see what a banquet for trees 
 and plants, how the leaves stand up and drink every drop 
 that falls ! ' 
 
 'How odd it is,' said Lucy, ' to hear you talk of plants 
 as if they were living beings, breathing, drinking, and — 
 what next ? — eating, perhaps,' and she laughed. 
 
 'Why not?' observed Antonio, with one of his quiet 
 half-sarcastic smiles. ' It seems that of all the flowers that 
 adorn the earth, you wish to keep for young ladies the 
 exclusive privilege of eating oysters and underdone beef- 
 steaks. But let me tell you that some of your rivals of the 
 garden actually do consume solid food.' 
 
 ' O Doctor Antonio ! ' was the laughing exclamation, 
 1 what do you mean ? ' 
 
LITTLE OCCUPATIONS 107 
 
 'I am in earnest,' he said. 'The Dioncea, commonly 
 called * Venus's fly-trap,' has leaves armed with small hairy 
 spines. When an insect touches the leaf, the leaf closes, 
 clenching its bristles together like locked fingers, holds fast 
 its prey, and never opens until the insect has wasted away. 
 More than that, the experiment has been tried of feeding 
 the Dionoea. with small bits of raw meat.' 
 
 ' Raw meat ! ' repeated the young lady, with disgust. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, raw meat ! and the leaves closed in the 
 same way, and when they opened again the meat was gone 
 — eaten up.' 
 
 1 Horrid Dionoea ! ' cried Lucy, ' I will never have 
 another in my garden. A flower to eat raw meat ! It 
 might as well be a cannibal.' 
 
 Doctor Antonio's aim had been at first, not that of in- 
 structing, but simply of providing his bedridden young 
 patient with such little diversions as he could place within 
 her reach. Her quick perception of his meaning, and 
 eagerness to learn, ended, however, by drawing him on 
 farther than he had thought of, 'and at last he found himself 
 regularly giving her lessons in botany, and frequently 
 writing down a resume of their conversations for the 
 grateful pupil . In this way Lucy soon commanded a little 
 stock of knowledge on botany, acquired without effort, and 
 almost unconsciously. So when the Doctor put one of the 
 wiselooking books before her, she found that much of its 
 contents was already familiar to her, and when he told her 
 to try and classify such and such plant by herself, and she 
 succeeded, it would have been hard to say which was the 
 greater, her gratification or wonder. And Lucy looked up 
 to her instructor as a marvellous lamp of science, and 
 probably thought him the cleverest man in the world. 
 
 One morning, Lucy heard, to her infinite surprise, some 
 one singing to the guitar in Hutchins' room. It must be 
 Doctor Antonio, it could be no one else. ' Bravo ! ' she 
 cried ; ' will not the mysterious troubadour show his face ? ' 
 
io8 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 'Now, Miss Davenne,' said Antonio, entering the room, 
 a guitar slung across his shoulders, ' you will never again 
 think me deficient in gallantry.' She looked very much 
 astonished. ' Oh ! do not deny it, you know you have been 
 expecting a serenade every evening past. It would be too 
 bad that a young lady in Italy should neither meet with 
 banditti nor be serenaded. Now, you have had a serenade, 
 and one in broad daylight too, which adds to its zest.' 
 
 'Confess, Doctor Antonio, that you think young ladies 
 very foolish creatures,' said Lucy laughingly. 
 
 ' Why so ? ' said he, laughing also. 
 
 ' Because you suppose they must be always expecting 
 something silly or extravagant, as if they were so different 
 from you.' 
 
 ' By no means. Are there not such things as banditti 
 and serenades, and is not the love of adventure natural to 
 youth ? For my part, when I was your age I would have 
 given anything for a moving accident by flood or field, and 
 Mrs. Radcliffe's romances are nothing compared to those I 
 created in my own fancy. ' ' 
 
 ' What ? you who look so grave ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, my own sedate self. But in the meantime 
 you say nothing of my song.' 
 
 ' I was just going to tell you how much I liked it, it is so 
 simple and full of pathos. ' 
 
 ' That 's right, it is one of my favourite Sicilian airs. I 
 have come to-day with the intention of teaching it to you. ' 
 • ' But I cannot play the guitar. ' 
 
 ' But you can learn ; no time so good as the present. 
 Are you in the humour to take your first lesson now ? ' 
 
 Lucy was all impatience to begin. Antonio showed her 
 how to hold the instrument, and the motion of the fingers 
 of the one hand on the frets, and of the other on the strings. 
 After the lesson, at Lucy's request, he finished the song 
 he had only begun, and a pretty one it was, and well she 
 liked it. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 BITS OF INFORMATION. 
 
 1 \ 7[ 7 ILL you allow me,' said Lucy, one evening, 'to 
 
 V V ask you a question ? ' 
 
 'A mighty ticklish one, I dare say,' replied Antonio, 'if 
 it needs so ceremonious a preamble. ' 
 
 ' The question relates to you, Doctor Antonio, and I do 
 not quite feel as if I ought to ask it. ' 
 
 'Never mind,' said Antonio, 'I here give you full 
 permission to put whatever questions you please, whether 
 they concern me or not.' 
 
 ' Thank you. I wish to know, then, how a superior man 
 like you ' 
 
 Antonio fell to laughing outright. 
 
 ' Ah ! very well,' said Lucy, stopping short, ' you may 
 laugh as much as you please, but you are a superior man, 
 you know you are. ' 
 
 ' If a decent average of education and good breeding con- 
 stitute what you are pleased to call a superior man, then I 
 may be proud of my country indeed. ' 
 
 ' Do you mean to say that there are many like you in 
 your country ? ' 
 
 ' Are you serious ? ' asked Antonio. ' You look upon 
 Italy, then, as a kingdom of the blind, where the one-eyed 
 
 109 
 
no DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 is king. Believe me, my dear lady, you may find many far 
 superior to me, who both live comparatively useless, and 
 die unknown. You have no idea, 5 pursued he, 'what an 
 amount of intelligence, strength, and noble aspirations 
 wastes away, for want of space and air, in this huge 
 pneumatic machine, marked on the map of Europe as 
 Italy.' 
 
 A cloud of unspeakable sadness overshadowed his usually 
 serene countenance. Lucy felt for him, and was silent. 
 
 'Well,' said Antonio, with a graceful movement of the 
 head to one side, as if shaking off some weight, ' will you. 
 go on ? You were wondering how a superior man like me 
 — did you mean, could condescend to play the guitar ? ' 
 
 1 Oh, no, no ! — could live in a small country village like 
 this, among rude peasants ' 
 
 * Rude peasants ! ' repeated the Italian ; ' I beg your 
 pardon for again interrupting you, but I cannot bear to 
 hear the mildest race on earth so grossly misrepresented. 
 Call them ignorant, superstitious, anything but rude. 
 What caused you to think them so ? ' 
 
 'Why,' said Lucy, a little abashed, 'papa told me that 
 more than once he has been stopped in his walks, and 
 rudely spoken to. ' 
 
 'That Sir John, who does not know their language, 
 should be annoyed at being addressed by the country 
 people, I can understand ; but how he can mistake their 
 cordiality for disrespect, and accuse them of rudeness, that, 
 i confess, passes my comprehension.' 
 
 ' Still, Doctor Antonio, you have not answered my 
 question.' 
 
 ' You consider my lot, then, as a mean one ? ' 
 
 * Not mean, but unworthy of you. ' 
 
 ' What if I have no choice ? ' said Antonio. 
 ' But you know that such is not the case,' retorted Lucy, 
 with some warmth ; ' you know that you have only to 
 
BITS OF INFORM A TION 
 
 speak one word to change your present position for one far 
 superior. ' 
 
 'I see how it is,' replied Antonio, smiling; 'you have 
 been making friends with Speranza, and she has told you 
 fairy tales of the grandeur that awaits my acceptance. Let 
 me warn you against such suspicious channels of information 
 as Speranza and her mother, in all that relates to me.' 
 
 ' Yet you told me that Speranza was a sensible person. ' 
 
 1 So she is, and so is her mother ; but their imagination 
 gets the better of their sense whenever I am concerned. I 
 am their hobby-horse, and were they told that a throne was 
 in store for me somewhere, they could believe it.' 
 
 ' If they are attached to you, and I know they are — they 
 have good reasons for being so. ' 
 
 * Imaginary, or, at least, highly exaggerated reasons. 
 Women, I am told, are apt to run into extremes. Noth- 
 ing will ever put it out of Rosa's head that I saved her 
 daughter's life in her last illness, which is not the fact ; and 
 as to Speranza, she thinks she owes me an enormous debt 
 of gratitude, for some efforts I made in a matter she had 
 much at heart, efforts, I must say, which utterly failed.' 
 
 ' How ingenious you are in trying to undervalue your- 
 self ! ' 
 
 ' Not in the least, Miss Davenne ; I beg you to believe 
 that I have a tolerably good opinion of myself, but I cannot 
 bear to be overrated. Should you like to know in what 
 consisted those great prospects boasted of by Speranza ? ' 
 
 ' To be sure I should,' said Lucy. 
 
 1 They will cut a sorry figure when reduced to their 
 natural proportions. Last year — but to be clearer, perhaps, 
 I had better tell you first what chain of circumstances 
 brought me to this place.' 
 
 * Pray do so, ' said Lucy eagerly. 
 
 ' It is a story for which few words will suffice. That a 
 native of Sicily, or of any part of this peninsula, who asked 
 
ii2 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 but to live and die in his home, should have been suddenly 
 and forcibly cast out from it, a flaming sword behind, and 
 all the wide world before, him, is a matter of too common 
 occurrence in this land of anomalies, to require any explana- 
 tion. To think, or only to be suspected of thinking with 
 liberality, is enough to expose any Italian to such a chance. 
 But what must seem, and is in fact more strange, consider- 
 ing the close partnership in oppression, into which all the 
 governments of Italy have entered, is how a man, driven 
 out of Sicily, could find a refuge, and be tolerated in the 
 Sardinian States. [The reader is requested to remember 
 that Doctor Antonio is speaking in 1840.] Now this is how 
 it happened. The day that the soil of Catania became too 
 hot for me — it is unnecessary for our present purpose to enter 
 into the cause, political, of course, that made it so — that 
 day, I was fortunate enough to obtain a passage on board a 
 Genoese merchant-vessel going to Genoa. When we arrived 
 there my passport was demanded, and as naturally I had 
 none, I was refused permission to land. Fortunately, my 
 uncle — the English officer whom I already mentioned to 
 you as the husband of my mother's eldest sister — when I 
 took leave of him, had had the lucky thought of giving me 
 a letter of introduction to an old friend and comrade of his, 
 the British Consul at Genoa. I sent my letter to that gentle- 
 man, and through his kind offices I obtained leave not only 
 to land, but to remain in the town a week. I was sorely at 
 a loss, as you may imagine, what to do, and where to go 
 at the expiration of that time, when one morning I saw a 
 paragraph in the local official paper that put an end to my 
 irresolution, I ought to have told you that at the time I 
 allude to, the year 1837, the Asiatic cholera was raging 
 throughout this Riviera. The paragraph I read was an 
 address to medical men in general, especially to young phy- 
 sicians, urging them to place themselves at the disposal of 
 the Proto Medicato, a sort of board of public health, by 
 
BITS OF IN FORMA TION 1 1 3 
 
 whom this appeal was issued. Some pecuniary emolument 
 was offered to those who should volunteer their services. 
 A motive of humanity prompted me to do so, and a more 
 selfish one decided me. I felt as though a plank had been 
 thrown to me, on which, if I could place my foot, I should 
 be saved from complete shipwreck ; for to have left Italy 
 would have been utter despair to me. If successful I should 
 be sure of gaining my bread honestly, and at no charge to 
 my family. So I went to the Board of Health, and stated, 
 as was the fact, that I had some experience in the treatment 
 of cholera, which had broken out in Sicily a few months 
 previous. I was very well received ; but, on showing my 
 diploma, which, with a few other papers, I had brought 
 with me from Catania, I was told that, being a foreigner — 
 yes, a man born in the south was called a foreigner in the 
 north of Italy ! — my services could not be accepted, unless, 
 through a petition to the king, I obtained an exemption. 
 At first, the notion of sending in a Petition to be allowed 
 the privilege of exposing my life in the service of my fellow- 
 creatures proved very unpalatable. However, these gentle- 
 men were so very earnest in begging me to comply with 
 what was, they said, but a formality ; they offered, with 
 such good grace, to transmit the petition themselves, and 
 support it in the proper quarters ; the British Consul, on 
 the other hand, combated my reluctance so strenuously, 
 that at length I yielded. So I sent the petition — horrid 
 stuff, to be sure — and at the end of another week, my per- 
 mit of residence having extended so far, I was informed 
 that my request was granted. The Board of Health at 
 once despatched me to San Remo, where I arrived on the 
 23d of April. 
 
 1 My birthday ! ' exclaimed Lucy, in girlish glee. * What 
 a strange chance ! ' 
 
 ' Say happy as well as strange,' observed Antonio, 
 touched by her innocent elation at the coincidence. * So you 
 H 
 
1 14 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 will be twenty in two days. I am glad you have told me 
 now, for though in a strange land you shall hear friendly 
 voices giving you hearty good wishes. ' 
 
 'Do not forget,' said Lucy playfully ; • but now you must 
 go on and tell me how you came to remain here. ' 
 
 1 1 have little more to say. When I arrived at San Remo, 
 the cholera was at its height. I did my best, though with 
 little success. What can man's skill and energy avail 
 against an impalpable foe, which seems to mock and set at 
 nought all human calculation, and defy all remedies ? All I 
 can say in my own favour is, that I did not spare myself.' 
 
 1 That I am sure you did not, ' said Lucy warmly. * 
 
 ' And I have been more than repaid by the affection and 
 gratitude of the people all about this part. After several 
 months of hard struggle and hard work, the fearful visitation 
 diminished, and then disappeared of its own accord. Shortly 
 after, the parish doctor of Bordighera, a very old man, died, 
 and the town-council offered me the appointment. I liked 
 the little town, which I had visited many a time. I liked 
 the good people, most of whom I knew, and so I accepted 
 the offer. But the Government refused to ratify my elec- 
 tion, again on the plea of my being a foreigner, and having 
 taken my degree in a foreign university. Bordighera, how- 
 ever, had it at heart that I should be the doctor, and a 
 deputation, composed of the mayor and one or two of the 
 council men, actually went to Turin to try what could be 
 done. The Commandant of San Remo, with whom I had 
 become very friendly, backed the deputation, and wrote in 
 my favour. My services were pompously set forth and 
 pleaded, and at last my nomination — a state affair — received 
 the official seal and signature. That is how I came to settle 
 in this country place as physician and parish doctor. ' 
 
 ' What a sad destiny, to be thus driven from one's birth- 
 place, from one's home, far from those one loves best ! ' ex- 
 claimed Lucy, with tears in her eyes. 'What you have 
 
BITS OF INFORM A TION 1 1 5 
 
 just been saying gives me a glimpse of a state of things I never 
 dreamed of before. You will be shocked at my ignorance 
 — but pray, how many separate States are there in Italy?' 
 
 * So many,' replied Antonio, ' that unless I reckon them 
 on my fingers I am not sure of the number myself. Let me 
 see, — there is Naples (including Sicily), Rome, Sardinia, 
 Tuscany, Parma, Lucca,* and Modena; the Lombardo- 
 Venetian, under Austrian rule, makes the eighth. ' 
 
 * And are the governments all alike ? ' 
 
 ' All alike, each and all of them working on the grinding 
 principal.' 
 
 ' And the Pope, — is his as bad as the rest ? ' 
 
 1 Fully, nay, if possible, still worse. I dare say it did not 
 strike you as being so. ' 
 
 ' To tell the truth,' said Lucy, with some little embarrass- 
 ment, ' I did not think about the matter.' 
 
 ' No great wonder, at your age. A young lady who goes 
 to Rome in search of health and amusement is not likely to 
 trouble herself much about the character of the government. 
 Did you know many Roman families ? ' 
 
 1 Scarcely any, except that of Prince Sofronia. We visited 
 exclusively among the English. ' 
 
 1 That is almost universally the case with strangers. They 
 come to Italy as they would to a convenient hostelry ; and 
 when a man goes to an hotel it is certainly not with the 
 intention of interesting himself about the people of the 
 house. ' 
 
 1 What should I do, then, to get some knowledge of men 
 and things when I next go to Rome ? ' 
 
 * A clause in the Treaty of Vienna provided that after the death 
 of Maria Louisa of Austria, reigning Duchess of Parma, the Duke of 
 Lucca should be restored to his paternal States of Parma, and that 
 Lucca should be incorporated with Tuscany. These changes took 
 place in 1847, at the demise of Maria Louisa, and consequently the 
 number of the petty States of Italy was diminished by one, that of 
 Lucca. 
 
n6 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 'There is only one way,' said Antonio : 'To mix with 
 all classes of society, and to keep eyes and ears wide open. 
 But this, of course, a young lady cannot and ought not to 
 do.' 
 
 ' I wish I were not a young lady,' said Lucy, with child- 
 like impatience, ' if being so is always to hamper me at every 
 turn. But, at all events, I can try to obtain information.' 
 
 ' Of course,' replied Antonio ; ' and as you say you are to 
 return to Rome, let me give you a timely warning. Never 
 under any pretext or persuasion, lend one of your Protestant 
 Bibles to a Roman. ' 
 
 1 Why not ? You told me the other day that many Italians 
 read the Bible.' 
 
 1 Very true ; but I told you at the same time that only 
 one translation was allowed. Were you to be found infring- 
 ing the prohibition against disseminating any other version, 
 you might learn to your cost what sort of leniency and tolera- 
 tion graces the sway of the Vicar of Jesus Christ. As to 
 those among my countrymen who take upon themselves to 
 read unauthorised translations, they do so at their own risk 
 and peril. But I think we have had enough of politics. I 
 must now tell you of my great prospects. ' 
 
 1 Ah, yes ! do,' said Lucy. 
 
 ' I had been here two years, when I was offered a similar 
 appointment in a distaut part of Piedmont proper. The 
 sole advantage over the one I hold here was pecuniary, the 
 emoluments being fully double. On the other hand, the 
 little town to which I was invited was situated in a narrow 
 valley, hemmed in by mountains, damp at all seasons, and 
 very cold in winter. Was I, who had none dependent on 
 me, to leave my kind and grateful neighbours, each of whom 
 I knew by sight and name ? — was I to give up this vast extent 
 of glorious nature, which gladdens my eyes and lightens my 
 heart whenever I look at it, and all for a little paltry money ? 
 I could not do it. I am a spoilt child of the south, i 
 
BITS OF INFO R MA TION 1 1 7 
 
 want air, light, warmth, colour. I dote on this sky, — on 
 this sea. I cannot do without them ; they are my life.' 
 
 ' It does my heart good,' said Lucy, ' to see you can be 
 enthusiastic for once.' 
 
 'Put me on the chapter of this nature at any time,' re- 
 torted Antonio, smiling, ' and you will see. ' 
 
 'So you sent a refusal,' said Lucy. 
 
 1 To be sure, and without the least hesitation.' 
 
 'It was just like you,' pronounced Lucy, whose interest 
 and respect for the narrator rose with every particular which 
 placed in stronger light the noble simplicity of his mind. 
 
 'My second grand opening in life,' continued the Italian, 
 ' was of so misty a nature that I am at a loss how to explain 
 it. It was the chance of a supplementary chair of anatomy 
 at the University of Turin. There was to be a competition 
 for it. The actual head professor, somewhat a friend of 
 mine, advised me to come forward as one of the competitors. 
 To have my name admitted on the list of candidates would 
 have required me to send in a petition again to be exempted 
 from one of the requisite conditions, viz. that of Sardinian 
 nationality. Now I had petitioned once, and that was 
 more than enough for me, so I thanked my friend, and there 
 the affair ended.' 
 
 ' That was too bad, ' said Lucy, in a tone of reproof. 
 
 ' You say so, because you don't know what petitioning 
 means in this country,' replied Antonio. ' One is compelled 
 to use an express formulary, a most abject one, and of which 
 the language is less that of man to man than of a slave to 
 his driver. The very name of the thing, a supplication 
 (supplied), is sickening £0 me. No, not to save my life shall 
 I ever write another petition. ' 
 
 Two days after this conversation was the 23d of April. 
 When Antonio called he found three immense bouquets, at 
 least twenty inches in diameter, arranged according to the 
 Genoese fashion, and fastened to sticks two feet long, stand- 
 
u8 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ing by Lucy's bed. Rosa and Speranza, not satisfied with 
 preparing their own, had furnished Sir John with one to 
 present to his daughter. ' Look, — look ! Doctor Antonio,' 
 cried Lucy, as he entered the room, pointing to her magnifi- 
 cent flower show. 
 
 1 Many happy returns of this day ! ' began the Italian. 
 1 1 knew I had no chance of vying with Rosa and Speranza, 
 so I brought you no nosegay, but a single flower multiplied 
 by itself ; ' — and so saying he tendered to Lucy a branch of 
 peach-tree in full blossom, that he had hid behind him. 
 
 1 Oh ! this is best of all — how glorious ! ' cried Lucy, 
 clasping her hands in delight. 
 
 * Yes ; is it not splendid ? ' said Antonio. ' Can you con- 
 ceive anything more elegant than this corolla? anything 
 richer than the tints of these petals, fading from this royal 
 purple into the most delicate blush of the rose ? The corolla, 
 as you see, is polypetalous ' 
 
 * No technicality, no analysing,' interrupted Lucy; Met 
 me enjoy unmixed admiration to the full.' 
 
 * You are right, ' answered Antonio ; ' if by analysing we 
 add to our stock of knowledge, it is rare that we do not in- 
 terfere with our enjoyment. That this is one of Nature's 
 wonders, a ckef-cTauvre, is all we require to know about it.' 
 
 'It makes me think,' said Lucy, 'of what is written of 
 the lilies of the field, — "And yet I say unto you, that 
 Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." ' 
 
 'To my eyes,' resumed Antonio, 'this peach-branch be- 
 speaks the hand of a supreme Artificer as conclusively in its 
 way as all the glories of the firmament.' 
 
 ' It does, indeed, ' returned Lucy. ' How unaccountable 
 it seems that there should be people who see nothing in all 
 the marvels of the universe but the working of matter and 
 the result of a blind chance ! ' 
 
 Antonio said nothing, but gazed on the fair speaker with 
 intense sympathy. She remained pensive, with her face 
 upturned towards the heavens, 
 
BITS OF IN FORM A TIOAT 1 1 9 
 
 ' And looks commercing with the skies, 
 Her rapt soul sitting in her eyes.' 
 
 No words so aptly as these of Milton can describe our sweet 
 Lucy at this moment. Neither of the young people spoke 
 for some time, but their hearts had never before been in such 
 close communion as during this pause. Antonio was the 
 first to speak. 
 
 ' Have you ever read Picciola ? ' 
 
 1 No. Is it a novel ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 'Yes, it is a novel, by a celebrated French author, 
 Monsieur Saintine. What you said just now brought it to 
 my recollection.' 
 
 ' What is it about ? ' 
 
 *A flower,' answered Antonio. 'The heroine of the 
 novel is a flower.' 
 
 1 How strange ! — a flower ! ' 
 
 ' Nothing more nor less,' said Antonio ; ' and performing 
 the most glorious part ever allotted to a heroine.' 
 
 'You excite my curiosity,' said Lucy. 'Do tell me a 
 little about this Picciola. ' 
 
 'The groundwork of the tale is simply this. The hero, 
 just such a sceptic as you have been alluding to, is a young 
 nobleman, implicated in some conspiracy against Napoleon 1. , 
 and for that cause imprisoned in the Fortress of Fenes- 
 trelle. Shut up between the four bare walls of his cell, de- 
 prived of books, pen, and ink, and of all human intercourse, 
 save with his jailer, the poor prisoner is allowed no other 
 recreation but that of an hour's exercise in an inner court of 
 the fortress. In one of these daily walks up and down the 
 dull yard his eye lights by chance upon a diminutive green 
 shoot, trying to force its way between two stones. At first 
 the sight is perfectly indifferent to the prisoner ; but as on 
 each returning day he views the gradual development of the 
 plant, and its hard struggle for existence, his interest is 
 gradually aroused, and increases every day, till it grows into 
 a passion. The mysterious wonders of vegetation strike 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 upon the mind and heart of the materialist, and the humble 
 little flower becomes the ladder upon which he elevates 
 himself to the conception of a first cause. Picciola, or little 
 one — such is the name he has given to the plant — is, in short, 
 the missionary which converts the sceptical blase man of the 
 world into a believer.' 
 
 'That is really a beautiful story,' said Lucy; 'I must 
 get the book, if you will write down the title for me. And 
 what plant was it that worked such a miracle ? ' 
 
 ' The hero of the tale, it is said, could never discover the 
 botanical name of his wonder-working flower. ' 
 
 ' What a pity ! ' said Lucy. ' One might have wished 
 that it had been a violet or a forget-me-not, — or — By-the- 
 by, Doctor Antonio, among all the flowers you have brought 
 to me there have never been any forget-me-nots. Do they 
 not grow in Italy ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, in quantities. ' 
 
 ' And you have never brought me any ! ' said Lucy re- 
 proachfully. ' Why have you never done so ? ' 
 
 'Why, I don't know,' said Antonio, smiling, but with a 
 shade of embarrassment ; ' perhaps I thought that, seeing 
 me so often, you did not need any to remind you of me.' 
 
 'A presumptuous, bad reason,' answered Lucy tartly; 
 ' I would not advise you to rely too much on it.' 
 
 The next time he called, the Doctor brought his young 
 patient a large bunch of these pretty little blue flowers. 
 She put them into a glass on the table near her, and said, 
 pointing to them, half seriously, half playfully, 'You don't 
 know yet that I am very forgetful ; as long as I have these, 
 I shall not forget you.' 
 
 If Antonio had been a commonly vain man, he might 
 have thought that she meant more than she expressed ; but 
 he only gave her credit for wishing to atone for her rather 
 sharp speech of the day before. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SPERANZA. 
 
 WHAT with reading, watching the sea, lessons in 
 botany, lessons on the guitar, and chatting with 
 Doctor Antonio, Lucy had reached the twentieth day of her 
 stay in bed in tolerable spirits, and without complaining of 
 time hanging heavily on her hands. The necessity of this 
 tedious confinement was, in fact, the only serious incon- 
 venience still entailed on Miss Davenne by her late accident. 
 The fits of pain that would now and then shoot through her 
 injured limb, especially the foot, during the first days, had 
 gradually subsided, and then completely vanished ; so had 
 that sense of restlessness which interfered with her sleep ; 
 and, on the whole, Lucy's health was rather improved than 
 otherwise from what it had been for some time previous to 
 the unlucky casualty that had brought her to the Osteria. 
 
 On that twentieth morning, then, Antonio paid his visit 
 earlier than usual, and said, ' I have come to wish you good- 
 bye till to-morrow ; I am called away to a place some hours 
 distant, and I shall have to sleep there. ' 
 
 This piece of news made Lucy's heart contract painfully. 
 * It will be a long day for me,' she answered, and could not 
 resist adding, * But you will be sure to be back to-morrow?' 
 
 'Without fail,' replied Antonio; 'I shall bid Speranza 
 come and keep you company. Her stories may amuse you. 
 
 121 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Now, tell me, do not you think I had better see Sir John 
 Davenne, to let him know that I shall be absent for the 
 next four-and-twenty hours ? ' 
 
 'Yes, pray do so,' said Lucy thankfully; for Lucy had 
 not been without remarking that there existed a certain re- 
 straint in the manner of the gentlemen towards each other, 
 and hailed anything in the shape of an advance from the 
 Doctor, as possibly conducive to a better understanding. 
 So Hutchins was sent, as usual, to see where Sir John was, 
 and Antonio taking leave of Lucy followed Iris to the pre- 
 sence of the British Jupiter. 
 
 As it is not our intention to give our hero credit for more 
 generosity than he had in his nature, we shall at once state 
 that the proffer he had just made to Miss Davenne, was not 
 a sign of any growing kindness, but neither more nor less 
 than a stroke of policy. Antonio had a little plan to pro- 
 pose to Sir John, which he rather preferred that Miss 
 Davenne should know nothing about for the present. Now, 
 to see Sir John unknown to Lucy being difficult, he was 
 glad of having a specious pretext for an official t$te-a-tHe 
 with the stiff-necked, stiff-backed papa of his patient. 
 
 Ever since Doctor Yorke's memorable visit and Antonio's 
 decisive victory, Sir John, by one of the strangest among 
 the strange delusions of mental optics, had eyed the Italian 
 in the light of the author of all his woes. Sir John was not 
 quite sure whether Antonio, with his nonsensical chattering 
 to Prospero on the road, had not been the primary cause of 
 the overturn of the carriage ; but as to the Italian's having 
 in some way or other managed to bring about the present 
 unpleasant state of things, of this Sir John felt not the 
 slightest doubt ; and his resentment was proportionate to 
 the injury he had received. Now, well-bred gentlemen, as 
 everybody knows, have a thousand ingenious ways of their 
 own to make it perfectly understood that they wish you at 
 the deuce, without deviating the eighth of an inch from the 
 
SPERANZA 123 
 
 strictest propriety in word or manner. Least of all, was 
 this inheritor of a yard long of pedigree, this quintessence of 
 gentlemanliness, deficient in the talent of making himself 
 disagreeable in a polite way if he chose. This is a peculiar 
 branch of diplomacy much studied and practised in fashion- 
 able drawing-rooms, and among the higher circles. In this 
 school are acquired the ceremonious bow that throws you 
 to a greater distance than would the wrong end of any tele- 
 scope ; the bland smile that proves so charmingly provoking ; 
 the frigid 'hope you are well,' that sounds like a memetito 
 mori, and a variety of other choice ways of being super- 
 latively annoying in the most engaging manner ; — all of 
 which our polished Englishman applied with distinguished 
 ingenuity in the present emergency. But where he came out 
 with unparalleled excellence, was in the daily expression of 
 regret and reiteration of apologies for the trouble the Doctor 
 was put to. One would have sworn to seeing sharp needles 
 issue from his mouth at every word. Antonio, after several 
 unsuccessful attempts at conciliation, took the hint, and re- 
 paid the Baronet in his own coin ; returned his bows at 
 precisely the same angle of inclination at which they were 
 made ; inquired for Sir John's health in the same icy tone 
 in which the state of his own had been investigated ; con- 
 ducting himself in all other respects as if no Sir John existed, 
 and going in and out of the Osteria with an ease and 
 equanimity that left his English foe in a pleasant doubt as 
 to whether or not his tactics were understood. 
 
 Strangely enough, this uncomfortable state of things had 
 lasted on, even when the causes producing it had partly 
 ceased to exist, viz. when the old gentleman's feeling of 
 irritation towards the younger one had considerably sub- 
 sided, — a result chiefly brought about by that best of all 
 peacemakers, time, and various other almost imperceptible 
 agencies, whose workings on the human mind are as posi- 
 tive as undefinable. The Osteria, which at first had been 
 
124 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 like Frederick the Great's kingdom, ' all sting,' though not 
 positively transformed into a land of peace flowing with 
 milk and honey, was nevertheless no longer the bed of 
 nettles it had been. Sir John was, on the whole, tolerably 
 comfortable, he received the Times regularly every morn- 
 ing, and was well supplied with those savoury literary 
 entremUs, English periodicals. An avalanche of arm- 
 chairs, couches, looking-glasses, curtains, lamps, crockery, 
 etc., etc., had come from Nice to minister to his ease, and so 
 had a cook — fancy, the cook of the late Bishop of Albenga, 
 the greatest gastronome in the Riviera. By the mail 
 from Nice to Genoa, his courier managed to supply his 
 table with everything in season. Two cows at a neigh- 
 bouring farm had been appropriated to the service of the 
 family, and very passable butter figured at the Baronet's 
 breakfast and tea. His walks were free from all molesta- 
 tion, it being now well known that the Milordo Inglese did 
 not like to be spoken to. Sir John was a kind of walking 
 notification of ' no trespass allowed. ' The mayor, and the 
 majority of the town-council of Bordighera, had waited on 
 him in state, and so had an elderly nobleman, called, by 
 antonomasia, 'the Count,' who lived in retirement in his 
 palazzino, just on the other side of the hill of Bordighera. 
 These visits, punctiliously returned, of course, had agreeably 
 tickled the Baronet's self-love and importance. After all, 
 he saw he was among people who knew their betters. Find, 
 if you can, a member of the baronetage of Great Britain 
 who acknowledges or believes that an Italian nobleman, 
 whose name, perhaps, figures in history before the Planta- 
 genets were heard of, can be his equal ! Sir John, in a 
 word, felt nearly as comfortable as he had done anywhere 
 since he left his native shores, and was therefore consider- 
 ably mollified towards Italian mankind in general, and in 
 particular towards that sample of it which went under the 
 name of Doctor Antonio. The never-ending anthem of 
 
SPERANZA 125 
 
 praise Lucy sang of all that the Doctor did and devised to 
 amuse her, and what Sir John had himself witnessed of it, 
 had probably not been without some effect on the father's 
 heart. Unhappily Sir John was too proud to give any out- 
 ward sign of his altered sentiments which might be regarded 
 as an advance on his part, and continued, from false shame, 
 if not so biting as of old, at least as formal, as distant, and 
 frigid as ever. 
 
 This premised, we shall understand how Sir John, on 
 emerging from his room, apologised most ceremoniously to 
 Doctor Antonio for having kept him waiting so long — just 
 half a minute — and how Doctor Antonio in return offered 
 a rather verbose excuse for having disturbed Sir John at 
 such an unseasonable hour. Hearing which, the Baronet 
 made a declaration, to the purpose that he was always at 
 Doctor Antonio's service, and begged him to be seated. 
 Here came a flourish of bows, followed by a skirmish as to 
 who should or should not be seated first, a difficulty 
 which was settled by both the gentlemen sitting down at 
 the same time. 
 
 \ It is my pleasant duty,' began the Doctor in a some- 
 what oratorical tone, ' to communicate excellent news of 
 our interesting invalid. Miss Davenne is uncommonly well 
 this morning. ' 
 
 'I rejoice to hear you say so,' replied Sir John, with 
 great condescension, ' though I could scarcely expect less, 
 considering all the skill and attention you have shown in 
 your treatment of Miss Davenne. ' 
 
 Antonio would have said something to beg a truce to 
 compliments. ' No, no ! ' pursued Sir John, ' you must 
 allow me to say so. I know the extent of my obligations 
 and the value of your time, and I shall do my best to show 
 my sense of both.' 
 
 Does this Don Magnifico mean to pay me for my conver- 
 sations on botany and my lessons on the guitar ? thought 
 
126 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Antonio, and at the thought he knitted his brows porten- 
 tously, and said dryly, ' You overrate both the extent of 
 your obligations and the value of my time ; especially at 
 this season of the year, when, I am happy to say, there are 
 so few ill in the parish, my time is worth very little. Per- 
 haps, to avoid any future misunderstanding, I had better at 
 once distinctly inform you, that nine out of ten of my visits 
 are not professional, and consequently exclude any question 
 of fees. ' 
 
 Sir John made a very wry face, and his nostrils con- 
 tracted as if there were a bad smell in the wind. Antonio 
 went on saying, ' My motive for troubling you this morning, 
 is on a matter relating to Miss Davenne. Miss Davenne, 
 I must render her this justice, has borne her confinement in 
 bed with admirable patience and sweetness ; still the trial 
 is heavy, and will become more so as she advances in her re- 
 covery, and I have been thinking much of late whether we 
 could not contrive some means of alleviating it. Suppos- 
 ing we could manage to have her carried every day to that 
 balcony, so that she might enjoy a more extended view of 
 the country around, have more fresh air, amuse herself with 
 drawing, and even receive visits, if she chose, — I think 
 this would prove a great relief to her.' 
 
 ' A great relief, certainly,' echoed Sir John. 
 
 * Now,' resumed Antonio, • what would be quite out of 
 the question with ninety-nine out of a hundred persons in 
 her case, seems to me worth while trying, and even likely to 
 succeed with a lady of Miss Davenne's sense, and discretion, 
 and earnestness in obeying directions.' 
 
 * Could we not,' said Sir John, ' have a sofa placed on 
 the balcony, and have her carried there every day ? ' 
 
 1 A sofa would not be safe,' answered the Doctor. * We 
 must guard Miss Davenne against the chance of doing her- 
 self harm, even by an involuntary movement, and I think I 
 have hit on a means which meets even that danger. Here 
 
SPERANZA 127 
 
 is the plan of a seat,' continued Antonio, handing Sir John 
 a paper with a rough sketch on it, ' which is something, as 
 you see, between the body of a carriage and an arm-chair, 
 on which Miss Davenne could lie at length. This padded 
 hollow in front is meant to keep the foot steady, and 
 guarded from any motion, even independent of the wfll. 
 The whole could be put on wheels made to move at the 
 pleasure of any one sitting on it. If you approve of my 
 plan, I can have it executed immediately by a most skilful 
 cabinetmaker, a friend of mine (Sir John winced visibly at 
 this last announcement), and whom I shall see this very 
 day at a place to which I am going for four-and-twenty 
 hours.' 
 
 ■ Your idea is excellent,' said the Baronet. * But are 
 you sure that the man you speak of is capable of executing 
 your orders perfectly ? ' 
 
 1 1 have no doubt of it,' said the Italian ; ' the person I 
 mean is a genius in his way, and I even rely on him for 
 suggesting any improvements that can be made, and which 
 he will see at a glance. By-the-by,' added he, ' I have 
 mentioned nothing of this to Miss Davenne, lest the 
 scheme should fail from some cause or other, and ' 
 
 1 Quite right,' interrupted Sir John, ' I shall not breathe 
 a word about it.' 
 
 1 Thank you — and now that I have your sanction,' wound 
 up Antonio, rising, ' I will not trespass longer on your 
 time.' 
 
 * Pray, sir,' said Sir John, rising also, ' receive my very 
 best thanks ; very considerate of you, I am sure — very — 
 kind. I am infinitely obliged to you.' 
 
 1 Sir John was really in earnest in his thanks, and these 
 last words were pronounced in a tone to which he had 
 little accustomed Antonio's ears. The Italian's unvarying 
 independence and disinterestedness both piqued and 
 pleased the haughty Baronet. Of all qualities in a man, 
 
128 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 that which Sir John could best appreciate, and valued the 
 most, was pride. After all, said he to himself as he bent 
 his steps towards Lucy's room, there is a dash of the gentle- 
 man in that Italian. After all, said Doctor Antonio to 
 himself, as he crossed the garden, there is a touch of feeling 
 in that old ogre. Thus both gentlemen had separated 
 more kindly disposed towards each other than they had felt 
 hitherto. 
 
 Lucy did her best to beguile the hours, but with little 
 success. Everything which had so lively an interest for her so 
 long as Antonio was there had none now that he was absent. 
 The very sky was not so brilliant, the sea not so blue. She 
 put aside her books and flowers, and fell to musing. 
 Never had such a feeling of loneliness fallen on her before, 
 and as it is the privilege of a present sadness to awaken 
 those of the past, so did there come to her, strangely 
 distinct from out a mass of confused thoughts and images, 
 the recollection of her mother, making the girl clasp her 
 hands, while a pang of sorrow stung her to the quick, as if 
 for the first time she had known that never more had she 
 a mother's heart to lean on. Then memory carried her 
 back to her childhood. Her old nurse, her playthings, the 
 lawn, the garden, all old familiar faces and scenes came 
 before her, and hot tears rolled over her cheeks. Lucy 
 was very sad, and wondered why it was that she was so sad, 
 and why it was that she felt so lonely ; why there was such 
 a blank around her. Her eyes drooped, and she began to 
 wish that Speranza would come to keep her company, as 
 Antonio had said she would. Speranza was the only 
 society that would have suited Lucy this morning, — Sper- 
 anza, who seemed to her, and really was, so very different 
 from Hutchins, to whom Miss Davenne never could 
 have looked as a resource. 
 
 Speranza at last made her appearance, and went quietly 
 to take her usual seat by the foot of the bed. Lucy, on 
 
SPERANZA 129 
 
 looking at her, saw traces of tears in her eyes, and said, 
 1 You have been crying, Speranza-— tell me what is the 
 matter.' Speranza attempted a faint denial with her hand,— 
 her heart, poor thing, was so full, that any effort at speaking 
 would have made it overflow — and bent her head lower 
 over her distaff. 
 
 * Come and speak to me,' said Lucy, and drawing her 
 gently down towards herself, she asked in her sweetest 
 tone, ' What ails you, my poor girl ? ' Lucy's tender 
 voice went straight to the poor peasant's heart, who, unable 
 to control herself any longer, hid her face in Lucy's bosom, 
 and burst into a passion of tears and sobs. ' Pray, tell me 
 what is the matter, perhaps I can help you,' insisted Lucy, 
 kissing Speranza's head, and crying herself by way of com- 
 forting her. 
 
 * Thank you, madam,' sobbed the girl, 'God will re- 
 ward you for your pity — for me — but my sorrow — is past 
 help ' ; and saying so she drew a letter out of her pocket, 
 put it into Lucy's hand, then seating herself again on her 
 stool, covered her head with her apron, and began rocking 
 herself to and fro, with little moans expressive of intense 
 anguish. The letter, written in a neat clear hand, was 
 dated ' Genoa,' and signed ' Battista,' in huge, rather 
 primitive characters. It ran thus : — 
 
 ' My good Speranza, — My case was brought yesterday 
 before the Council of Revision, and I gave in my certificates, 
 I mean the Mayor of Bordighera's letter, and the one you 
 sent me from the Cure. The officer who read the letters, 
 and had the talk all to himself, said they were stuff and 
 nonsense, and that I might thank the Council for not de- 
 claring me contumacious — I think that 's the word — and 
 punishing me as such. Then they wrote down my name in 
 what is called the Roll-book. So it is all over with me now, 
 I am regularly entered for four years as a sailor in the king's 
 service. If I had come fairly by it I should not mind. I 
 I 
 
130 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 •might say to you, " You are young, and so am I. Four 
 years come to an end some day; — wait for me." But I 
 have been hardly used, and not a bit of justice in it, and so 
 they shall find me a bad bargain, I can tell them. I '11 give 
 his Majesty the slip the very first opportunity, and try my 
 fortune in some better country, where there is justice for 
 the poor as well as rich ; so you need not think of me any 
 more, unless you choose to think of me as a departed friend, 
 for such I am and shall be to the last. If I were to tell 
 you that my heart is fairly broken, it would serve no pur- 
 pose but to make your sorrow greater, so I sha'n't say any- 
 thing of the kind, only good-bye on this side of the grave. 
 I have tried hard to be a good son, and live in the fear of 
 God and of the Madonna Santissima. What good has it 
 done me ? I have more than a mind to take to swearing, 
 and drinking, and fighting, like most of my messmates, 
 who seem never the worse for it, but rather the better. It 's 
 of no use writing any more, — so God bless you, as I do 
 from my innermost heart ; and do not forget me in your 
 prayers, and think sometimes of your unfortunate — 
 Battista. 
 
 1 P.S. — My duty to dear, dear mother Rosa, and to kind 
 Doctor Antonio. I meant to have sent you the lock of hair 
 you gave me on the evening before my first voyage to 
 Marseilles, and the ring we exchanged in the chapel of the 
 Madonna of Lampedusa. But I can't part with them, — 
 really I can't. ' 
 
 Lucy wiped her eyes as she gave back the letter to 
 Speranza, who had never ceased her moans, and swaying 
 to and fro. 
 
 Now, though explicit enough in the main, Battista's 
 epistle left many minor points obscure, which the warm- 
 hearted English girl, with a true woman's interest in a love- 
 story, wished to have explained. This desire led to a string 
 of questions from the one and answers from the other, these 
 
SPERANZA 131 
 
 last interspersed by sobs and tears, which, though adding to 
 their pathos, rather interfered with their clearness. It is 
 out of these answers, only put in some better order, that we 
 are going to extract Speranza's little story, leaving it, how- 
 ever, entirely in her own mouth, lest by telling it ourselves 
 we should do what Antonio was afraid of doing, and would 
 not do — that is, spoil its simplicity. 
 
 'Battista,' began Speranza, 'was the only son of a poor 
 woman, who was always called " Widow Susan," though 
 her man was still alive ; but he had deserted her when 
 Battista was only two years old, and had gone to France, 
 and settled there. As Widow Susan lived next door to us 
 — that was long before we kept this Osteria — Battista and 
 I were almost as much together as if we had been brother 
 and sister, and when we were neither of us as high as that ' 
 — and the girl pointed to a table — ' he never called me by 
 any name but "little wife," and I always called him 
 "my little man." Every Sunday, after vespers, Battista 
 would wait for me at the church door to go home with me, 
 and never spoke to any girl but me, though he was spoken 
 to often enough — for, though I say it, it is true, madam, he 
 was the handsomest boy in the parish. When I grew 
 older, and began to go to the wood, Battista was sure to 
 come and meet me half way, and carry my bundle for me. 
 And so it came about that it was as good as settled, and 
 everybody in Bordighera, and we most of all, took it, for 
 granted, that, as soon as we were old enough, we should be 
 married ; though neither father, nor mother, nor Widow 
 Susan, had ever said a word about the matter. Battista 
 had a great liking to the sea, and would fain have gone to 
 see the world, and make some money for me, but he was 
 too good a son to think of leaving his poor dear mother, 
 who had no support but him, and so he stayed at home, 
 and turned fisherman ; and it was a real pride, madam,' — 
 and Speranza's cheek flushed, — ' to see how he managed his 
 
132 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 boat. He was the smartest and best of all our boatmen, 
 and everybody said so. 
 
 'Year after year passed, bringing no change, till this 
 house was set up for sale, and my father, who had long 
 taken a fancy to it, agreed for the purchase, and we came 
 to live here. My father, whose health was failing fast, had 
 it in his mind that the air of this place, not so sharp as at 
 Bordighera, would do him a deal of good. So we settled 
 here, and father one evening — I remember it as if it was 
 yesterday — said to Battista, " As this house is to be yours 
 one day, I mean when you and Speranza are man and wife, 
 I expect you to lend a hand towards paying the price of it ; 
 for I must tell you that all my little savings have gone at 
 once in the first instalment, and there are three more of 
 them owing, one each year for three years running, and we 
 cannot expect to get the money for these payments, and 
 enough to keep us too, out of the produce of the land and 
 the custom of the house. So, my lad, go to work, with 
 God's blessing, as hard as you can, and make money. 
 Widow Susan shall come and live with us while you are 
 away ; so your mind may be at rest about her." 
 
 * Battista was quite overjoyed at this arrangement, and at 
 my father's talking to him in this way, because it made him 
 quite sure of being one day his son. He made no delay, 
 but set off at once to Nice, where he engaged himself on 
 board a trading-vessel bound to Genoa, went from thence 
 to Leghorn and then to Marseilles, and as far away as Cette, 
 and to many other places ; and whenever he came home, 
 which he did three or four times in the first two years that 
 he spent at sea, he always brought some little comfort for 
 his mother, and something curious or fine for me, and a 
 little money for father ; but it was very little, because Bat 
 tista's wages were very scanty. 
 
 'One day my father said to Battista, "At this rate it will 
 take us ten years to pay for this place. I had to borrow 
 
SPERANZA 133 
 
 money for the second payment, and now the third is almost 
 due. How am I to manage?" Battista said, that if it 
 hadn't been for the Conscription, which bound a man hand 
 and foot, he knew of a place were he could go and be sure 
 of getting money, and he named it, — afar, far off place, in a 
 country called Tipodes, that the schoolmaster said was on 
 the other side of the earth, below our feet. But Battista, 
 who has been there since, says it is all nonsense ; for if it 
 was so, how could people stand on their feet? and yet they 
 do.' And Speranza looked up at Lucy as if she had uttered 
 an unanswerable argument. 
 
 'That is not quite a proof,' said Lucy, smiling ; 'but we 
 will talk of that another time. Go on with your story 
 now.' 
 
 'Well, then,' pursued Speranza — ' " But," said father to 
 Battista, "you can't be taken, you know, because you are 
 all the same as the only son of a widow." 
 
 ' " So I am," said Battista ; " still I must attend and draw 
 out a number, as it seems, at least I was told that such was 
 the law, when I went for my papers at Genoa." 
 
 ' " Ah ! " says father, " they are always plaguing poor 
 folks with their law. Well, never mind, it's only three 
 months to wait ; who knows, you may draw a good number, 
 and that will set it all right." 
 
 * " Please God it be so," said Battista. 
 
 ' God was good to us, madam, for, when the time came, 
 Battista's number was one of the highest, and he had not to 
 be marched away. He was not present at the drawing, 
 which took place at Nice ; but that did not signify, the 
 gentlemen of the board drew for the young men who were 
 absent. As soon as his good luck was known at Bordi- 
 ghera, the mayor wrote him a letter to Genoa, where 
 Battista had gone a trip, — a beautiful letter it was, — to 
 give him the happy news ; and with this letter in hand, 
 Battista got leave to go where he pleased, and all the 
 
134 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 papers he wanted, and he sailed away for that far, far off 
 place. 
 
 ' From that day we had nothing but misfortunes. Widow 
 Susan fell ill of a fever, and, in spite of Doctor Antonio's 
 care, died within a month. I was so broken-hearted at this 
 unexpected loss, and at having to break the sad news to 
 Battista, — he had made me promise to let him know any- 
 thing, good or bad, that might happen to his mother, — and 
 withal so worn out with sitting up night after night with 
 Widow Susan, that I fell ill myself next, and was in bed 
 for six weeks, and should never have got up again but for 
 Doctor Antonio. I was just beginning to crawl about 
 when, one morning, the mayor called here, and said that 
 Battista's case was not so clear as he had thought at first, 
 and that Battista must go and pass before that Council of 
 Revision which has taken him now, and that if he did not 
 go he would be breaking the law. In a few days more a 
 paper was posted up at the town-hall, and another at our 
 house, where Battista's poor mother had lived last, sum- 
 moning him to appear at a short notice. Now, there was 
 no sense in this, for had not the mayor himself put it as 
 plain as pen, ink, and paper could make it, that Battista 
 could not be taken ? And then how could he answer the 
 summons, when he was a three months' voyage off, as 
 everybody knew ? 
 
 4 Oh no ! ' continued Speranza, in a voice full of indigna- 
 tion, 'all this was done to throw the blame of having dis- 
 obeyed the law upon the poor lad ; and who could have an 
 interest in making him appear in the wrong, but the Com- 
 mandant of San Remo ? ' 
 
 * How the Commandant of San Remo ? ' asked Lucy, in 
 surprise. 
 
 'You must know,' went on Speranza, 'that this Com- 
 mandant had an old spite at Battista, and this is how it was. 
 Once the Commandant sent to desire Battista to get him 
 
S PER AN Z A 135 
 
 some fine fish, as he was going to give a grand dinner to 
 the Governor of Nice. Battista caught a beautiful San 
 Pietro (John Dory), and took it to the Commandant's 
 palazzo, expecting to be praised, and to have a good price 
 for it. But he was offered just half its worth, and that put 
 him in a passic^n after all the trouble he had taken, and he 
 said he would rather throw it back into the sea than give it 
 for less than its value ; and so he did, and the grand dinner 
 turned out all wrong, because of there being no fish. When 
 the Commandant heard the reason, he was terribly angry, 
 and swore that sooner or later he would make Battista pay 
 for it. We could not help feeling for Battista, but all the 
 same we scolded him well for getting into such a scrape. 
 Just fancy a poor fisherman presuming to stand against the 
 greatest man in the province — a military man, too, used to 
 have his own way and to make everybody tremble. Every 
 one said that the Commandant would be as good as his 
 word, and so it proved. 
 
 * Time went by, and very hard time it was, and we had 
 no tidings of Battista. What we earned by keeping the inn 
 was very little indeed. Father was going fast, and his 
 temper waxed sourer every day, and he never ceased 
 moaning and complaining about his health, and at no news 
 from Battista, and worrying about his debts, and this and 
 that, till the customers grew weary of him, and fell off one 
 by one. The little we made went in soup, and good meat, 
 and wine for the poor old man, who was ill of a bird in the 
 stomach ' 
 
 ! Of what ? ' exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 'A bird, madam, which ate everything he swallowed ; 
 ask Doctor Antonio, madam, he will tell you what I mean. 
 We were so poor now, that often I had to go twice a day 
 to the wood, and after all, I earned only enough to pay for 
 a bit of meat, or a bottle of wine for father. If it had not 
 been for Doctor Antonio, who helped us in many a way, and 
 
136 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 was like a guardian angel hovering over us, I don't think 
 we could have got on at all. At last, after sixteen months 
 of this life, a letter came from Battista. It was sad, for, 
 poor fellow ! he knew, by the time it was written, of his 
 mother's death, but to us it came like a message from 
 heaven, to bid us keep up our courage. This letter was 
 the first that reached us, but not the first that he had sent. 
 He said that he was well, and had put by already a good 
 round sum of money, and was sure of doubling it in six 
 months more ; but after that he should come home, and 
 we should all be happy together. We wept for joy as 
 we read it. Father, who was in bed in a very low way, 
 joined his hands and said, "Now, my God, take me when 
 it is thy will ; I am ready to go, for my child will not 
 be left destitute." A week after,' continued Speranza, 
 wiping her eyes, 'we carried the dear old man to the 
 burying-ground. 
 
 ' Ah ! madam, we reckoned the days as a man condemned 
 to death counts the hours he has to live. Six months went 
 by, tlien seven, eight, nine, ten, and no Battista. It was 
 one stormy evening last March ; mother and I were sitting 
 sorrowfully in the dark, to spare oil — our little provision 
 was almost gone, and we had no money to buy any — the 
 wind was howling, and the sea roaring like a wild beast, 
 and I was thinking of poor sailors at sea, when all at once 
 I heard a step crossing the garden — my heart jumped up to 
 my throat, and I rushed half crazy to the door. It was he — 
 I knew his step, I was in his arms once more. Oh ! the 
 blessed moment ! All my troubles were forgotten, all my 
 misery was gone, for he had come back, he was there, — 
 he, Battista. Oh ! why did God give me this little look of 
 heaven to make me feel the loss of it more bitterly ? Mother 
 and I were mad with joy, but it did not last long. As soon 
 as the lamp was lighted we saw a world of sorrow in poor 
 Battista's face, he was so worn and pale ; his eyes were 
 
SPERANZA 137 
 
 sunken, his cheeks quite hollow. He had his right arm 
 tied up in a handkerchief. " What is the matter? " asked 
 I, all in a shake. " We have been shipwrecked," he said, 
 "all hands drowned, poor fellows, except another and 
 myself, and everything I had on earth gone ! " and as he 
 spoke these words, he fell a-crying. I thought, I did in- 
 deed, that my heart was going to split in two. I undid 
 the handkerchief ; there was a great gash across the hand. 
 Mother went to fetch Doctor Antonio — I was too sick to 
 move — and brought him back with her. As soon as I 
 heard the Doctor's voice I felt comforted, for I said to my- 
 self, He will help us. The voice of a friend is very sweet 
 in sorrow, dear lady,' said the poor creature, trying hard 
 to keep down her tears. ' Doctor Antonio dressed the 
 wound, and began at once to cheer us by saying that we 
 ought to be thankful for the good left us — what if Battista 
 had been drowned with the others ? — that money, after all, 
 was not happiness ; that Battista and I were young and 
 strong ; and that, as he had lost his money, we must work 
 the harder, and bless God that we were spared to one 
 another. And as I listened to these good words the sick- 
 ness left my heart. The Doctor sat down with us, and 
 then Battista told us all about the shipwreck ; how the 
 vessel had struck on a sunken rock close in to the coast of 
 Corsica — almost in sight of home ! — and gone down in a 
 minute ; how he and one of his shipmates had been picked 
 up by a French ship going to Marseilles, and he had made 
 his way on foot from thence to Bordighera. We sat long, 
 and talked and talked over the past, and of poor dear 
 father, and poor dear Widow Susan, and made plans for 
 the future ; and when we separated, we did so with light 
 hearts — for, after all, was he not spared to me, and I to 
 him ? As it was now long after midnight, and Battista 
 would find no house open at that hour, Doctor Antonio 
 took him home to his lodgings for that night. 
 
138 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 1 Next morning, I made sure that Battista would be down 
 with us early, so that I wondered very much when eight 
 o'clock came, and still no Battista. But I never supposed 
 that anything was wrong until I saw Doctor Antonio com- 
 ing alone. As soon as ever he was near enough, I knew by 
 his face that he had bad news for me. The Doctor told me 
 at once that Battista had been summoned to San Remo on that 
 business of the Conscription, and that I must not distress 
 myself, but make ready and go with him and mother to San 
 Remo. He would, he said, see the Commandant, and do 
 his best to right Battista. The Doctor did not tell us then, 
 what we knew very soon afterwards, that two carabineers 
 had been sent from San Remo to fetch Battista ; that they 
 had arrested him in the street, put handcuffs on him, and 
 thus paraded him about the town as if he had been a 
 thief or a murderer, and then taken him away in a boat. 
 They said it was law. I don't think there's much justice 
 in such laws,' said Speranza very sharply. 
 
 *■ So the Doctor and mother and I went as fast as we 
 could to San Remo, and made first of all for the jail, but as 
 we had no pass, were refused admittance. We next went 
 to the Commandant's, who was busy, we were told, and 
 could see no one. Doctor Antonio insisting, however, he 
 was introduced, but he could obtain nothing — not even the 
 permission for us to see Battista — only the answer that it 
 was the law, and that the law must be obeyed. After being 
 kept a week in the jail at San Remo — God knows for what 
 reason ! — Battista was marched off, under an escort of 
 carabineers, to Genoa, and taken to the dockyard there, 
 out of which he was never allowed to go. Doctor Antonio 
 wrote in his behalf to all his friends at Genoa, even to the 
 British Consul there. The Cure gave us a letter, saying 
 how Battista was all the same as fatherless, for his father 
 had deserted him when only two years of age ; but nothing 
 availed. ' 
 
SPERANZA 139 
 
 'And what difference,' asked Lucy, 'would it have made 
 if his father had really been dead ? ' 
 
 ' O madam, he would not have been taken in the Con- 
 scription. The only son of a widow is exempted from the 
 service. So far the law is merciful to one whose father is 
 dead ; and why should it not be so to one whose father is 
 all the same to him as if he was in the churchyard ? But 
 what 's the use of reasoning about it ? the law is too strong 
 for the poor — Battista, as you know, is condemned, and ' 
 (Speranza made a desperate attempt'to conquer her emotion, 
 and continued slowly and composedly) — 'Well, let it be 
 so ; I can bear it all without complaining. Everybody is 
 not born to be happy. I am willing to offer up my hopes 
 in this world as a sacrifice to the Blessed Virgin, holy 
 mother of sorrows. If it is ordained that I am not to be 
 — Battista's wife, well. I can give him — up on this side of 
 the grave. But I cannot, no ' — (she went on with a burst 
 of passion, that made her eyes actually rain tears), — ' I 
 cannot bear that he should turn to wickedness ; that he who 
 has been such a pattern of goodness should take to breaking 
 God's commandments, and that we should be separated in 
 all eternity. That is what wrings my heart and drives me 
 mad. Oh, no, no ! that is what God will not let come to 
 pass. ' 
 
 This was the first view that Lucy had ever had into an 
 aching heart — this was the first time that such things as 
 want, hardship, and anguish, hitherto vague abstractions 
 with her rather than stern realities, had stood up in a living 
 shape, and told their sad tale, and moaned and writhed 
 within her sight and hearing. We leave the reader to 
 imagine how all the holy springs of sympathy and pity 
 heaved in Lucy's gentle bosom, and gushed forth in sooth- 
 ing words and caresses, and earnest promises of assistance. 
 
 ' Perhaps you know the king ? ' said Speranza, all at once 
 raising her head with a flash of hope in her eyes. 
 
140 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' No,' said Lucy, * why do you ask? ' 
 
 1 Because,' said Speranza, ' if you could have told him 
 Battista's story, I am sure he would be merciful to us. 
 Oh ! if the king could only know, he would be sorry for us. 
 Why should he, so great on his throne, wish poor folks to 
 be wretched ? ' 
 
 ' If we cannot speak to the king,' said Lucy, ' we can 
 write to him, — I mean, we can send him a memorial on be- 
 half of Battista.' 
 
 1 That would be of no use,' replied the girl dejectedly. 
 * Memorials sent by poor people never reach the king ; the 
 bad counsellors stop them.' 
 
 * But, perhaps, ' insisted Lucy, 'we can find somebody 
 who will promise to put the memorial into the king's own 
 hands.' 
 
 Speranza shook her head despondingly. It was plain 
 that she had as bad an opinion of memorials as Doctor 
 Antonio. 
 
 'We shall find some way, depend upon it,' continued 
 Lucy ; ' I will ask Doctor Antonio what to do. ' Both girls 
 brightened up at this. Evidently Speranza's faith was 
 greater in Doctor Antonio than in the memorial. 
 
 Lucy thought long over Speranza's story, wishing that 
 the morrow were come, that she might ask the Doctor how 
 best to help her protegee ; and then she fell to musing with 
 particular complacency on the part he had played in the 
 little drama. Nor, it must be confessed, did she consider 
 the Italian girl's enthusiastic expression of his having been 
 like a guardian angel either exaggerated or misplaced. 
 The man seemed born to do good. For, had she not heard, 
 did she not know from her own experience, that wherever 
 there was sickness or sorrow, tears to dry, or sinking hearts 
 to raise, there he was to be found, cheering, sustaining, 
 ministering in many a way ? And now a glimmering light 
 dawned on Lucy's understanding, by which she began to 
 
SPERANZA 141 
 
 perceive how a superior man like Doctor Antonio might 
 be reconciled to his present lot ; nay, she even felt 
 disposed to think highly of that humble sphere into which 
 fate had jostled him, — a sphere, she saw, teeming with 
 misery, oppression, and injustice, and therefore calculated 
 to draw forth all the energy and chivalrous kindness of his 
 nature. 
 
 Lucy very soon lost herself in an inextricable labyrinth of 
 speculation and argument, into which we need not follow 
 her, but which interested her far more than Manzoni or the 
 guitar, and brought her on to the end of the day less dis- 
 agreeably than she had expected. Sir John, also, when he 
 came to see her in the evening, looked more serene and 
 cheerful than he had done since they had taken up their 
 abode in the Osteria — a serenity and cheerfulness partly 
 attributed by Lucy to the Doctor's considerate step in the 
 morning ; but as Sir John was very loud in his praises of 
 the Bishop of Albenga's former cook, we are inclined to 
 believe that the dinner he had eaten had more to do with 
 his present optimism than Doctor Antonio. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 lucy's scheme. 
 
 WHEN Lucy awoke next morning, she discovered 
 that all was right again with the sky and the sea, 
 and that the birds' song was wondrously sweet. The 
 breakiast tray had just been removed, when the well-known 
 step, so quick yet so firm, the step that she could have 
 singled out from among ten thousand others, made itself 
 heard. Lucy wondered why her heart gave just such a 
 bound as Speranza had spoken of when describing her 
 recognition of Battista's footstep in the garden. 
 
 Another moment and here was Doctor Antonio, erect, 
 and gentle, and smiling, as was his wont, radiating bene- 
 volence, so to say, from every pore. Here he was, all 
 covered with dust, and looking none the worse for it in 
 Lucy's eyes, for that dust betokened some impatience and 
 eagerness to see her again. 
 
 * A prize patient,' he began, 'who has slept soundly, for 
 she looks well — see, I have worked hard for you this 
 morning,' and he showered down a quantity of aromatic 
 wild plants ; ' here 's thyme, lavender, and rosemary, and 
 sweetbriar, enough to put the best perfumer's shop to the 
 blush. You ought to tell Hutchins to make sachets of 
 them. There's no patchoulis or musk can compete with 
 these. 
 
 142 
 
LUCY'S SCHEME 143 
 
 'Thank you, thank you,' said Lucy; 'how fresh they 
 smell ! they make me think of green hillsides.' 
 
 'If you do as I advise you,' said Antonio, 'they will 
 serve some day, when you are far, far away, to make you 
 think of our poor Riviera.' 
 
 ' Do not talk to me about going away, Doctor Antonio. 
 I have grown so fond of this ugly old house, that I shall try 
 and persuade papa to buy it, and make it into a beautiful 
 cottage. Should you be sorry to have us for neighbours ? ' 
 The arch look in her face softened into a smile, that 
 Doctor Antonio's eye met rather gravely, yet lingered 
 on. 
 
 I Now, Doctor Antonio, come and sit down by me, and 
 do not expect to get away for two hours, at least. I have 
 so many things to tell you, so many things to ask you. ' 
 
 Antonio complied, and Lucy then, with a somewhat 
 important air, began : ' Speranza told me yesterday every- 
 thing about herself and Battista.' 
 
 I I know she did, and I am glad of it. You have raised 
 her spirits, and she looks less unhappy already. I have 
 this moment read poor Battista's letter.' 
 
 'We must help them,' said Lucy eagerly; 'and you 
 must advise me what to do. All Speranza told me is true, 
 is it not, and Battista is really a good man ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Antonio, ' he is an excellent lad, what we 
 Italians call di buona pasta, quiet and simple, insomuch 
 that I have sometimes wondered how such a lively and 
 clever girl as Speranza became so strongly attached to 
 him ; folly, after all, to wonder at such things. Suffice to 
 say, that all Bordighera is unanimous in speaking well of 
 the unlucky fellow, — and praising one's neighbour, you 
 know, is not the distinguishing virtue of small places. 
 As to the accuracy of Speranza's statements, of that I am 
 not quite so sure. Not that I mean that Speranza deceived 
 you wilfully — she is incapable of that ; but she and Rosa, 
 
144 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 and Battista himself, and indeed, I may say, nine-tenths of 
 the inhabitants of Bordighera, entertain certain false notions 
 of their own on this case, which nothing you can say will 
 ever put out of their heads ; and naturally, Speranza can- 
 not but have given you her own erroneous impressions. 
 An article of faith with them all is, first, that Battista's 
 mother, owing to her having been deserted by her husband, 
 was to be considered a widow — in fact, they always called 
 her Widow Susan — and Battista consequently a widow's son. 
 Now this may be to a certain extent in the spirit, but does 
 not come at all within the letter of the law. Secondly, 
 they all believe that the Mayor of Bordighera's letter, pur- 
 porting that Battista was not to march, constitutes in 
 Battista's favour an official title, in right of which be ought 
 at all events to be exempted from the service. And in this 
 also they are mistaken. The Mayor's letter was nothing 
 but the expression of an individual opinion, an act of kind- 
 ness, and of no legal value whatever. Battista's case stands 
 thus. He drew a number, or, to speak more correctly, a 
 number was drawn for him, sufficiently high, it was thought, 
 to insure his not being drafted away, but which ultimately 
 proved not so. ' 
 
 Lucy looked as if she did not understand. 
 
 * Suppose,' exclaimed Antonio, 'that the province to 
 which Bordighera belongs be called upon to furnish ten 
 young men for the navy — very well — the lad who draws 
 number " twenty " is considered to be, and in all probability 
 is, safe. It nevertheless occasionally happens, that out of 
 the ten who have drawn low numbers, say from I to 10, 
 and are consequently those who by right would have to 
 serve, one or two are not of the regulation size, one or two 
 more have settled abroad, and are not forthcoming, some 
 others are able to prove that they are among the exceptions 
 recognised by the law, and so on. What is the natural 
 consequence ? — for, when the Government says, I want ten 
 
LUCTS SCHEME 145 
 
 men, ten men must be found one way or the other — the 
 natural consequence is, that those who have high numbers 
 are substituted for the ineligible, or missing, low numbers. 
 This was poor Battista's case ; and though at first no one 
 doubted but that his high number would secure him from 
 being taken, yet from the unprecedented exemptions and 
 exclusions that took place in the class to which he belonged, 
 it turned out that every one, the Mayor among others, was 
 mistaken. ' 
 
 'I see it all now,' said Lucy, 'and judging from what 
 you have just said, I fancy that the charge Speranza brings 
 against the Commandant of San Remo, of having, out of 
 revenge, caused Battista's misfortune, has no ground but in 
 her imagination.' 
 
 'I am inclined to think so,' answered Antonio; 'that 
 much partiality and injustice is shown, in general, by 
 worthy Commandants in this matter of the Conscription, as 
 in most others, is a fact of notoriety beyond all doubt, and 
 which explains the preconceptions entertained on this head 
 by Speranza and Co. The Commandants are too often 
 disposed to abuse their power. But nothing in the 
 particular case of which we are speaking has come to my 
 knowledge which entitles me to say that Battista's difficulties 
 are in any way to be laid at the door of the Commandant 
 of San Remo. Let us try and be just even to our 
 adversaries. ' 
 
 'Is the Commandant hostile to you?' asked Lucy, in 
 some little alarm. 
 
 ' Oh, not at all ! though I may be dubious as to his 
 private sentiments being over-friendly, we are to all appear- 
 ance on excellent terms. I will tell you one day to what 
 I am indebted for this show of good-will. When I called 
 him my adversary, I meant in a political point of view. 
 He is of course a most violent partisan of pure despotism, 
 indeed one of the fiercest I ever met with. He foams at 
 
 K 
 
146 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 the mouth when he speaks of the Liberals ; he would 
 willingly hang the last of them with his own hands.' 
 
 ' What a monster ! ' exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 'But if I acquit him,' pursued Antonio, 'on the ground 
 of conspiracy against Battista, I have no words to express 
 my indignation at the gratuitously harsh, nay barbarous 
 manner, and for that I hold him responsible, with which 
 he had the law enforced— a law pressing hard enough upon 
 the poor without need of aggravation. What reason could 
 there be for keeping the poor fellow a week in the jail of 
 San Remo, denying him even the comfort of seeing those 
 two poor women, and sending him with a guard of 
 carabineers to Genoa, like a malefactor, unless it was to 
 gratify an old grudge ? ' 
 
 * How very cruel ! ' said Lucy, with flashing eyes. 
 1 Surely if such conduct were made public, or the people of 
 the town were to petition the Government, he would be at 
 once removed.' 
 
 'You forget that we are in Italy,' said Antonio, with a 
 sad smile. ' Such conduct is public. The Commandants, 
 my dear Miss Davenne, are but the expression of the spirit 
 of the Government, and, as such, supported and backed by 
 it to the utmost. What do you imagine would be the 
 result of such a petition as you suggest ? Why, it would be 
 sent back to the Commandant himself, and then the peti- 
 tioners might look to themselves.' 
 
 ' Why, what could he do to them ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 ' Ask rather what he could not. He could do anything 
 he chose. We are all at his mercy. He can arbitrarily 
 summon any one to his presence, load him with abuse, 
 consign him to prison or march him away to a fortress, 
 without trial or legal form of any kind ; — he can order the 
 shop of one tradesman to be closed, the licence of another 
 to be withdrawn ; — he can, by sending two lines to Turin, 
 have me dismissed from the appointment I hold, and 
 
LUCY'S SCHEME. 147 
 
 expelled from the kingdom ; — he can stick a hat on a pole, 
 and Gessler-like, command every one that passes to bow to 
 it. If he does not do this, it is not that he lacks the power, 
 but that the idea does not come into his head.' 
 
 ' But you describe a state of things quite intolerable,' said 
 Lucy. 
 
 'Intolerable is the word,' went on Antonio, 'at least for 
 thinking people. The unthinking, who constitute the 
 majority everywhere, feel it less. The obscurity of the 
 greater number screens them, to some extent, from 
 annoyance, and res angusta domz, with the cares it entails, 
 engrosses most of them too much to allow of time or disposi- 
 tion to think of anything but their individual concerns; 
 then the priests assert that it is all right. But we are 
 wandering far from Battista. ' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed,' smiled Lucy, ' we were quite forgetting 
 him. Now, give me your advice, or rather tell me how I 
 can best help him.' 
 
 'Alas ! ' said Antonio, ' I see no way but one.' 
 
 ' And what is that ? ' inquired Lucy, finding Doctor 
 Antonio stop short. 
 
 ' To provide a substitute for him,' said he. 
 
 ' You mean paying some one to serve in Battista's place ? ' 
 
 ' Just so ; but that is quite out of the question. ' 
 
 'Why out of the question? Will it cost so very much? 
 I will do it if I can,' said the eager girl. 'Now, Doctor 
 Antonio, what have I said to make you open your eyes so 
 wide, and look so astonished ? ' 
 
 ' I confess that your kindness and generosity take me a 
 little by surprise.' 
 
 ' O Doctor Antonio, Doctor Antonio, what a bad com- 
 pliment ! ' said Lucy, shaking her head. ' Have we not 
 often agreed that it is the duty of the rich to help the 
 poor ? ' 
 
 ' So it is,' said Antonio, recovering his sedateness. 
 
148 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' Thank Heaven, there exists a better order of beings, for 
 whom doing good is a necessity of their nature.' 
 
 ' That is just what I thought of you many a time, and I 
 have a right to think so,' said Lucy, with a playfulness that 
 struggled with the tears that would start into her eyes ; 
 ' and you have no right to say me nay. Do you think,' she 
 went on quickly, ' that it would be difficult to find this 
 substitute ? ' 
 
 ' I cannot be sure ; but I hope not. I heard a short 
 while ago of a seaman of Spedaletti, a village close by, 
 whose time had expired, and who was said to be anxious to 
 re-enter the service.' 
 
 1 Would he require a large sum to take Battista's place ? ' 
 
 ' I should say from fifteen to eighteen hundred francs. ' 
 
 ' And how much is that in English money ? ' 
 
 1 From sixty to seventy-two pounds.' 
 
 ' That is not so very much,' said Lucy ; ' I do not think 
 that I have it actually in my purse ; but I can afford the 
 sum.' 
 
 Hutchins was desired to bring Miss Davenne's desk ; and 
 upon examination of the state of the exchequer, the balance 
 was found to be thirty pounds, seventeen shillings, and 
 some pence. ' I will ask papa for the rest,' said the young 
 lady ; ' the whole sum shall be ready to-morrow. Will you 
 set about this matter directly, so as not to lose another 
 day?' 
 
 ' Most willingly,' was Antonio's answer. ' My first step 
 shall be to find out the man that was mentioned to me. If 
 he be really willing to re-enter the service, we will despatch 
 him immediately to Genoa, with fifty francs for his travelling 
 expenses. The rest of the sum we agree to give can be 
 deposited in the hands of some person at Genoa, the British 
 Consul, for instance, to be paid over when the exchange is 
 effected. You must make up your mind to some delay ere 
 this can take place. There are hosts of formalities to be 
 
LUCY'S SCHEME 149 
 
 complied with in this as in any other affair. But not a word 
 to Speranza ; we must have a care how we raise her hopes, 
 for were our scheme to fail, we should have only prepared 
 too bitter a disappointment for her.' 
 
 * Then you think there is a chance of our not succeeding ? ' 
 inquired Lucy, with a blank face. 
 
 * Yes/ replied Antonio, ' should the Commandant get 
 scent of our plan, and take it into his head to oppose us, we 
 should infallibly be defeated. We have therefore to act 
 with the greatest caution.' 
 
 How sweet to Lucy's ears sounded the words our scheme, 
 we must do this or that ! How pleasant it was to have an 
 interest in common with that kindest of doctors ! 
 
 ' When the right time comes, I shall have to lecture both 
 Battista and the substitute on the danger of any imprudent 
 talking,' said Antonio; 'in the meanwhile, I must write a 
 word of encouragement to the lad. I will do so this very 
 day.' 
 
 'Thank you,' said Lucy; and seeing that the Doctor 
 was about to rise, she added, ' I have not done yet, Doctor 
 Antonio ; I want to know what was that far, far off place 
 to which Battista went ? ' 
 
 ' Sydney, ' said the Doctor, ' in the country of Tipodes ' ; 
 and he laughed outright. 
 
 ' And of what complaint did Speranza's father die ? ■ 
 
 ' Of a complaint of which you never would remember the 
 hard scientific name ; one that prevents the stomach from 
 assimilating any nutriment. As sufferers from this disease 
 are always craving for food v and yet grow thinner every day, 
 the good folks of these parts have settled it that it is a 
 beast or bird in their stomach that devours all they eat. 
 Did not Speranza tell you as much ? ' 
 
 'She did, in fact; and, pray,' continued Lucy, 'what 
 does " going to the wood " mean ? Speranza spoke of it 
 so often.' 
 
150 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 'Almost all our parishes,' explained Antonio, 'possess 
 some woods of their own, which are a great help to poor 
 families, who draw from them not only the fuel and fodder 
 they require for their use, but realise a little money, by 
 supplying these two necessaries to their more affluent 
 neighbours. This hard work of going to the wood devolves 
 exclusively on women ; it is, however, the only severe 
 labour to which they are subjected. It is usual for the 
 wives and daughters of poor peasants to start as early as 
 one or two in the morning for the wood, which is often a 
 two or three hours' walk from where they live, so as to be 
 back by ten o'clock, in time to prepare the family dinner, 
 after earning fivepence or sixpence — a pittance equal to the 
 wages paid for a woman's whole day's out-of-door work. 
 There are some girls — and these are always pointed out 
 with admiration — who manage to go to the wood twice a 
 day. This, and the gathering of olives in the season, 
 constitute the chief occupation and resource of the women 
 here ; and it is to the want of sleep, and excessive fatigue 
 consequent on this going to the wood, that I ascribe the 
 fact of many of them looking so worn and old before their 
 time.' 
 
 * And,' asked Lucy, ' this Madonna of Lampedusa 
 alluded to in Battista's letter ? ' 
 
 ' It is a sanctuary,' answered Antonio, ' held in high 
 veneration, and much resorted to by our simple people on 
 account of an image of our Lady enshrined there, and which, 
 as the story goes, was miraculously brought to these shores 
 from Lampedusa, a little island to the south of Sicily. It 
 is a place worth visiting : the chapel is built on a projecting 
 rock, half-way up a steep mountain, and the view from it is 
 magnificent.' 
 
 ' I should like to see it,' said Lucy. 
 
 ' Nothing easier, when you are able to go out ; the 
 distance is not great, four hours would take you there. 
 
LUCY'S SCHEME 151 
 
 Several rooms are attached to the establishment for the 
 accommodation of visitors and invalids, who are often sent 
 to benefit by the air, which has a reputation for particular 
 salubrity.' 
 
 * Have you ever been there yourself? ' 
 
 * Many a time. It is only an hour's walk from Taggia — 
 a curious small town about two miles inland, three hours' 
 drive from this, and where I was yesterday. By-the-by, I 
 made a sketch of it for you. Where is it now ? — I put it 
 somewhere — ah ! here it is in my hat.' 
 
 I How well it is done ! ' exclaimed Lucy ; ' I was sure you 
 could draw, from the way you spoke of scenery. What 
 a pretty place this Taggia must be, stretching so gracefully 
 up the side of the hill ! ' 
 
 I I am glad you admire it — the place, I mean, not the 
 sketch. I hope to see you do it more justice yourself — some 
 day. But I must go now, or I shall be too late to send off 
 a letter to Battista. A revoir. ' 
 
 In crossing the garden Antonio met Sir John, and stopped 
 to tell him that the arm-chair he had planned would be 
 ready in a few days, and that the person who was to make 
 it had pronounced that it would answer the purpose. Sir 
 John reiterated his thanks, and then condescended to inquire 
 after the postboy — an inquiry always made when Sir John 
 wished to be particularly civil to Doctor Antonio. Prospero 
 was a sort of neutral ground, on which the belligerent 
 powers met in courteous truce. Prospero, said Antonio, 
 had just crawled out of bed, but was as yet unfit for work 
 in any shape. Would Doctor Antonio be so obliging, 
 requested Sir John, as to inform that unlucky person, that, 
 in consideration of the good character given him by Doctor 
 Antonio, he, Sir John, had made up his mind to take no 
 further notice of the deplorable affair in which the postboy 
 had played so conspicuous a part ? Antonio did his best to 
 acknowledge the compliment to himself couched in Sir 
 
152 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 John's words, and said how glad he was to be intrusted with 
 so kind and cheering a message for his patient. Upon 
 which the two gentlemen separated, much satisfied with 
 each other. 
 
 In the evening Lucy gave her father an outline of poor 
 Battista's story, telling of his present sad plight, and winding 
 up with a demand of some money to help him. The demand 
 was immediately acceded to, Sir John being really as gene- 
 rous as he was rich ; indeed, he seldom grudged money to 
 anybody, least of all to his pet daughter. The grant of money 
 was not all that Lucy received from her excellent father — 
 it came accompanied by a large amount of advice, the 
 essence of which was, that she ought to make further in- 
 vestigations into the man's real character in order to ascer- 
 tain that he deserved her kindness ; for who knew, said Sir 
 John, that he might not be one of those bloodthirsty Re- 
 publicans, never content but when in open defiance of all 
 lawful authority, of whom they had heard so much when at 
 Rome ! How on earth came Sir John, apropos of Battista, 
 to start off upon the scent of Republicanism ! The fault 
 was Lucy's, who, in her hot haste to vindicate her new 
 protege, had ventured on dangerous ground, and stumbled 
 against some of the steel traps that beset her father's intel- 
 lectual premises. Some of his pretty Lucy's assertions hit 
 the Commandant of San Remo rather hard, and even seemed 
 to glance at higher quarters. Sir John, knowing himself as 
 most people do know themselves, thought himself a liberal- 
 minded man, and always open to conviction ; but the truth 
 was, that he could not hear any the slightest animadversion 
 thrown upon any constituted order of Government, or in- 
 deed upon any Government officer, without bristling like a 
 porcupine, and setting up the whole array of fretful quills 
 that guarded his understanding from the intrusion of novelty 
 in any shape. His daughter's innuendos startled him the 
 more, as he was unaccustomed to see her take any interest 
 
LUCY'S SCHEME 153 
 
 in politics, and he began to think that the whole transaction 
 smacked of disaffection. It was accordingly in a tone of 
 voice a pitch higher than he was in the habit of using when 
 speaking to his darling that he wound up his discourse by 
 saying, • As to those absurd strictures on Government with 
 which you have favoured me, my dear Lucy, let me tell you, 
 and you may tell 'Doctor Antonio, from whom, I suppose, 
 you gleaned them, that a people in possession of a good 
 municipal system, sUch as I see in action here, have no one 
 to blame but themselves, if such occasional grievances, as 
 all communities are liable to, are not redressed in good 
 time.' 
 
 This was one out of a little store of favourite sentences 
 which Sir John kept for effect, and delivered when in a vein 
 of wisdom. What ground he had for believing that the 
 municipal system at work in Bordighera was good, we are 
 at a loss to discover, considering that he had taken no 
 earthly pains to know anything about the matter, unless he 
 took it for granted that a system represented by such jolly- 
 looking fellows as the mayor, and some of the councilmen, 
 whom he knew by sight, could be nothing else than whole- 
 some. 
 
 Lucy had winced several times during the evening's con- 
 versation ; she, however, remained, after the last speech, 
 humbly silent, a better means perhaps of allaying the irrit- 
 able susceptibility of her father's feelings, than any answer, 
 even in the soft, low voice she possessed. Neither did she 
 think it necessary to repeat to Doctor Antonio any of Sir 
 John's last evening's harangue, when he came, brisk and 
 cheerful, the next morning, to give her the news she was 
 longing for, that the man he had spoken of was found, and 
 for fourteen hundred francs had agreed to go in place of 
 Battista, and was positively to set out the following day 
 for Genoa. Lucy's eyes said many more pleasant and grateful 
 things than her words, as she gave into his hand the money, 
 
154 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 which they decided should be sent to the British Consul at 
 Genoa. They were both very happy, talking over the 
 happiness they were preparing for others, and even Sir 
 John might be satisfied for that day : the Government, in- 
 deed all Governments and municipal systems, were merci- 
 fully forgotten. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN THE BALCONY. 
 
 THE easy-chair of Antonio's devising at length arrived, 
 and was duly tried by Sir John, who pronounced it 
 to be the paragon of easy-chairs. Sundry other minor pre- 
 parations connected with the event in contemplation, and 
 among which figured a huge box of drawing materials, 
 supplied from Nice, being completed, on the first day of 
 May, about noon, Doctor Antonio entered Miss Davenne's 
 room, and said, ' Prepare yourself for a great surprise.' 
 
 • What can that be ? ' asked Lucy ; then looking up at 
 him, she seemed to read his face, for her colour rose, and 
 she said, 'Am I to get up?' 
 
 * Brava ! ' shouted Antonio, ' guessed right at first. La 
 lingua battle dove il dente duole. Yes, you are to get up, 
 but on condition of submitting to a quantity of tiresome 
 warnings, directions, and restrictions. You are not allowed 
 to walk, not so much as to put your foot on the ground ; it 
 requires another fortnight of absolute repose. You only get 
 up to lie down quietly on that long chair that Rosa and 
 Speranza are bringing in, and are expressly requested to 
 give yourself up passively to them, and to Miss Hutchins, 
 who will dress you. You are not disappointed after all ? ' 
 he asked anxiously, as he marked the bloom in the fair 
 cheek die away, and the corners of the expressive mouth 
 
 155 
 
156 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 begin to droop. ' I wish that I could let you do more, but 
 I dare not.' 
 
 Lucy must have had a harder heart than she had, could 
 she have been proof against the earnest and feeling tone and 
 look of the Italian. The little cloud of annoyance melted 
 into a sunny smile, — ' I am very ungrateful,' she said, 'for- 
 give me ; ' and she held out her hand to him — such a charm- 
 ing little hand, that he felt a terrible inclination to kiss it ; 
 he contented himself, however, with holding it for a second 
 within his own. An hour after, Sir John giving a helping 
 hand in great glee, Lucy was wheeled through the glass door 
 of the lobby to the balcony we have so often mentioned in 
 this our true story, where an awning had been put up to 
 protect her from the sun. 
 
 ' How beautiful ! how passing beautiful ! ' exclaimed the 
 girl, her eyes dilating as she looked around. ' How could 
 you ever fear, or for a moment think,' turning to the Doctor, 
 ' that my fancy could go beyond such reality as this ? No 
 fancy, not even a poet's, could conjure up, in wildest day- 
 dream, this wondrous beauty.' 
 
 'Truth to say,' he answered, 'I was only a very little 
 afraid of your being disappointed. Sicilian as I am, and an 
 enthusiast also in my admiration of my native island, yet I 
 own that the scene before us is second to none of the most 
 celebrated in Sicily.' 
 
 ' What an Eastern look those waving palms give the hill 
 of Bordighera ! One might believe one's-self in Asia Minor,' 
 said Lucy. 
 
 It was indeed a beauteous scene. In front lay the im- 
 mensity of sea, smooth as glass, and rich with all the hues 
 of a dove's neck, the bright green, the dark purple, the soft 
 ultramarine, the deep blue of a blade of burnished steel, — 
 there glancing in the sun like diamonds, here rippling into 
 a lace-like net of snowy foam. In strong relief against this 
 bright background stands a group of red-capped, red-belted 
 
IN THE BALCONY 157 
 
 fishermen, drawing their nets to the shore, and accompany- 
 ing each pull with a plaintive burden, that the echo of the 
 mountain sends softened back. On the right, to the west- 
 ward, the silvery track of the road undulating amid thinly 
 scattered houses, or clusters of orange and palm trees, leads 
 the eye to the promontory of Bordighera, a huge emerald 
 mound which shuts out the horizon, much in the shape of a 
 leviathan couchant, his broad muzzle buried in the waters. 
 Here you have in a small compass, refreshing to behold, 
 every shade of green that can gladden the eye, from the pale 
 grey olive to the dark-foliaged cypress, of which one, ever 
 and anon, an isolated sentinel, shoots forth high above the 
 rest. Tufts of feathery palms, their heads tipped by the sun, 
 the lower part in shade, spread their broad branches, like 
 warriors' crests on the top, where the slender silhouette of the 
 towering church spire cuts sharply against the spotless sky. 
 The coast to the east recedes inland with a graceful curve, 
 then with a gentle bend to the south is lost by degrees in 
 the far, far sea. Three headlands arise from this crescent, 
 which so lovingly receives to its embrace a wide expanse of 
 the weary waters ; three headlands of differing aspect and 
 colour, lying one behind the other. The nearest is a bare 
 red rock, so fiery in the sun the eye dares scarcely fix on it ; 
 the second, richly wooded, wears on its loftiest ridge a long 
 hamlet, like to a mural crown ; the third looks a mere blue 
 mist in the distance, save one white speck. Two bright 
 sails are rounding this last cape. The whole, flooded as it 
 is with light, except where some projecting crag casts its 
 transparent grey shadow, is seen again reversed, and in more 
 faint loveliness, in the watery mirror below. Earth, sea, and 
 sky mingle their different tones, and from their varieties, as 
 from the notes of a rich, full chord, rises one great harmony. 
 Golden atoms are floating in the translucent air, and a halo 
 of mother-of-pearl colour hangs over the sharp outlines of 
 the mountains. 
 
158 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' There is ample food for your pencil,' said Antonio. 
 'A fortnight hence, when you have become intimately 
 acquainted with, and, so to say, made your own the various 
 beauties you are now viewing with such restless eyes, you 
 will enjoy them to the full.' 
 
 1 But I do so already, I assure you,' affirmed Lucy. 
 
 1 But will do so better in a little while,' persisted Antonio. 
 1 The perception of the beautiful is gradual, and not a light- 
 ning revelation ; it requires not only time, but some study. 
 It is with a landscape such as this as with a piece of music, 
 say a symphony. Many a beauty of detail we can make 
 out on a first hearing, but the connecting-links between the 
 various passages, their reference to each other, and to the 
 whole— what, in short, constitutes the ensemble of the per- 
 formance, does not seize upon us till after we have heard it 
 repeatedly and attentively.' 
 
 *I dare say you are right,' said Lucy, who generally 
 thought Antonio right. *I wonder,' she went on, 'why 
 anything Eastern-looking always takes such a hold on one's 
 fancy. I cannot take my eyes from those palm-trees, they 
 make me think of crusades and knights all mixed up with 
 Scripture stories.' 
 
 I Fancy borrows much from memory,' said Antonio ; 
 ' and so looks back to the past. Stories first heard standing 
 at a mother's knee are never wholly forgotten, — a little 
 spring that never quite dries up in our journey through 
 scorching years.' 
 
 I I love this Bordighera ! ' said Lucy, after a little 
 pause. 
 
 1 Beautiful as it is,' remarked Antonio, ' it robs you 
 of a most extensive and magnificent view of the coast of 
 France. ' 
 
 'I do not regret it at all,' answered Lucy; 'a wide- 
 spread landscape puzzles my attention, and then I never 
 can keep my eye from straining to the horizon. The sea 
 
IN THE BALCONY 159 
 
 and the heavens are" the only large spaces one really 
 enjoys.' 
 
 * Very true, 'said Antonio ; ' you have the soul of an artist.' 
 
 1 1 wish it were so,' said Lucy, slightly colouring. 
 
 1 Now for my duly of cicerone,' said the Doctor good- 
 humouredly. 'You see that small village at the foot of 
 the craggy mountain, it is called Spedaletti, and gives its 
 name to the gulf.' 
 
 1 What an odd name, Spedaletti ! it means little hospitals, 
 does it not ?' 
 
 ' Yes. A friend of mine, who prides himself on being 
 somewhat of an antiquarian, pretends to have ascertained 
 the origin of the name. He says that a ship belonging 
 to the Knights of Rhodes (some of those you were think- 
 ing of just now), while on a cruise in the Mediterranean, 
 I forget the century, landed some men sick of the plague 
 here, where barracks were erected for their reception ; and 
 these same buildings, according to my friend, served as 
 the first nucleus of the present village, which he avers 
 has naturally retained the name of their first destination. 
 To give some weight to my friend's opinion, there are at 
 a little distance the ruins of a chapel called the " Ruota," 
 which may or may not be a corruption of Rodi (Rhodes).' 
 
 1 And are there still hospitals there ? ' Lucy inquired. 
 
 1 No ; Spedaletti in the present day is exclusively in- 
 habited by the healthy families of very industrious fisher- 
 men., who never want for occupation. Nature, which 
 made this bay so lovely, made it equally safe and trust- 
 worthy. Sheltered on the west by the Cape of Bordighera, 
 and on the east by those three headlands, let the sea be 
 ever so high without, within it is comparatively calm, and 
 the fishermen of Spedaletti are out in all weathers.' 
 
 ' And what is the name of that village perched so boldly 
 on the brow of the second mountain, just above Spedaletti? 
 Has that a story also ? ' 
 
160 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 1 It is appropriately called La Colla (the hill). I doubt 
 whether you will think it interesting to know, of course I 
 do, that while the cholera was raging fearfully at San Remo, 
 which lies at the foot of the other side of the mountatn, not 
 one case was heard of at La Colla.' 
 
 1 Such a thing must have appeared very like a miracle to 
 the inhabitants,' observed Lucy. 
 
 1 That there was plenty of nonsense talked on the subject, 
 I have not the least doubt. The extremely elevated situa- 
 tion of La Colla accounts very well for its escape. But a 
 more, striking and really inexplicable fact is, that the fatal 
 scourge did not get round that second cape, the cape of 
 San Remo, but leaped at once to Nice, sparing all the 
 intermediate tract of country. — Confess,' pursued Antonio, 
 smiling, \ that La Colla seems very matter of fact to you 
 in comparison with Spedaletti. Knights and the plague 
 take precedence, do they not, of the cholera and doctors ? ' 
 
 *I will answer you,' said Lucy, 'in the Irish fashion, by 
 asking another question. Is that white speck gleaming out 
 so brightly on that far-away promontory a convent ? ' 
 
 * That is another sanctuary, the Madonna della Guardia, 
 a would-be rival of that of Lampedusa, but beaten hollow 
 by the latter.' 
 
 1 Are all sanctuaries then dedicated to the Madonna ? ' 
 
 * Almost all. The Madonna is the great passion of our 
 people. To me, I openly avow, there is something ex- 
 tremely touching in this, call it superstition if you like, 
 which deifies woman, and makes of her the channel through 
 which compassion and mercy from on high flow to suffering 
 mortals here below. It is the highest compliment paid to 
 your better nature. ' 
 
 1 Do you truly think that women are better than men ? ' 
 ■ My instinctive feeling is that they are,' replied Antonio; 
 ' but, to speak candidly, I cannot boast of sufficient experi- 
 ence of women, or indeed of men, to be able to decide the 
 
IN THE BALCONY 161 
 
 point ex cathedra. This I do know, that of all my fellow- 
 creatures with whom it has yet been my lot to come in 
 close contact, the one I have found far superior to all is a 
 woman.' 
 
 Why such a statement, calculated one would have 
 thought to please her woman's pride, should have chilled 
 Lucy, and made her silent, we do not pretend to guess. 
 Sure it is that it did so, and that she sat, long after the 
 Doctor was gone, unmindful of sea or landscape, of books 
 or pencil, lost in what seemed a melancholy reverie. Poor 
 little Lucy ! she was startled from her thoughts by Sir 
 John coming to her with a letter in his hand. It was 
 from Aubrey, to say that he had been obliged to postpone 
 his departure on account of regimental business, and that 
 he knew not, under the circumstances, when he should be 
 able to get away, not for four months, certainly, but that 
 he would write again to let his father know. Lucy bore 
 this piece of news very philosophically. 
 
 1 After all, papa, it is only four months, and one comfort is, 
 we need not be in such a hurry to leave this.' 
 
 * Well,' replied Sir John, 'as it turns out, perhaps we 
 may call this delay lucky ; — yes, after all, this news takes 
 a weight off my mind; — it would have been a dreary 
 welcome for my boy to find none but servants in his home. 
 We can travel slowly, and stop a short time in Paris ' 
 
 ' O papa ! ' said Lucy, * I do not care a bit about Paris ; 
 let us stay in this beautiful Italy as long as we can. ' 
 
 * But, my dear, ' replied rather fretfully the Baronet, who 
 did not like so many scotches put to his plans, * I wish you 
 to know something of Paris j it is right and proper. We 
 went through it so hurriedly last year, and you were so ill 
 at the time, that you could scarcely form an idea of it.' 
 And after a little inward cogitation, as if discussing some 
 point with himself, he added, 'Though vastly inferior to 
 London, still Paris is a place to spend a few weeks in 
 
 L 
 
i62 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 rather agreeably; there are some things worth seeing in 
 Paris ; the Champs Elysees, for instance, although not to be 
 compared to Hyde Park ' 
 
 But this first of May was destined to be a red-letter day 
 with Sir John, the result of whose summing up of the com- 
 parative merits of the two great cities was never made public, 
 in consequence of an interruption from his man John, who 
 announced that there was a man below who wanted to see 
 Sir John. Where did he come from? The man had 
 mentioned Doctor Antonio's name, and John thought he 
 looked like a horse-dealer. • A horse-dealer ! ' cried the 
 Baronet ; and he ran down the steps with an alacrity 
 that would have done honour to more juvenile legs than 
 his were. 
 
 Any one in Sir John's predicament, any one, we mean, 
 who, being accustomed to a daily ride, had been cut off 
 from his favourite exercise for nearly a month, will easily 
 understand how the very mention of a horse-dealer sounded 
 as welcome in Sir John's ears as the rushing of water in 
 the ears of a thirsty wayfarer. He had had two horses 
 sent him successively from Nice, the first of which was 
 soon discovered to be lame, the second so vicious as to be 
 perfectly unmanageable ; and the upshot was, that he had 
 given up riding in despair. 
 
 The man turned out to be really a horse-dealer on his 
 way to Genoa with horses for sale, first-rate animals, bestie 
 magnifiche, as he said. The conversation was kept up in a 
 sort of lingua Franca, by which, however Babel-like, the 
 principals managed to understand one another. Of course, 
 it was * il Dottore ' who had said the * Signor Milordo 
 Inglese ' would like to see the horses ; they were at so 
 short a distance that ■ Sua Eccellenza ' could almost see the 
 stables ; and the cunning fellow stood on his toes, and 
 pointed somewhere or nowhere. However, he carried 
 away Sir John in triumph, accompanied by John, who 
 
IN THE BALCONY 163 
 
 passed with his master for being a thorough connoisseur in 
 horseflesh ; and in a couple of hours after, to Lucy's utter 
 astonishment and delight, her father made his reappearance 
 under her balcony mounted on a square-made, handsome- 
 looking bay cob, warranted quiet as a lamb, which he 
 properly was, as he numbered a good third more of years 
 than the dealer had sworn to. 
 
 * I hope he really is quiet,' cried out Lucy, rather alarmed 
 at her father's gay manoeuvring. 
 
 * A baby might ride him,' answered Sir John, who had 
 for a year or two felt the necessity of avoiding caracoling 
 spirited steeds. * See what a mouth he has, Lucy, he obeys the 
 least touch ; ' and suiting the action to the word, the en- 
 chanted Baronet turned and returned the cob, till Lucy 
 called out ' Papa, papa, you will make yourself and the 
 poor beast quite giddy. ' 
 
 While this was going on, a lad in a post-boy's jacket and 
 hat in hand came stealthily through the little garden gate, 
 and, after a moment's hesitation, went up to Sir John, who 
 immediately reined in his steed. This was Prospero, who, 
 in his humble way, was about to contribute his mite 
 towards the Baronet's gratification on this memorable day. 
 Though Prospero's heartfelt thanks were delivered in a 
 jargon which had no meaning for Sir John's ears, there 
 was that in the poor lad's voice and look which conveyed 
 to the English gentleman's mind as clear a perception of 
 what the Italian said and meant, as if he had spoken 
 English like John. The pale countenance and emaciated 
 form were an emphatic accompaniment to his simple 
 eloquence. Sir John was moved, and to hide that he was 
 moved, he immediately began in a blustering tone to read 
 the boy a lecture on the duties of post-boys to travellers in 
 general, and to travellers of a certain sort in particular. 
 This harangue being denuded of all that expressive panto- 
 mime of look and gesture, which would have made patent 
 
164 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 to any understanding the lad's address, fell heavily on the 
 uncomprehending ears of Prospero, who, twirling his hat, 
 and with eyes fixed to the ground, looked very like the 
 criminal Sir John was carefully describing him to be. 
 
 In this crisis, just when the Baronet, still on the back of 
 his cob, was beginning to be puzzled how to conclude the 
 scene with dignity, his eye lighted on Doctor Antonio, who 
 had walked up to the Osteria to see the purchase, of which 
 by this time all the parish had heard. ' My dear Doctor,' 
 cried out Sir John in a hearty voice, ' I am very glad to 
 see you ; I am under infinite obligations to you.' Doctor 
 Antonio to be called ' my dear Doctor,' in that bluff, sin- 
 cere way by Sir John Davenne ! It was the first time, so 
 no wonder Antonio pondered on the words. He begged 
 Sir John not to talk of obligations, and congratulated him 
 warmly on the lucky chance that had secured him such a 
 capital beast. John came up at this point, and announced 
 to his master that the stable wherein he used to keep the 
 former two horses, for some reason or other, could not be 
 had for a week, at least, — an intelligence which marred 
 not a little the good old gentleman's satisfaction. Seeing 
 which, the kind Doctor took the repentant-looking Prospero 
 aside, and after a minute's parley with him, turned to the 
 Baronet and said, that at the house where the lad lived 
 there was a tolerably good stable, and that, perhaps, it 
 would be a convenience to Sir John, and most certainly an 
 act of charity on his part, to intrust the care of the horse to 
 Prospero, who, when able to resume his duty as post-boy, 
 had a younger brother to act as groom in his place. The 
 Baronet caught at once at the proposal, and Prospero, not 
 a little elated at this piece of good fortune, helped to 
 dismount his new ' Signor Padrone,' who delivered the cob 
 to his care, with special directions to be every morning by 
 seven o'clock at the Osteria, to receive daily orders, 
 Lucy, who from the balcony could hear and see all that 
 
IN THE BALCONY 165 
 
 was passing below, had followed all the incidents of this 
 little episode with an intensity of interest which, to an in- 
 different observer, could not but have appeared unwarranted 
 by the occasion ; and when Sir John had called Antonio 
 * my dear Doctor,' a flush of complacency had overspread 
 her white cheek, and her smile had become sweeter and 
 sweeter. After all, it was but natural, that, kind-hearted 
 as she was, the better understanding which was evidently 
 growing up between her father and her doctor should give 
 her pleasure. 
 
 ' How kind of you ! ' said Lucy to Antonio, as he went 
 up to her, and took a seat by her side. 
 
 ' Kind ! how do you mean ? 'asked Antonio, his eyebrows 
 bristling up like a hedgehog who puts himself on the defen- 
 sive. 
 
 1 To think about the horse,' explained Lucy. 
 
 ' Ha ! ha! ha! ' and the Italian forthwith opened his safety 
 valve against charges of kindness, that is, — he laughed his 
 own peculiar laugh, a clear, merry laugh, with something 
 still in it of boyhood's ring. ' But suppose I have not been 
 thinking about it, what then ? ' 
 
 Lucy's eyes looked incredulous. 
 
 ' When some time ago you expressed a wish that your 
 father could have a horse, I mentioned the subject in a 
 letter I was writing at the moment, and then, I am afraid, 
 I forgot all about the matter ; so you see, you have only to 
 be grateful to a lucky chance.' 
 
 ' And did this easy-chair and awning for a foolish girl, 
 who showed her gratitude by being cross and impatient, 
 come here by chance too ? ' 
 
 'There again,' said Antonio, throwing back his head 
 with a movement usual with him when annoyed, ' as if such 
 common courtesies were worth making a fuss about. At 
 this rate, if I sneeze, and a neighbour says, " God bless 
 you," I am bound to him for life. 
 
166 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Lucy could not help laughing at the oddity of the illustra- 
 tion, and asked, ' May I, without giving offence, express my 
 admiration of the beautiful workmanship of this chair, and 
 of the bright yellow wood of which it is made ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, you may, ' replied Antonio, smiling ; ' it always 
 does me good to hear the people or things of this country 
 praised. The chair is of olive wood, and is the work of a 
 very clever fellow. If we ever go to Taggia together, I 
 will show you pieces of furniture of the same wood, and by 
 the same hand, that I dare say would not be out of place 
 even in Davenne Hall.' 
 
 ' Such a clever workman, ' said Lucy, * ought to go to 
 London ; he would be sure of making a fortune there.' 
 
 * Very likely,' answered Antonio, ' but he does not seem to 
 feel the necessity of making one. The people of the Riviera 
 are extremely attached to their birthplace, and stick to their 
 homes and quiet habits, seldom going abroad unless com- 
 pelled by want. Besides, our chairmaker is something 
 more than a skilful workman, he is an artist.' 
 
 'I can understand anyone being reluctant to leave this,' 
 said Lucy, ' much more any one with an artist's eye and 
 feelings. Where could he find a nature like this ? ' and her 
 own eyes gleamed with deep rapture. Antonio was watching 
 her ; for all answer he said, ' The open air has done you 
 good already, you look more — lively than this morning.' 
 
 ' Do I ? I feel so well and happy ; and it is said, you 
 know, that happiness does a great deal for one's looks.' 
 
 Antonio threw up those black eyes of his into Lucy's soft 
 blue ones, but made no remark. The look and the silence 
 embarrassed Lucy, she knew not why, but she felt as if called 
 upon for some explanation, which rather disappointed 
 Antonio when it came. 
 
 * My brother cannot be home for four months, and so now 
 papa will not fret about our staying here ; and then I am so 
 glad about the horse, and that I am able to sit here and 
 
tN THE BALCONY 167 
 
 enjoy this beautiful view. Have I not a right to feel 
 happy?' 
 
 'To be sure,' said Antonio, rather gravely, and stroking 
 his beard, * to be sure. ' What had he missed in the enumera- 
 tion of Lucy's causes of happiness ? 
 
 A short pause ensued, during which Doctor and patient 
 seemed anything but at their ease. * By-the-by,' said the 
 Italian, rousing himself, ' I have not seen your drawing ; 
 will you show it me ? ' 
 
 * It is all in a mess,' said Lucy, with a little blush. ' I 
 can make nothing of it ; I am ashamed of myself, and utterly 
 disheartened. ' 
 
 ' I guess how it has been,' replied Antonio ; 'you have 
 been too greedy. Shall I give you a little advice ? You see 
 that half-ruined tower, shaded by palm-trees, on the Cape 
 of Bordighera ? — try that first, or that piece of wall with its 
 drapery of bitter-sweet, standing forward so well from the 
 background of dark blue sea. Do not bewilder yourself 
 with too many objects at cnce ; and, take my word for it, 
 it will not be long before you master strong foregrounds and 
 soft distances. But beware of ambition.' 
 
 * "Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself and falls," ' 
 said Lucy, laughing. 
 
 1 That is from your Shakespeare,' said Antonio. ' I think 
 all English people know him by heart. I never met one of 
 your countrymen or women, however ignorant in other 
 respects, who did not some time or other give out a line 
 from Shakespeare. What a man he must have been, who 
 could thus embody, and "give a local habitation and a 
 name " to the feelings of a whole nation for centuries to 
 come ! ' 
 
 ' You seem as much at home with Shakespeare as with 
 your own poets,' said Lucy. 
 
 * He is one of my poets. Shakespeare is not the poet of 
 any age or country, but of mankind. He, like the sun, 
 
168 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 spreads light and warmth over the whole world of intelli- 
 gence. — Can you draw figures?' went on the Doctor, point- 
 ing to the beach. ' What a group those fishermen would 
 make, with that woman on the donkey stopping to speak 
 to them ! ' 
 
 1 But I cannot draw figures the least bit in the world,' said 
 Lucy, in a despairing voice. 
 
 * Well, you can learn. Figures are so picturesque in 
 Italy, it is almost a matter of duty to copy them.' 
 
 * Yes, but one must know how. I am sure I have not an 
 idea how to begin, whether with the hat or the shoes ; and 
 who is there here to teach me ? ' 
 
 ' If you really wish for a master, I will find you one.' 
 1 Can you, indeed? then I do wish it.' 
 
 * I will introduce you to a master to-morrow. You have 
 often said that you would like to read Dante's poem with 
 some one who could explain and annotate upon it ; now, if 
 you continue in that mind I know of a fit person. ' 
 
 * You seem to have the gift of finding everything I want 
 or wish for,' said Lucy, turning a pair of grateful eyes to 
 him. 
 
 ' You were so uncomplaining in your submission to my 
 severe orders,' answered Antonio, ' that I feel bound, now 
 that you are able to leave your bed, to give you the benefit 
 of all that our neighbourhood affords, to amuse you ; and I 
 assure you we have more resources than at first might be 
 thought possible. Among all classes in this country there 
 exists a singular aptitude to learn, and much natural taste. 
 For instance, we have a tolerably good band of musicians, 
 most of them self-taught, and an excellent organist, who 
 never had any master but himself. ' 
 
 * Wonderful ! ' said Lucy ; ' and are they as good as they 
 are clever ? ' 
 
 * To say the least, they have many good points,' returned 
 Antonio ; ' they are sober, independent, and warm-hearted ; 
 
IN THE BALCONY 169 
 
 there is a native mildness in their blood ; and when they 
 quarrel — for where is it that men are always at peace with 
 one another ? — the quarrel rarely ends in blows. You look 
 as if you scarcely believed me. ' 
 
 Lucy's colour rose, for she felt what Antonio was saying 
 to be the very reverse of the character she was in the habit 
 of hearing ascribed to Italians. 
 
 * Forget preconceived notions, or rather,' continued An- 
 tonio, ' remember all, and compare hearsay evidence with 
 what comes under your own observation. Facts are stub- 
 born things, Miss Davenne, and observation of facts will 
 show you that amongst us there is scarcely an example of 
 wives and daughters bearing the marks of the brutality of 
 their husbands and fathers ; that drunkenness is a very 
 rare thing, and so is crime ; that there are whole provinces 
 — that of San Remo is one — in which no murder has been 
 committed within the memory of man. Property is so 
 divided, that the two extremes of great riches and great 
 poverty are almost unknown, and so, fortunately, are most 
 of the evils arising out of them, — beggary, for instance. I 
 am not speaking of the great towns, of course, but of the 
 country districts, in which nearly every man owns his little 
 bit of land, which he cultivates as well as he can. The 
 small proprietor who has time to spare hires his services to 
 the neighbour, who, possessing more land, requires more 
 hands, but both employer and employed deal and converse 
 with each other on a footingof perfect equality. The hired 
 labourer no more considers himself the inferior of his 
 employer because he takes money from him, than the 
 employer thinks himself the labourer's superior for paying 
 it.' 
 
 1 You are describing a real Arcadia,' said Lucy. 
 
 * I wish it were so,' continued Antonio, shaking his head ; 
 ' but there are deep shades to the picture. The baneful 
 action of despotism makes itself felt here as everywhere else 
 
170 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 in Italy. The state of utter ignorance in which the popula- 
 tions I am speaking of are left by a Government systemati- 
 cally hostile to all sorts of instruction — the worship of the 
 dead letter in lieu of the spirit that vivifies, in which they are 
 nursed and kept by their priests — the habit of dissembling 
 grievances, for which there is no possible redress, and which 
 it would be dangerous to resent ; — all these deleterious 
 influences combine to keep the standard of morality rather 
 low. The man who would not for the world eat a morsel 
 of meat on Friday, or miss hearing mass on a saint's day, 
 will not scruple to cheat his master of an hour's work, or 
 to say the thing that is not, to obtain an abatement in the 
 rent he pays to his landlord.' 
 
 'That is too bad,' said Lucy ; 'and do the priests know 
 of such doings, and not try to prevent or put a stop to 
 them ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly they do not use their authority to the extent 
 necessary to cure the evil. They fear to lose their influence 
 if they deal, I will not say severely, but firmly, with their 
 flock. There seems to be a tacit agreement between sheep 
 and shepherds. Give us everything in point of form, say 
 the latter. We will, answer the former, but on condition 
 that you do not exact too much in point of substance. Thus 
 the letter kills the spirit. Provided the churches be well 
 attended, the confessionals besieged, the alms plentiful, the 
 communion tickets numerous, our Reverendi seem to care little 
 whether morality remains stationary or even slides back- 
 wards. The Cure, who is in many respects what I believe 
 you call vicar in England, preaches from the pulpit that 
 lying is a sinful habit, and that a hired labourer owes a fair 
 day's work for a fair day's wages, but to little purpose. 
 And why is there no amendment ? Because the confessors 
 do not practically support what is preached ; they are too 
 lenient, and dare not, textually dare not, refuse absolution 
 to those of their penitents who are in a state of backsliding. 
 
IN THE BALCONY i?t 
 
 They dare not, because they say, "We do not choose to lose 
 our penitents," and such to a certainty would be the case 
 were they to show a proper degree of severity. The aim 
 and ambition of confessors, you must understand, is to have 
 a great number of penitents, and they vie with each other 
 who shall be most run after. The country folks know this 
 weakness and profit by it. It has happened to me more 
 than once to hear it said, "If my confessor will not give 
 me absolution, I shall go to such and such a one who has 
 'larger sleeves,'" meaning by that, who is more indul- 
 gent.' 
 
 * These are, indeed, ugly shades to your pretty picture,' 
 sighed Lucy. 
 
 'Very ugly,' echoed Antonio. 'The great business of 
 our Reverendi — there are, of course, many honourable excep- 
 tions — is the embellishment of their respective churches ; 
 and for this purpose they take advantage of the taste for 
 the beautiful, which is innate in our people. Offerings or 
 contributions flow in plentifully for the purchase of a new 
 organ, a set of silver lamps, for pictures, for the adornment 
 of the shrine of the Madonna. At the same time the town is 
 dirty, not lighted at night, the pavement all holes, the roads 
 are detestable, and bridges absent where bridges are most 
 needed. But what does it matter so long as the church 
 looks splendid, and outshines this or that church in the 
 neighbourhood ? ' 
 
 ' And how do you fare with these Reverendi, as you call 
 them?' asked Lucy. 
 
 * Why, so-so ; they are not over friendly to me, I believe, 
 the Cure especially, who cannot forgive my regularly 
 refusing the ticket that he as regularly sends me every 
 Easter.' 
 
 ' What is it for ? ' 
 
 'A most vexatious botheration. At Easter, the Cure's 
 take upon themselves to send to every one of their 
 
172 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 parishioners what is called a communion ticket, and they 
 require of every person, after communicating, to leave this 
 ticket in the vestry as a proof of having done so. You can 
 conceive that this species of coercion is very humiliating, — 
 at least I feel it so. Very willing as I am to fulfil my 
 religious duties, still I choose to do so freely, and like a 
 man who judges for himself, not like a boy, on compulsion. 
 So I always send back the ticket.' 
 
 ' And the Cure is angry with you,' said Lucy, with a 
 little grave face. 
 
 'Yes, but he keeps his anger to himself. He and his 
 reverend brethren give me credit for being a tolerable 
 physician — as good, at least, as can be hoped for here- 
 abouts ; but it is not their confidence in my medical skill 
 alone that keeps them civil to me. Public opinion runs 
 high in my favour, and even here, and in spite of all, public 
 opinion has its weight. And then my beard,' continued 
 Antonio, stroking it playfully; 'is not that one of the 
 strongest possible proofs of my favour with our three-tailed 
 Pacha, the Commandant of San Remo ? ' 
 
 ' How so ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 ' It may seem strange, but nevertheless it is true, Miss 
 Davenne, that one of the strictest duties, as well as one of 
 the most agreeable sports of Commandants, is to suffer no 
 chin to be unshorn ; and mine, I believe, is the only one 
 in all the Riviera which can boast of anything like a beard 
 on it. The truth is, when I first came to San Remo, I was 
 so occupied by day and night, that I literally lacked the 
 time to shave. This reason I pleaded to our Gessler, who 
 accepted it, and little by little, and by dint of habit, my 
 beard came to be tolerated.' 
 
 ' You seem to care very much about your beard,' observed 
 Miss Davenne, smiling at Antonio's grave way of speaking 
 about it. 
 
 'I confess I rather do,' he answered, smiling also. 
 
IN THE BALCONY 173 
 
 ' Without speaking of the time it saves, and other disagree- 
 ables, I think that since Nature, who does nothing without 
 a purpose, bestowed a beard on man, she meant it as orna- 
 mental or "useful. Altogether, it seems to me that every 
 man, but an Italian in particular, with his olive complexion, 
 looks better with than without a beard. You are laughing 
 at me, but tell me which do you prefer, which looks best, 
 one of Vandyck's heads with its beard, or a modern close- 
 shaven portrait ? I suspect the advantage lies with the 
 former. ' 
 
 'Yes,' said Lucy, with a little blush, and a little hesita- 
 tion, as her own remark to her father on first seeing Doctor 
 Antonio started to her memory, • when living men are like 
 Vandyck portraits.' 
 
 'No reservations,' cried Antonio, 'or I shall think you 
 share in the prejudice I have heard exists in England 
 against beards.' 
 
 ' Oh no, I don't ! ' said Lucy, ' but most English people 
 dislike them.' 
 
 ' Well, let them shave, there 's no accounting for tastes,' 
 observed Antonio, with an air of resignation. 
 
 * You promised once to tell me what made you such a 
 favourite with this Commandant. By-the-by, does he 
 command all the Riviera ? ' 
 
 ' No such thing. Every province of this kingdom wears 
 a like jewel on its head.' 
 
 ' And in what originated your favour with this one ? ' 
 
 ' In a most absurd notion of his. I have often told you 
 f that, when I came to San Remo, the cholera was at its 
 height. I found the Commandant panicstricken, and 
 labouring under a fixed idea that he must take the disease. 
 I saw at once the necessity of setting his imagination to 
 work the contrary way, so I gave him a small phial of 
 camphorated vinegar, with directions to smell it a certain 
 number of times a day, assuring him that it was an infallible 
 
174 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 specific against cholera. And he believes it to this day,' 
 went on Antonio, with a hearty laugh. ' The phial is now 
 empty, and should the cholera reappear, he knows of no 
 one to whom he could apply for a fresh supply of this 
 wonderful antidote but myself ; so he is very civil to me, 
 and — to my beard.' 
 
 Lucy enjoyed the joke, and laughed so heartily that 
 Antonio joined her till the tears stood in his eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE 15TH OF MAY 1840. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT has slipped away, during which 
 Lucy's health and other matters have been steadily 
 progressing at the Osteria ; new habits have been formed, 
 new occupations and pursuits entered upon — in short, every 
 consecutive day has brought to our littlfc colony its fresh 
 supply of pleasurable excitement and increased good-will. 
 
 The weather, to begin with, has been splendid, and Sir 
 John has not once missed his morning ride, and is en- 
 chanted with Buffy (thus Lucy had christened the plump 
 bay cob), whose temper and paces, Sir John declares, 
 improve wonderfully with every ride ; — an assertion to 
 which the Count, who is now a daily visitor to the Osteria, 
 nods enthusiastic assent, observing that really his English 
 friend has had the animal for nothing. By what mysterious 
 process these two gentlemen understand one another, con- 
 sidering that the stock of spoken signs they have in 
 common is limited to a score or so of French words on 
 either side, is a matter of wonder to everybody, most of all, 
 perhaps, to themselves. But that they do understand one 
 another is a fact beyond dispute, inasmuch as Sir John 
 professes himself highly indebted to his noble friend for 
 the primary idea of a project which engrosses most of Sir 
 
 John's time and thoughts, and in the realisation of which 
 
 175 
 
176 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 he is greatly assisted by the Count and Doctor Antonio. 
 The project is no other than to make a collection of the 
 finest young orange and palm plants to be found in the 
 neighbourhood, and transplant them to the seigneurial seat 
 of all the Davennes. ' Yes, I shall build an orangery,' says 
 Sir John, 'but that's nothing, I shall build a palmary, 
 Lucy, a palmary ! ' and exultant Sir John rubs his hands. 
 ' You see, my dear, I shall not only create the thing, but 
 the very name of it.' The Baronet follows up his scheme 
 with unabated ardour ; is in communication with all the 
 owners of palm-trees in Bordighera — Bordighera, that stands 
 unrivalled for palm-trees ; rides over to San Remo, where 
 the orange-trees are said to have distanced all competitors ; 
 is for ever receiving, and, with Lucy acting as a secretary, 
 answering letters connected with his plan, — in short, Sir 
 John gallops both cob and hobby-horse to his heart's 
 content, and to that of all about him. 
 
 A post-diem celebration of Miss Davenne's twentieth 
 birthday, which, as you remember, she had actually spent 
 in her bed, has been the grand event of the fortnight. 
 Wonderful the doings, and great the bustle at the Osteria, 
 which is beginning to forget its ugliness, and to fancy, like 
 many other plain old things, that very fine feathers make 
 very fine birds ; and it cannot be denied that Sir John has 
 done his best about the new plumage. Ay, a dinner — 
 hybrid, perhaps, between a public and private entertain- 
 ment, and for which Sir John managed to send out printed 
 cards of invitation — has been given to the Count, and some 
 other notables, among whom figured Doctor Antonio, the 
 Mayor, several Councilmen, the Justice of Peace of Bordi- 
 ghera ; and in the evening minor luminaries, one of them 
 Lucy's drawing-master. The dinner was on a splendid 
 scale, the late Bishop of Albenga's cook surpassed himself ; 
 John could only prove equal to himself. Sir John did the 
 honours the more charmingly that he did not do them in 
 
THE \,$TH OF MAY 1840 177 
 
 state, but in an incog, unpretending way, as one may 
 suppose other magnates do, when they drop their crowns 
 and make believe to be only Counts or Countesses. 
 Probably Sir John felt as he was accustomed to do, when 
 presiding at the annual dinner he gave his tenants at 
 Davenne. 
 
 In Italy, as elsewhere, toasts are a prevalent fashion, but 
 speeches of dubious eloquence are superseded by the rattle 
 of glass touching glass in general sympathetic clatter. The 
 Count proposed a bumper to the health of their dis- 
 tinguished host, and of his accomplished daughter, and 
 the sentiment was drunk with universal enthusiasm. The 
 Mayor, two Councilmen, and the Justice of Peace followed 
 in the same track, showing much ingenuity in devising 
 variations on the same theme. Sir John felt himself called 
 upon to return thanks for himself and his daughter, which 
 he did in a rather lengthy speech; and Doctor Antonio, 
 after transmitting to the guests in Italian the Baronet's 
 effusion, conveyed to him in a few neatly-turned English 
 phrases, the gratified feelings of the company. 
 
 During the evening Lucy made her first appearance, 
 wheeled in upon her rolling-chair, and we need scarcely say 
 that her beauty and grace created quite a sensation among 
 the proverbially enthusiastic Italians. Antonio sang some 
 of his most spirited Sicilian songs, which were heartily 
 applauded and encored ; and the drawing-master, who is 
 something of an Improvisatore, extemporised a sonnet to 
 Miss Davenne, in which he compared her to a lily, and to 
 a palm-tree, and to Minerva into the bargain, all which 
 was received with loud bravos by those present, with the 
 exception of the Count, who (it being a notorious matter 
 that the Count and the drawing-master were at daggers 
 drawn) was observed to make, while the sonnet was being 
 delivered, sundry wry faces, intended to convey and ex- 
 press considerable amount of doubt as to the bona fide im- 
 II 
 
178 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 promptu nature of the performance. Except this trifling 
 incident, which escaped the notice of both the Baronet and 
 his daughter, and the marked coolness with which tea was 
 received by the majority — a damp soon counteracted by Sir 
 John ordering in a fresh supply of black bottles for the 
 dissenters— everything went on capitally, and entirely to 
 the satisfaction of all concerned ; so much so, that Antonio, 
 after a rather long colloquy with the Baronet in the balcony, 
 came forth and announced seance tenante in the Amphi- 
 tryon's name, that should a little conversation and a little 
 music prove a sufficient inducement to give him their com- 
 pany, Sir John Davenne would be delighted to receive all 
 present on every successive Wednesday and Saturday, at 
 eight o'clock in the evening. 
 
 There is a circumstance connected with this entertain- 
 ment too important to be overlooked, and it is, that Doctor 
 Antonio achieved the conquest of Sir John on the occasion. 
 Was it his rigorous professional costume, and white cravat 
 — was it his gentlemanly manner, or his speechifying 
 powers, or all the three causes combined, that won Sir 
 John's British heart ? We cannot say, but to this we must 
 testify, that Sir John's heart was won. Sir John treated 
 Doctor Antonio all dinner-time, and throughout the even- 
 ing, with marked distinction, addressing him publicly as 
 ' my honourable friend,' and privately and confidentially as 
 * my dear friend ' ; he even went so far as to declare empha- 
 tically to Lucy, after every one was gone, that ' could that 
 man be brought to shave, he would not be out of place at 
 the table of a king.' From that day forward, the Doctor 
 was promoted to the honour of shaking hands with the 
 Baronet ; and let Antonio say what he would, John was 
 despatched daily to the Doctor's dwelling with Sir John 
 Davenne's compliments, and the newspaper of the previous 
 day. 
 
 Already have two brilliant 'soiries musicales,' as Sir John 
 
THE i$TH OF MAY 1840 1 79 
 
 calls them, been held in the course of the last week at the 
 Osteria, and the expected third is creating great anxiety in 
 the neighbourhood j the English Milordd's concerts are the 
 talk of the country for ten miles round. Visitors from so 
 far off as Ventimiglia and San Remo have left cards for Sir 
 John and Miss Davenne, and many are making interest 
 with the Count and the Doctor for invitations. The man- 
 agement of the music devolves entirely on Doctor Antonio, 
 under whose superintendence quartettos are executed. 
 The performers, a bassoon, a violin, a violincello, are all 
 dilettanti from Bordighera ; Antonio makes the fourth, 
 playing by turns the guitar or the flute. Hutchins' little 
 room is transformed on Wednesdays and Saturdays into a 
 refreshment-room, the buffet in which is most regularly 
 attended. To see Sir John on these evenings is to see a 
 man thoroughly on good terms with himself — step, voice, 
 and look express, ' I am monarch of all I survey ' ; and let 
 wise folks theorise as they may, the upshot of the matter 
 will always be, that mankind, including womankind, do 
 like occasionally to be ' the glass' of fashion, and the mould 
 of form, the observed of all observers ' — were it only at 
 Bordighera. On all other evenings of the week Sir John's 
 society is limited to the Count and Doctor Antonio, to 
 which privileged circle Sir John, while sipping his tea, 
 imparts little glimpses of London life — fashionable life of 
 course — interspersed with hints that, like flashes of light- 
 ning, reveal something of the splendours of Davenne Hall, 
 and of the greatness and mightiness of the Davennes, or 
 ' the family,' as Sir John fondly calls his race. As ten 
 strikes, he regularly sits down to chess with Doctor An- 
 tonio (this is the signal for Lucy to withdraw, and for the 
 Count to begin to dose), and invariably wins two games 
 out of three, Antonio having discovered that Sir John can- 
 not lose games without losing his temper also, and when 
 cross, Lucy's father is unbearable. 
 
i8o DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Almost the whole of Lucy's time during this fortnight 
 has been spent in the balcony. Ever since she has been 
 able to pass the day in the open air, her health has 
 strengthened considerably. She exceedingly enjoys the 
 * soirees musicales, ' greatly for the sake of the music — 
 Lucy is really fond of music — but a little, too, for 
 the sake of the effect she herself produces. Curious 
 enough ! Lucy never seems to have surmised before that 
 she was lovely, or if she had surmised it, only begins 
 now to care about being so. Every one, she observes, is 
 so well bred, so respectful to her, so full of attention. 
 Lucy is, in truth, a little queen with a little court. She is 
 making visible progress in drawing, particularly in figures, 
 to which she has taken a great fancy, so much so, that she 
 has sketched Speranza twenty times over — Speranza, who 
 sits to her with angelic patience for hours, no longer wan 
 and dejected, but brightened by some mysterious presenti- 
 ment that a happy change is at hand for her ; besides, 
 there are the practisings on the guitar, and Doctor An- 
 tonio's visits, so Lucy's hours are pretty full. The drawing- 
 master, too, amuses her to a degree, — such a fiery, violent 
 little man, so good-natured withal, and so clever ! Dante, 
 Lucy tells the Doctor, is rather too deep a well for her, but 
 she perseveres in drawing up all she can. She openly con- 
 fesses that she does more fully enjoy the prospect from the 
 balcony now than on the first days ; to use her own 
 expression, it seems as if all its separate beauties had 
 melted into one great beauty. 
 
 Doctor Antonio does not look elated by high favour 
 with Sir John, he takes it meekly, may be like a man who 
 felt himself entitled to it all along ; nor have his successes 
 as conductor of the orchestra, and guitar and flute-player, 
 turned his head. Doctor Antonio continues exactly the 
 same serene, unassuming, serviceable, good-humoured 
 creature he was fifteen days ago. If there be any change in 
 
THE i$TH OF MAY 1840 181 
 
 him, it is a change for the better in his personal appearance, 
 so slight, however, that the eye must be scrutinising indeed 
 — the eye of a woman probably — to find it out. His coat 
 is perhaps a thought more carefully brushed, his hair and 
 beard more carefully trimmed, his cravat less loosely 
 twisted round his throat than it used to be. Nor does the 
 management of the musical department at all interfere 
 with his attendance on Miss Davenne, which is as assiduous 
 as ever ; and though he has evidently plenty to do else- 
 where, he finds time to make himself useful and agreeable 
 at the Osteria. For instance, on hearing Lucy observe 
 one day that the mosquitoes were beginning to become 
 troublesome at night, he fell to work immediately, fastened 
 up poles to her bed, and to Sir John's, and upon these 
 poles hu»g mosquito nets ; then on a complaint from the 
 same quarter of flies being intolerable, he caused large 
 bundles of a common viscous plant (Erigeron Viscosum, 
 Lin. ), dipped in milk, to be hung up in all the rooms and the 
 balcony, which attracted all the flies, and freed her at once 
 from one of the plagues of Italy. Lucy had one thought 
 very carefully hidden in the inmost folds of her heart, and 
 that thought was, that surely there never was any one in 
 the world like this Doctor Antonio. 
 
 Such was, on the whole, the rather satisfactory state of 
 things and parties in the Osteria del Mattone on this blessed 
 day, the 15th of May 1840. 
 
 It was ten in the morning, as lovely a morning as poets 
 and birds can sing. Miss Davenne, in a light-blue gown, 
 sat in the balcony busy with her pencils. Was the choice 
 of a blue dress quite accidental on her part, or was it in 
 any way connected with Antonio having mentioned the 
 evening before, that, of all the colours, he liked blue the 
 best ? Who can tell ? Antonio was also seated on the 
 balcony, a little behind Lucy, and pulling his beard 
 violently, a sign of troubled weather. Hutchins within 
 
182 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 was arranging in a vase a large bunch of roses just 
 brought by the Doctor. He rarely came empty-handed ; 
 and yet his horror of anything like thanks remaining un- 
 abated, Lucy had learned to acknowledge his little presents 
 only with a smile. Contrary to custom, the two had little 
 to say to one another, and conversation flagged. May be 
 that Lucy was engrossed with her drawing, may be that she 
 was otherwise absorbed. Antonio was most palpably so, 
 and his wonted equanimity had deserted him this morning. 
 It is the first time since we made his acquaintance that he 
 betrays strong symptoms of a malady which might have 
 been supposed utterly unknown to him — irresolution. A 
 word or a phrase trembled on his lips which he was afraid to 
 utter. He occasionally bent forward as if about to rise, then 
 fell back on his seat again. At last he made an heroic 
 effort, bounded up from his chair, and said resolutely — 
 
 1 Suppose, Miss Davenne, you were to try and walk ? ' 
 
 A welcome summons to Lucy, whose pale cheek, paler 
 even than usual on this morning, is suddenly suffused with 
 crimson. As Miss Lucy has declared some time ago that 
 she will rather die in her chair than use crutches, Hutchins 
 is called, and desired to support her young lady on one side, 
 while Doctor Antonio does as much on the other. Lucy 
 rises, leans on the two proffered arms, and moves. An- 
 tonio's heart beats loud and strong as the piston of a steam- 
 engine. 
 
 1 Do you feel pain anywhere ? ' asks the Doctor in a 
 whisper. 
 
 ' Not any,' declares Lucy, but her ankle is' a little stiff. 
 
 1 And,' pursues Antonio, in a queer thick voice, ' do you 
 think you could walk alone. ' 
 
 'I think I could,' says Lucy, turning her smiling face up 
 to his. 
 
 'Well, try.' 
 
 The Doctor and Hutchins gently let go their hold of 
 
THE i$TH OF MA Y 1840 183 
 
 Lucy ; Antonio stands in front of her with outstretched 
 arms, ready to catch her, much in the attitude of a mother 
 who watches the first steps of a dear babe. Lucy walks on 
 unsupported, — one, two, three, four steps — only four ; but 
 more than enough for Antonio's quick, experienced eye to 
 feel sure that there is no cause for any apprehension of 
 impaired gait. 
 
 1 Viitoria ! ' shouts Antonio, clapping his hands so loudly 
 that Lucy and Hutchins are both startled by the report ; 
 ' Vittoria ! ' he shouts again, then suddenly checks himself, 
 lest his joy should betray the extent of his fears, and 
 occasion Lucy a retrospective shock. But tears are in his 
 eyes as he and Hutchins once more took hold of their pre- 
 cious charge ; ' for,' continues the Doctor, pretending to 
 composure, yet still all in a flurry, ' she must not over-fatigue 
 herself; she must lean well on his arm, so,— and now lie 
 quietly on the sofa — there, all's right again.' To see his 
 countenance now all in a glow with noble and sweet 
 emotion, to hear his voice, to listen to his laugh, must have 
 made the conquest of the most morose of human-kind. 
 Lucy does listen, but silently ; she never for a moment 
 removes her eyes from him ; they follow him as he strides 
 into the balcony, as he comes back with her little table, as 
 he first stoops to slip a bit of paper under one of its legs, 
 and then arranges her pencils and colours just where they 
 ought to be. Lucy does not speak, does not even say 
 1 thank you ' ; for Lucy feels that she could not say it with- 
 out doing something else she is striving against. She does 
 not even dare to extend her hand to him, as her heart, full 
 to the brim, prompts her to do, lest she should give way ; 
 but those clear soft eyes that rest on him speak volumes. 
 
 After half an hour's rest, Lucy had another walk from 
 the sofa back to the balcony, and was to have a third 
 within another half-hour from the balcony to the sofa, and 
 no more, till Antonio called again — an injunction that will 
 
184 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 not be infringed, judging from the manner with which it 
 was received. While the third, and for the time being last, 
 trip was in progress, Sir John came in ; and we leave the 
 reader to imagine if the good-humour that shone in his eyes 
 was likely to be spoiled by the sight of Lucy on her feet 
 again, and actually walking. He hastened to withdraw 
 her arm from Hutchins', and put it under his own, delighted 
 to take just five steps with his darling, and replace her on 
 the sofa. And three happier faces than these three, we lay 
 a wager on it, the lobby of the Osteria had never beheld. 
 
 When the present excitement produced by this incident 
 had subsided, Sir John began recounting with great glee 
 his morning's excursion. Sir John had ridden over early to 
 San Remo, to inspect a garden recommended to his notice 
 by Doctor Antonio, and in that garden had found a treasure 
 — a real treasure, as he emphatically declared, 'orange- 
 trees of the Bergamot species, flowers of the size of those 
 (pointing to the roses on the table), and a fragrance, a 
 fragrance ! ' Sir John was as happy at this discovery as if 
 the Bergamot species were of his own making. The owner 
 of the garden had himself shown Sir John over the grounds, 
 and placed all the plants at the Baronet's disposal. ' A 
 most gentlemanlike person,' Sir John asserted (what a 
 pity, Sir John, you do not keep a note-book now !) — * a 
 most gentlemanlike person, to whom, by-the-by, I have 
 given an invitation for to-morrow's soirie musicale. ' Hav- 
 ing thus far vented his enthusiasm, and fondly kissed Lucy, 
 and patted her cheek, and observed to the Doctor how well 
 she looked — an assertion the Doctor allowed to pass un- 
 contradicted — Sir John sat down to his letters and papers. 
 Antonio said good-bye, and was already at the glass door, 
 when he met with a sudden obstruction in the shape of 
 Speranza, closely followed by her mother, who both dashed 
 passed him, rushing into the room like thunder-bolts. 
 
 Both the women are in tears, and half choke with sobs, 
 
THE i$TH OF MA Y 1840 185 
 
 yet theirs are not the looks or gestures of people under the 
 pressure of painful feelings. Speranza, on her knees by the 
 side of the sofa, clings passionately to Lucy, covering her 
 hands and feet with kisses and tears. Rosa, less violently 
 agitated, has stopped short in the middle of the room, 
 where, alternately wiping her eyes with the corner of her 
 apron, and clasping and unclasping her hands, she ejacu- 
 lates all the time, ' Oh caro ! oh Madonna Santissima ! — 
 Oh, that I should have lived to see this day, ohime ohimef 
 Presently it is the Doctor's turn to have his hands kissed 
 and bathed, which is no sooner done than Sir John has to 
 go through the same ordeal. ' The girl is mad,' cries the 
 astounded Baronet, getting very red in the face, and 
 violently repossessing himself of his own hand. ' Yes, 
 says Antonio, ' mad with joy. Battista is come, I suppose, 
 is he not, you silly girl ? ' The silly girl's smiling assent 
 sparkles through a fresh shower ; she takes Antonio's hands, 
 and gently draws him towards the balcony, where Speranza 
 and he, and Rosa after them, vanish from sight. 
 
 1 What sadly demonstrative creatures these Italians are ! ' 
 observed Sir John, in a dissatisfied, grumbling tone, by 
 way of entering a protest against his momentary emotion. 
 
 1 It is their nature to feel strongly, and to express 
 strongly what they feel, ' answered Lucy. 
 
 ' There 's no denying the last part of your statement, my 
 dear,' said her father ; ' the more 's the pity.' 
 
 * Why so, papa ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 * Because,' replied Sir John dryly, ' any such exhibition 
 of sensibility is highly derogatory to human dignity, and 
 carries with it a presumption of shallowness. Deep feelings, 
 like deep rivers, Lucy, so I have heard, are rarely noisy.' 
 
 ' But in this case, papa, nobody can doubt the reality of 
 poor Speranza's feelings, and you must have been struck by 
 that yourself, for I saw the tears in your eyes.' 
 
 * Tears in my eyes ! ' growled Sir John, in a scornful 
 
186 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 tone, ' nonsense ! ' and, taking up the Times newspaper, he 
 raised it as a barrier between himself and Lucy's investigat- 
 ing glance. 
 
 Antonio, after a little while, came back and said that, as 
 in duty bound, Battista craved the honour of being admitted 
 to the presence of his kind benefactor and benefactress. 
 ' Oh yes, by all means ! ' cried Lucy eagerly, ' let him come 
 in at once.' Young ladies of twenty, whatever their station, 
 are apt to feel some curiosity about the hero of a love-story, 
 let him wear a ducal mantle, or only a seaman's blue jacket. 
 1 Yes, let us get it over at once ; but on condition, ' inter- 
 posed Sir John, ' that we have no fresh supply of tears or 
 hand-kissing.' 
 
 'I think there is no fear of that,' said Antonio; 'the 
 women are now more composed, and, as far as I can judge, 
 Battista is not much addicted to the melting mood.' 
 
 ' So much the better for him and for us, ' grumbled Sir 
 John ; ' I have had enough of that sort of thing to-day to 
 serve me for the rest of my life.' 
 
 And now the hero of the day, a comely, middle-sized, 
 strong-built, chocolate-complexioned young man of two-and- 
 twenty, led by Speranza, and pushed on by Rosa in the 
 rear, makes his anything but triumphal entry, and with 
 slow, reluctant steps approaches the sofa where Lucy rests. 
 The young lady, feeling for his confusion, kindly, and in a 
 low voice, addresses some words of welcome to him. 
 Battista looks up, utters a half-cry, and stands for a second 
 amazed ; and, with averted eyes, would then have taken to 
 his heels., but for Rosa and Speranza, who catch and bring 
 him back. He turns his eyes to the right and to the left, 
 plunges them into the depths of the red woollen pouch he is 
 twisting in his trembling hands, looks anywhere but at Lucy 
 — verily, Battista would rather face a hurricane on a furious 
 ocean than those blue eyes. ' Are you crazy ? ' says Antonio, 
 perplexed ; ' why, man, have you nothing to say to this 
 
THE i$TH OF MAY 1840 187 
 
 lady, who has been a second Providence to you ? ' Battista 
 makes ineffectual attempts to speak ; at last the inarticulate 
 sounds become a muttered whisper of — ' It is the Madonna,' 
 and down he drops on his knees, and crosses himself most 
 vigorously. Sir John may say what he chooses, but we 
 question whether homage in better taste was ever paid to 
 earthly purity and loveliness. Antonio saw the expediency 
 of cutting short a scene which, from the very intensity of 
 the poor lad's feelings, was becoming embarrassing to all 
 parties ; so stepping up to him, he raised him up, saying, 
 ' That will do, my lad, the lady understands all you wish to 
 express — come away now, we will put off your thanks to 
 another time ; ' and patting him good-humouredly on the 
 shoulder, the Doctor towed the abashed boy out of the 
 room, the two bewildered women following in the rear. 
 
 We beg the reader to believe that this is no picture drawn 
 from fancy, but a real sketch from nature. Had not such a 
 scene as we have described, with all the particulars related, 
 come to pass under our own eyes, we should never have 
 ventured to put it on paper. We ourselves can understand 
 very well how a simple, ignorant, but imaginative Italian 
 youth, whose notion of all that is beautiful and graceful is 
 from earliest infancy embodied in the image of the Madonna, 
 that is, in a lovely figure with flowing, fair curls, clothed in 
 blue, — we can understand, we repeat, how such a youth, 
 put suddenly face to face with such a suave specimen of 
 womankind as this young English girl, should identify her 
 with his long-worshipped type of loveliness and gentleness. 
 
 Battista's infatuation held good for some time, in spite of 
 Antonio's lectures and Speranza's scoldings, who was quite 
 ashamed, she declared, of seeing him make such a goose of 
 himself. Battista had but one argument, but with that he 
 parried and overruled all objections ; he had seen her before, 
 he was sure of that, and she had spoken to him, and told 
 him that she was the Madonna. It was, according to 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Battista, one night, a tremendous night at sea, when, tired 
 with long working at the pumps, he had thrown himself on 
 a locker and fallen asleep. And the Madonna appeared to 
 him in his sleep, and said, with flashing eyes, * Is this thy 
 devotion to me, that thou goest to thy rest without saying a 
 " salve regina " in my honour ? ' With that Battista awoke, 
 got up, said his prayers, reciting as usual a ' salve regina, ' 
 and then once more fell asleep. When, lo ! the Madonna 
 came to him again, this time with most benignant eyes, and 
 said, in sweet tones, ' Battista, thou art a good boy ; as long 
 as thou puttest thy trust in me no evil shall befall thee ; be 
 of good cheer, thou shalt see Bordighera again.' Now, 
 whether they believed it or not, Battista did not care — 
 Battista was growing dogged with these continual reasonings 
 — but the voice he had heard, the eyes, the hair, the figure 
 he had seen in the upstairs room of the Osteria on that 
 blessed morning of the 15th of May, were the voice, hair, 
 eyes, and figure of Battista's nocturnal visitor at sea. 
 Battista could swear to it all, and to the blue gown into the 
 bargain. 
 
 ' We must help them to marry,' said Lucy in the after- 
 noon, when alone with the Doctor. ' Must we ? ' answered 
 Antonio, with a merry laugh ; ' I thought all that would 
 come of itself soon enough, even without our help. ' 
 
 ' I have a great mind to call you a slow doctor, as papa 
 once did,' said Lucy, with a pout of impatience; 'you 
 know very well what I mean. Did you not tell me yourself 
 that Rosa's affairs were in a. bad state? and is it not a fact 
 that Battista has lost all he had in the world ? Now, is it 
 not very plain that they do want our assistance to be able to 
 marry ? ' 
 
 ' Do not say our assistance, ' said Antonio, ' for as to me, 
 I have nothing to give but good wishes. ' 
 
 4 Not at all,' said Lucy quickly ; ' you must give a great 
 deal more, — time, and trouble, and all sorts of things ; you 
 
THE 15TH OF MA Y 1840 189 
 
 must find out about their debts and difficulties, and cal- 
 culate what sum will be necessary to set them afloat.' 
 
 *A large sum,' replied Antonio gravely, shaking his 
 head at the eager speaker, *a large sum.' 
 
 * Never mind,' said Miss Lucy, ' papa will give it, what- 
 ever it is, to please me— he must ; I shall tell him that we 
 might as well have left Battista on board his ship, if we do 
 nothing more for him, and for Speranza.' 
 
 Antonio only smiled, but his heart was pouring blessings 
 on her, though the blessings never reached Lucy's ear. 
 
 A day begun under such happy auspices — a day so rich in 
 deep and gentle emotions to most of our personages, came 
 to a close,* we are glad to say, in a manner worthy of itself. 
 Towards midnight, all the echoes of the garden were 
 awakened by the sounds of sweet music. The dilettanti of 
 Bordighera in full force, we need not say by whom inspired, 
 assembled below the balcony to give a grand serenade to 
 Miss Davenne. Sir John, who had not yet gone to bed, 
 went down to the garden to acknowledge the compliment, 
 and was received by loud * vivas ! ' Trays with wine and 
 glasses were soon circulating among the company, by the 
 united exertions of Rosa, Speranza, and the no little 
 astonished John, whose raised eyebrows, in spite of his rigid 
 silence, had more than once betrayed of late the series of 
 surprises through which his master was making him pass. 
 When we speak of the company, we mean not only the 
 musicians, but also a great number of amateurs who had 
 followed in their wake, and filled the garden. 
 
 Lucy, from behind her blind, enjoyed the serenade ex- 
 ceedingly. The music was unquestionably good ; but that 
 which gave her far more pleasure than the well-played over- 
 tures to ■ La Gazza Ladra,' and * Semiramide,' was a villa- 
 nella for three voices, one of them a rich, sweet bass, dear 
 to her ears and heart. These villanellas, somewhat of the 
 fashion of the serenade in Don Pasquale, are the popular 
 
190 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 songs of the Riviera. The melody, of the simplest kind, is 
 taken up in succession by one or other of the voices, with 
 no other accompaniment than a few syncopated notes from 
 the other two. Altogether an effective sort of performance 
 when the voices are true, which is commonly the case in 
 Italy — and one full of melancholy. So much so, at least, in 
 the present instance, that Lucy forthwith began to do freely 
 what she had so determinately resisted doing in the morn- 
 ing, and made her way back to her bed crying heartily. 
 Her tears, however, did not interfere with her sleep, which 
 was sound and refreshing. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 « C* EE what a beautiful carpet Nature has spread out for 
 v3 you ! ' said Antonio, a few days after, as he handed 
 Miss Davenne into the garden. The night had been windy, 
 and there was on the ground a thick silvery layer of orange 
 and lemon blossoms, out of which came forth in strong 
 relief a profusion of violently red wild poppies. * Will you 
 have such in store for me when I come to Davenne ? ' 
 
 1 Not so rich and gaudy as this,' answered Lucy ; ' still,' 
 continued she, with some pride, ' you will find at Davenne, 
 at all seasons, what my county alone can produce — real 
 English turf, as green as only itself ever is, and as soft as 
 velvet. ' 
 
 * I shall admire it very much, ' said Antonio ; ' indeed I 
 feel inclined beforehand to admire everything that is 
 English. ' 
 
 'Do you?' was the reply, in a little joyous, triumphant 
 tone. ' Oh, then, come to England soon, and I shall be 
 your cicerone there ! ' 
 
 ' In that case I must not go for a long time,' said the 
 Italian jokingly; 'or have you forgotten that you are to 
 stay here, and build a cottage out of spite to somebody or 
 other ? ' 
 
 * I wish it were true ; I could stay here willingly all my 
 life,' said Lucy simply. 
 
192 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 1 Could you, indeed ? ' exclaimed Antonio with a thrill in 
 his voice, while a column of blood rushed to his face. 
 
 She looked up to him. 
 
 'But you can't,' he added gravely, nay, with a touch of 
 despondency, 'you know you cannot. What would the 
 world say,' he went on with an awkward attempt to laugh, 
 ' if the daughter of Sir John Davenne were to desert her 
 place in society, and bury herself in an obscure Italian 
 village ! ' 
 
 He paused slightly, it might be for an answer, then con- 
 tinued, — ' Rank and riches are chains of gold, but still 
 chains. It was Seneca, was it not, who said that a great 
 fortune was a great servitude.' 
 
 * I fear so,' answered Lucy, with a sigh that would not be 
 kept down. 
 
 The couple moved on in silence. It was a treat to see 
 them walk leisurely along — he measuring his steps to hers, 
 and supporting her with such gentle care — she leaning on 
 his arm so confidingly, so complacently. Both young, 
 elegant, and graceful — both bearing about them that cast of 
 distinction which characterises refined natures ; yet with so 
 much in common, how different in type ! Lucy all golden 
 hues and softness, Antonio all dark shades and energy ; — 
 her little cherub's head bending gracefully forwards as if in 
 search of a stay, his so resolutely set upon his shoulders ; — 
 her step so light and childlike, his so manly and steady, as 
 if at every stride he took possession, in right of some un- 
 known power, of every bit of ground he walked upon. 
 Such a contrast, and yet such a harmony — strength and 
 weakness blended together ! Every characteristic feature 
 of the one setting forth to advantage and giving zest to that 
 of the other — the fiery black diamond casting lustre over the 
 oriental pearl, the oriental pearl in return lending softness to 
 the black diamond. 
 
 While Doctor Antonio and Miss Davenne were, notwith- 
 
IN THE GARDEN 193 
 
 standing sighs and little misgivings, enjoying this first 
 morning's saunter together, they were inflicting real suffer- 
 ing on an unsuspected witness of their tete-h-tite. Battista, 
 of course, was every day, and all day, at the Osteria, most 
 of the time in the garden, where he used to smoke his pipe, 
 and have a peep at Miss Davenne from some convenient 
 place, probably with the design of getting clear of his per- 
 plexities about her. Sir John having complained of the 
 unwonted odour of tobacco infesting his appartments, 
 Battista had renounced his pipe, but not his observations, 
 which he carried on most perseveringly, comforting himself 
 with chewing the fragrant weed the while. Now, Lucy 
 never having ventured out of the house before, her presence 
 close to his daily post came quite unawares upon Speranza's 
 lover, who hastened to take himself and his confusion as far 
 from the young lady and her companion as the limits of the 
 little enclosure would allow, in the hope of being able to 
 make his exit when they should have turned towards the 
 house again. But to his great mortification, instead of 
 turning, they continued their walk directly towards him, 
 and thus cut off his meditated retreat through the garden 
 gate, leaving him no alternative but to confront them, 
 which he would not do, or of ignobly hiding behind the 
 trunks of some trees, which he did, and where the Doctor's 
 keen glance was not long in detecting him. 
 
 'Look at your devotee,' said Antonio; 'see how he is 
 skulking behind those trees to avoid your presence. Shall 
 we march straight upon him, and force him to extremities ? ' 
 
 'No,' replied Lucy, thoughtfully. 
 
 'Are you tired? should you like to sit down?' asked 
 Antonio. 
 
 ' No, not yet, thank you, I would rather walk a little 
 longer,' and on they walked, Lucy still musing. 
 
 ' Suppose,' said she all at once, ' you were to go to Lon- 
 don and settle there ? ' 
 
 N 
 
194 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Antonio looked at her with unfeigned surprise, then 
 answered, ' Well, suppose I did, what great good would be 
 obtained then ? ' 
 
 • Why,' said Lucy, ■ with your talents and medical skill, 
 and papa's interest, you would soon get a large practice, 
 and make a fortune.' 
 
 'Did we not agree,' retorted Antonio, with a smile, 'that 
 fortune might be a drawback ? ' 
 
 'True,' replied Lucy, rather abashed, 'yet it seems so 
 natural— does it not? — to try and better one's condition.' 
 
 'Well, but will a fortune better my condition?' said 
 Antonio doubtingly — *- that is the question. Let us take 
 it for granted that the practical difficulties of the plan you 
 recommend are overcome ; let us assume that my fortune is 
 made. I am rich, then, but to what purpose ? and mark first 
 at what cost : at the cost of a complete exile from my 
 country, at that of all my inclinations and habits, of much 
 that cheers my heart and eyes, of the familiar tongue, of 
 my dear warm sun and blue sea, of those orange groves, 
 wafting to me perfumed recollections of my sweet Sicily. 
 These things, light losses to many, perhaps, would be heavy 
 ones to me, yet to be borne, were the aim to be reached 
 worth the sacrifice. But such an aim is exactly wanting 
 for me. My mother, thank God, is tolerably provided for ; 
 my other relations well off. As for myself, I really should 
 be at a loss to say what increase of comforts Fortune could 
 bring to me.' 
 
 Antonio paused, but as Lucy was silent, he continued — 
 
 ' A fine mansion ? — but I feel lodged like a prince in my 
 little dwelling at Bordighera, larger^ after all, than I re- 
 quire, and which, for situation and the prospect it com- 
 mands, beats many a lordly chateau. To be sure I have no 
 velvet carpets nor double green-baize doors. What use is 
 there for such things in this genial climate, where the 
 winters are so short and mild, that I scarcely think of 
 
IN THE GARDEN 195 
 
 having a fire lighted ? A rich table ? — but mine is the table 
 of an epicure ; no need here to be a man of capital, no need 
 of forcing-houses to have the luxuries of the table at com- 
 mand. Equipages and horses? — have I not my calessino 
 and shaggy little horse? Then I dislike riding and driving, 
 and never feel so happy as when I can have a good walk, 
 fanned by this wholesome, sweet-scented sea-breeze. So 
 that, all things considered,' wound up the Italian, as if his 
 discourse must have brought conviction home to his patient 
 listener, ' you see that a fortune could do nothing for my 
 real comforts.' 
 
 As he stopped, he was struck by the prHor that had suc- 
 ceeded to the vivid blush on Lucy's cheek. * You are over- 
 tired,' he said, ' let us go in at once.' 
 
 Lucy's womanly instinct had been sharply roused by what 
 Antonio had said, and left unsaid. The apparent indif- 
 ference with which he had received and treated her pro- 
 posal, without so much alluding at least to one argument, 
 whose mention seemed so naturally called for by the wish 
 she had just been expressing, of remaining were she was for 
 life ; the sort of affectation with which he had dwelt upon 
 his reasons for being content with his lot, — all this had 
 affected her painfully. Lucy had no conception of that 
 firm self-control which enables a man to rein in at once an 
 involuntary emotion, and hold straight on along the high- 
 road of common-sense. Antonio, whatever his object, had 
 purposely viewed the idea she had thrown out in an ex- 
 clusively matter-of-fact way women can hardly bear, and 
 are always hurt by, the more or the less depending on the 
 relation in which they stand to the speaker. The one in- 
 stinct awoke another, which bid her conceal her wounded 
 feeling, and she saw no better means of doing so than going 
 on resolutely with the subject. 
 
 ' Be it all as you say,' resumed Lucy, * yet you must, at 
 all events, admit that in London your abilities and know- 
 
196 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ledge would be better appreciated than here; and there 
 must be satisfaction in being properly valued. I suppose 
 you are not insensible to fame ? ' 
 
 ' Fame ! ' echoed Antonio, smiling ; ' have you forgotten 
 Dante's definition of fame ? " Non h il romor mondan altro 
 che unfiato — Di vento ch'or va quindi ed or va quinci." ' * 
 
 1 It sounds so sad and unnatural,' said Lucy, ' to hear 
 one so young talk as if he had not one spark of ambition 
 left.' 
 
 *I beg your pardon,' retorted the Doctor quickly; 'I 
 have an ambition, and a great one, that of serving my 
 country, and doing my best in her cause.' 
 
 * What chance is there of your doing that cause more 
 good here, situated as you are, than in London ? ' 
 
 1 Very little, certainly ; however, should any movement 
 take place in Sicily, or in any other part of this peninsula, 
 as sooner or later must be the case, think how much more 
 speedily and easily I could join it from here than from 
 London.' 
 
 * You are fondly devoted to your country,' said Lucy. 
 ' Who is not ? ' replied Antonio. 
 
 ' Are you sure that the cause you are engaged in is the 
 rightful cause ? ' 
 
 * As sure as I am that there is a God in heaven,' 
 answered Antonio solemnly ; * what makes you ask ? ' 
 
 'You must make allowance for — for my prejudices, I 
 suppose,' said Lucy. *I have heard so many strictures 
 passed on Italian character, not only by papa, but by many 
 other of my countrymen, — I have heard so much said against 
 the Liberal party in Italy, particularly while we were at 
 Rome, that ' Lucy hesitated. 
 
 * That you are rather inclined to think they must be in 
 
 11 the noise 
 
 Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind, 
 That blows from divers points.' — Cary. 
 
IN THE GARDEN 197 
 
 the wrong,' said Antonio, finishing the sentence for her. ' I 
 do not wonder at it, nor do I wonder at the opinions you 
 have heard expressed by Englishmen on these subjects. 
 The sympathies of the strong and the powerful are seldom 
 with the weak and the oppressed. Do you recollect how 
 ingenious Job's friends were in proving that it was his fault 
 if he lay covered with sores on the dunghill ? Such is the 
 common tendency of human selfishness in presence of suf- 
 fering, in order to dispense with compassion and assistance. 
 That our national character may be open to objections (pray 
 show me the people whose character is not), that busy- 
 bodies, nay, evil, self-seeking spirits may be found in the 
 ranks of the national party — where are they not ? — I can 
 readily admit. Far be it from me to hold out my country 
 as a pattern of perfection. Italians are men like other men, 
 with their share of man's greatness and man's weakness. 
 Look through the world, study the history of mankind, and 
 what is the lesson they teach? — one of reciprocal forbearance 
 and indulgence. But,' proceeded he with growing anima- 
 tion, ' believe me, Miss Davenne, when I say, what I am 
 ready to proclaim aloud, and to seal with my blood if 
 necessary, that Italy is a noble, much trampled on, much 
 wronged country, and her cause one as holy as truth and 
 justice can make a cause. Excuse my warmth,' continued 
 Antonio, relapsing into his usual sedate manner ; ' but if 
 you knew the hundredth part of the self-devotion and 
 sacrifice spent in behalf of this ill-fated land, with no better 
 meed from the world than sneering indifference, you would, 
 I am sure, sympathise with my feelings.' 
 
 A tear trembled in Lucy's eyes as she replied, ■ But I do 
 sympathise with your feelings, — I wish so very much you 
 would tell me all about your country. ' 
 
 'I will some day, at least about Sicily,' said Antonio; 
 ' but now you really need some rest, and see, there comes 
 your drawing-master.' 
 
198 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Lucy's drawing-master, side by side with Sir John, was 
 indeed hurrying across the garden, talking all the while in 
 a thundering voice, and accompanying what he said with 
 frantic gesticulations. Had it not been for Sir John, the 
 big-headed little man would, notwithstanding Doctor An- 
 tonio's loud calls, have passed on without noticing Miss 
 Davenne or her cavalier. 
 
 * What on earth has happened ? ' cried the Doctor. 
 
 * A piece of such rare impudence as passes imagination !' 
 ejaculated the drawing-master, stopping short, and throw- 
 ing his hat on the ground in a rage. — ' Cose incredibili> or- 
 rende, mostruose! Can you believe that now, when the 
 organ-builder is come from Nice to set up the organ, the 
 Count after all his promises refuses to receive him, and 
 flatly denies that he ever engaged to give him a room in 
 his palazzo ? Denies it, sir, with the minute of our pro- 
 ceeding of the 19th November 1839, every word of which 
 I myself wrote down at the time and place, — with that 
 minute, I say, staring him in the face, the mean, stingy 
 fellow ! I will make ten thousand copies of that minute, 
 and of that of this morning's meeting, and to every copy I 
 will affix in red ink this verse of Berchet,' — and he recited 
 with immense emphasis the following four lines : — 
 
 ' Vile, un manto d'infamia hai tessuto 
 L'hai voluto, sul dosso ti sta ; 
 Ne per pianger, o vil, che farai, 
 Nessun mai dal tuo dosso il torra.' 
 
 LITERAL TRANSLATION. 
 
 Coward ! thou hast woven a mantle of infamy, 
 Thou hast chosen it, it hangs on thy back ; 
 Nor for tears that thou mayest shed, 
 Will any one ever take it off thy back. 
 
 ' Yes ; I will spread and distribute these copies all over 
 the Riviera, and have this noble Count hissed in our streets 
 
IN THE GARDEN 199 
 
 and highways ; I will brand him, and hand him down to 
 posterity as the barefaced impostor he is.' 
 
 Having made this passionate declaration, the incensed 
 little body stopped to take breath, picked up his hat, and 
 with quite a dramatic change of look and gesture, said gal- 
 lantly to Miss Davenne — 
 
 1 1 rely on the Signorina's well-known goodness to excuse 
 me from giving her a lesson to-day. I am in no mood for 
 it ; and I have arrangements to make with regard to this 
 unpleasant affair, which render my presence in Bordighera 
 imperative;' — then, turning to Antonio, he added, with a 
 solemnity that more than bordered on the ludicrous — 
 
 1 Of one thing you may rest assured, my friend, the Con- 
 fraternity of the Reds shall come out of this difficulty with 
 honour, though it be at the cost of all I possess in the 
 world ; ' so saying, he trotted out of the garden, first giving 
 his hat such a resolute thump on his head as to send it down 
 over his eyes. 
 
 ' Had you not better follow him ? ' said kind Miss Lucy 
 to Doctor Antonio. ' If he were to meet the Count while 
 he is in such a passion, I am afraid there would be some 
 mischief. ' 
 
 * Do not make yourself uneasy as to that,' replied Antonio, 
 smiling ; ' with all his fury and blaze, our little friend is a 
 most peaceful creature, he would not hurt a fly willingly. If 
 he were to meet the Count just now, he would probably 
 show his displeasure by a peculiarly stately bow, or at the 
 worst by a volley of harmless verses, hurled in petto at his 
 pro tempore foe. ' 
 
 * But what is all this fury about ? ' asked Lucy. * I could 
 not find out what made him so angry.' 
 
 'I must begin- by telling you,' said Antonio, 'that the 
 Count is priore (president), and your drawing-master sotto- 
 priore (vice-president) of the Confraternity of the Reds. 
 But you know nothing of the Reds or the Whites. Sup- 
 
DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 pose, as you are to have no lesson, that I were to give you 
 a lecture on Confraternities.' 
 
 Before Lucy could answer, Sir John said, ' Ay, pray do, 
 Doctor Antonio ; and instead of going to the balcony, let 
 us have chairs out here, and listen to the Doctor's story 
 under these orange-trees.' 
 
 When they were all seated, Antonio began : — 
 ' As I told you more than once before, the parish church, 
 its embellishment, the splendour of the church services, and 
 processions, are the great interest, indeed the only public 
 excitement accessible to the mass of the laity here. The 
 parish church, with its churchwardens, choristers, and 
 officials of all sorts, affords scope, however, to the activity 
 of only a limited number of persons. To remedy this in- 
 convenience, there have arisen, under the wing of the 
 parent establishment, brotherhoods of many colours, whose 
 business it is to assemble in a place of worship of their own 
 for prayer in common, to bury their dead, and under one 
 pretext or another, continually muster in processions. 
 There are here, as in every little town of the Riviera, Con- 
 fraternities of the Reds, Whites, and the Blacks, so named 
 from the colour of the hooded robes worn by the brethren. 
 Each of these associations, naturally not over-friendly the 
 one to the other, has a numerous staff of dignitaries and 
 functionaries — a prior and under-prior, a prioress and under- 
 prioress, a chapter, or body of councillors, choristers, crucifix- 
 bearers, standard-bearers, mace-bearers, lamp-bearers, and 
 so on, whose annual election, especially that of the priore 
 and sotto-priore, and chapter, set the brethren in a blaze. 
 Thus, you see, eveiy one of these societies becomes a small 
 focus of petty ambitions, rivalries, intrigue, and gossip. 
 What wonder if, in the state of utter ignorance wherein the 
 majority are kept, and which renders them incapable of intel- 
 lectual enjoyments and pursuits — if in their exclusion from 
 all participation, even in the management of their parish 
 
IN THE GARDEN 201 
 
 affairs, or of anything to do with those local interests, such 
 as are confided in England to corporations, — what wonder, 
 I say, if, in the absence of legitimate sources of excitement, 
 as necessary to man as the very air he breathes, these good 
 folks should fall back on futile and childish occupations ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' interrupted Sir John knowingly, ' an absolute 
 government cannot help much of what you complain of, 
 Doctor Antonio ; change one thing, and all the rest tumble 
 about your ears. But after all, you do not mean to say 
 that the different parishes do not elect their own town- 
 councillors, out of whose number, I suppose, the mayor is 
 chosen ? ' 
 
 * Elect their own town -councillors ! ' cried Antonio, c not 
 even in a dream. A mad dog has not greater horror of 
 water than our ruling powers of the elective principle. 
 Municipal institutions are a dead letter here — a body with- 
 out a soul, a mere mockery. Do you wish to know who 
 chooses the mayor and town-councillors ? The late mayor 
 (necessarily a creature of the government, or he wouldn't 
 have been a mayor), the Cure, and the officer of the Cara- 
 bineers, these three make out a list, which is placed before 
 the Commandant for approval and revision. The Com- 
 mandant sends it duly revised and approved to the Inten- 
 dente (the chief civil magistrate of the province), who in 
 his turn forwards it to Turin, where it receives the official 
 confirmation. As to your observation,' continued Antonio, 
 turning to Sir John, ' that all I complain of is the unavoid- 
 able consequence of an absolute government, I can only 
 ask, if any particular form of government avowejdly works 
 badly, why should it find defenders and upholders among 
 those who would not submit to it in their own country ? ' 
 
 Sir John pursed up his lips most ominously, but did not 
 speak. 
 
 ' I now come to the kernel of the matter,' said Antonio, 
 without appearing to notice the cloud on the Baronet's 
 
202 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 brow. * The Chapter of the Reds, the Count presiding as 
 usual, some time ago voted a sum for the purchase of an 
 organ for their own little church, or oratorio, as they call it — 
 money is never wanting for such objects. At a later period, 
 and when the organ in question was almost finished, the 
 Chapter met again to consider the propriety of voting a 
 further sum to defray the travelling expenses, and the stay 
 here of the organ-builder. It was on this occasion that the 
 Count declared he would take all that upon himself, and 
 receive the organ-builder at his own palazzo, whereupon 
 there was a unanimous vote of thanks to the Count. This 
 took place in that famous sitting of the 19th November 
 1839, to which the drawing-master just now referred. It 
 would seem that the Count, who has the reputation of 
 being a stingy man, wishes now to take back his word, and 
 refuses to fulfil his promise. Inde ira. ' 
 
 Sir John fumed a good deal on hearing this, and pro- 
 tested that there must be some gross mistake in the state- 
 ment of the drawing-master. The Count a stingy man ! 
 Nonsense ! He had put his casino at his (Sir John's) 
 disposal, twenty times over. A nobleman like the Count 
 was incapable of such shabby tricks. He would see the 
 Count himself, and have the whole matter cleared up. 
 
 Sir John was as good as his word. On the evening of 
 that same day he had a long conversation with the Count, 
 the upshot of which was, that on the morrow the organ- 
 builder was installed in the Count's palazzo, to the infinite 
 satisfaction of all parties. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IN THE BOAT. 
 
 ONE afternoon, as Lucy, arm-in-arm with her father, 
 was strolling as usual about the garden, Antonio a 
 few paces in front of them, the latter took the bar off the 
 little gate that opened on the beach, and led the way down 
 a gentle slope to the sea-side. The path, as smooth and 
 carefully swept as a gravelled garden walk (we suspect 
 Battista of having had some hand in this), was bordered on 
 either side by a quantity of yellow, white, and pink flowers, 
 shooting out of the dry sand as brisk and vivacious as if 
 planted in the richest soil. Lucy was so taken up observ- 
 ing, admiring, and picking them, and so intent on listening 
 to Antonio's explanations about this particular genus of 
 marine plants, that she did not notice Battista with another 
 man, standing by a boat with a gaily stripped awning, its 
 bow already in the water, till she came close to them. 
 
 * Oh, what a pretty boat ! ' exclaimed she. 
 
 ' The boat and the crew are here for your service, if you 
 feel inclined to make use of them,' said Antonio to her. 
 
 * Thank you, I shall enjoy a row on this beautiful, 
 beautiful sea so much ! ' exclaimed Lucy in high glee. 
 * You have no objection, papa ? But,' added she with some 
 timidity, ■ will it be safe to go with only two men? ' 
 
 * You will be as safe as in your balcony,' replied Antonio. 
 
20 4 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 1 Battista is a first-rate boatman as well as sailor, no one 
 more expert in the management of sail or oar. The 
 countrymen of Columbus are well known as capital seamen, 
 allowed to be so even by the English, who are proud, and 
 justly so, of their superiority on the sea. An intelligent 
 Government,' continued Antonio, as he handed Lucy into 
 
 the boat, 'would work wonders with such elements ; but ' 
 
 and the complement of the sentence was a shrug and a sigh. 
 
 ' Lucy looked at the speaker, and said, ' Now, we are 
 none of us to think of Governments or politics ; we are 
 going to enjoy ourselves this afternoon.' There was so 
 much of the woman's kindness mixed with the girl's buoy- 
 ancy in this, that the Italian did not feel sore at the remark. 
 Lucy only liked to hear Antonio talk of the troubles of his 
 country when Sir John was not present. 
 
 There was not a ripple on the sea, whose bright blue 
 was only now and then chequered by broad white streaks 
 — milky paths on the azure — some stretching forth in 
 straight lines, others winding forward in graceful zig-zags. 
 Battista and his comrade put forth the strength of their 
 brawny arms, the former keeping his eyes carefully averted 
 from Miss Davenne, who lay back on the cushioned seat, 
 parting the water by the boat's side with her delicate 
 fingers, deep in pleasant imaginings, it would seem, from 
 the half smile on her lips. Swiftly they glided past the 
 Cape of Bordighera, and then a new and splendid pano- 
 rama opened out before them. 
 
 A glorious extent of hilly coast against a background of 
 lofty mountains, stretched semicircularly from east to west, 
 broken all along into capes and creeks, and studded with 
 towns and villages, full of original character, — Ventimiglia, 
 with its crown of dismantled mediaeval castles, — Mentone, 
 so gay on the sunny beach, well named Roccabruna, all 
 sombre hues and frowns, — Turbia, and its Roman monu- 
 ment, a record of the greatest power on earth, covering 
 
IN THE BOAT 205 
 
 with its shadow the lilliputian principality of Monaco 
 below, — Villafranca and its lighthouse. Further on, run- 
 ning southward, loomed, vaporous in the distance, the long, 
 low strip of French shore, with Anfibes at its extremity ; 
 and further still, in the west, the fanciful blue lines of the 
 mountains of Provence. Here and there a snowy peak 
 shot boldly above the rest ; some hoary parent Alp, one 
 might fancy, looking down to see that all went right among 
 the younger branches. 
 
 Lucy's eyes and soul feasted in silence on this prospect, 
 over which the warm tints of the setting sun cast a magical 
 splendour of unspeakable effect. As the sense of the 
 beauties amid which she lived grew every day stronger 
 upon our sweet English girl, she gradually found out how 
 empty and inadequate to express what she felt were those 
 everyday set forms of admiration, of which she had been 
 so profuse at first. Sir John, on the contrary, though long 
 familiar with this scene, was enthusiastic in his praises of 
 it, ending with a lament that the Osteria was not on this 
 side of the Cape of Bordighera. 
 
 But the Gulf of Spedaletti, and the three well-known 
 headlands to the east, found an eager advocate in Lucy, 
 who insisted on their superiority. She allowed that the 
 view towards the coast of France was the more varied and 
 extensive of the two ; but she declared that it wanted the 
 harmonious unity and character of melancholy grandeur 
 which marked the view from the Osteria. * A painter,' 
 said Lucy, ' might prefer the former ; but a poet, I am 
 sure, would find the latter more suggestive of thoughts and 
 images going home to the heart.' 
 
 ' Heyday ! ' laughed Sir John, looking fondly and 
 proudly at the fair speaker, ' is my pet going to turn poet 
 herself?' 
 
 ' Who knows ? ' retorted the smiling girl, with a guilty 
 blush. Indeed, she felt as if she were. 
 
206 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Between two richly wooded hillocks, a little to the west- 
 ward of Bordighera, appeared the white Palazzino of the 
 Count, now all in a purple glow. ' There 's a glorious 
 situation for you,' exclaimed Sir John, pointing it out to 
 his daughter. 
 
 1 The Count is a man of taste,' said Antonio, ' he chose 
 the site, and gave the plan of his casino himself.' 
 
 1 He is a cleverer fellow, then, than I thought,' observed 
 the Baronet ; ' it stands exactly where it ought.' 
 
 * Does it not ? ' replied the Doctor. ■ Transport it in 
 imagination anywhere else, and it will lose something by 
 the change. ' 
 
 ' What you say of the Count's casino might be said, I 
 think, of all the numerous towns and villages that we see 
 from here,' said Lucy ; ■ no one could wish them moved 
 higher or lower, to the right or to the left, by way of mak- 
 ing them look prettier or more picturesque. Even the 
 most insignificant hamlet seems just where it looks best on 
 its own account, and where it adds most to the effect of 
 the whole. Do you not think so, Doctor Antonio ? ' 
 
 * To such an impartial admirer,' answered Antonio, 
 smiling on her, ' I may venture to say, that the race which 
 inhabits this country is a race of unconscious artists. They 
 possess an uncultivated but decided appreciation of the 
 beautiful, the workings of which are as clearly traceable in 
 the choice of a situation, and the building of a town or 
 village, as in the choice and arrangement of a flower in the 
 women's hair. Perhaps Nature has so ordained it, that 
 man's works should not be at odds with her own in this 
 privileged land. If you observe the attitudes and gestures 
 of these people, the way in which they mingle the colours, 
 and the grace with which they wear their simple costume, 
 you will at once detect an inborn nicety of taste, for 
 which they are indebted to the medium in which they live. 
 Take, for instance, the head-gear of the men, nothing but 
 
IN THE BOAT 207 
 
 a red pouch lined with brown, or the coloured kerchief 
 which the women tie round their heads ; can anything be 
 more simple ? yet see in how many different ways, and all 
 picturesque, they contrive to wear them. The peasant girl, 
 who carries on her head or under her arm the bundle of grass 
 for her cow, never forgets to hang at one of its ends a 
 bunch of red poppies, or of blue corn-flowers, or any other 
 flower of the season. How often I have seen originals of 
 Leopold Robert's two famous pictures here ! ' 
 
 1 Are the women generally handsome ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 1 Yes — that is, they have all the characteristics of a fine 
 race,' replied Antonio; 'long, well-cut eyes, rich hair, fine 
 necks, on which the head is well placed, small wrists, ankles, 
 and feet. But many of these beauties are lost or spoiled by 
 over-exertion, or neglect, their hair in particular. You 
 have a good specimen of the women of this country in 
 Speranza.' 
 
 ' Ah ! she is really very beautiful ! ' exclaimed Lucy, 
 with such enthusiasm, that Sir John stared, then said — 
 
 ' Is she ? well, it is odd that I never found it out.' 
 
 'That is because you have not looked enough at her, 
 papa,' retorted Lucy, laughing. 'If you had tried to draw 
 her picture twenty times, as I have done, you would have 
 found out the exquisite purity and elegance of all the lines 
 about her. ' 
 
 ' Well done, Miss Lucy ; where did you pick up all this 
 fine artist's talk ? ' cried the somewhat amazed father. ' I 
 suppose, Doctor Antonio, the medium you are so fond of 
 talking about is affecting my little English girl?' 
 
 ' Probably,' answered the Doctor, with one of his quiet 
 smiles. ' However, I agree with Miss Davenne. Speranza 
 is a beauty ; and I never see her washing her linen at the 
 fountain, without thinking of Homer's description of 
 Nausicaa. If the rest of her person were as faultless as her 
 head and her bust, Rosa's daughter might sit for a Hebe. 
 
208 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 As it is, the going to the wood and carrying great weights, 
 spoils the finest proportions.' 
 
 1 1 must take a good look of this beauty when we reach 
 home,' said Sir John. 
 
 The boat, now on its way back, was just opposite Bordi- 
 ghera. 'What is that on the height, a little way in front of 
 the town,' asked Lucy, ' that looks like a bit of a ruin?' 
 
 ' It is, or rather was, an open battery. By-the-by, there 
 is a story in connection with it, in which, as the English are 
 concerned, you may take an interest.' 
 
 1 1 hope it is not something against them,' said Lucy. 
 
 'Judge for yourself,' replied the Doctor. — 'On a calm 
 day of July 1812, an English brig-of-war came in sight of 
 Bordighera, and, with or without a motive, ran so close in- 
 shore as to place herself under the battery of the town. 
 Now, the officers in command of the batteries along the 
 coast had precise orders to fire upon all English vessels 
 chancing to come within reach of cannon-shot. The Riviera 
 in those times belonged, by right of the strongest, to France. 
 The French lieutenant, who, at the head of a dozen men, 
 happened to be in command of this battery on this particular 
 day of 2 1st July, must have been, to all appearance, a sober- 
 minded man, without a particle of "furia Francese" in his 
 blood, for he saw the enemy's progress with perfect coolness, 
 and without making any hostile preparation. But a con- 
 duct so philosophical was far from suiting the good folks of 
 Bordighera, who had reckoned on something better. It 
 was not every day that brought to the quiet and rather dull 
 citizens of the little town such a good chance of sport and 
 excitement as an English vessel to fire upon, and they were 
 determined to make the most of it. So they came in 
 numbers to the battery, and uproariously insisted that the 
 officer should carry into effect the instructions he held, by 
 at once firing upon the audacious brig. The lieutenant, not 
 daring to take upon himself the responsibility of a refusal, 
 
IN THE BOAT 209 
 
 yielded a grudging assent, but first, though every rope of the 
 rigging was distinctly visible to the naked eye, he recon- 
 noitred the enemy through an immense spy-glass ; and so 
 long did the survey last, that it might have been suspected 
 he was not without a secret hope that the vessel which had 
 placed itself in his way, and in harm's way, would move off. 
 However, it did not; there it lay, as idle "as a painted 
 ship upon a painted ocean." There was nothing else for it, 
 so the order was given to load and fire an old eight- 
 pounder. The aim was pretty good, since part of the 
 enemy's bowsprit was demolished. Again the Frenchman 
 looked through his glass ; there was a great bustle on board 
 the brig, and then the boats were lowered, for an attack no 
 doubt ; and many were the curses that he launched at the 
 blockheads who had brought him and themselves into such 
 a scrape. When lo ! instead of approaching the land, the 
 boats were observed to be towing the brig as fast as they 
 could out of the little bay. You may imagine the triumph- 
 ant exultation of these Falstaffs of Bordighera ; the huzzas 
 with which they celebrated their bloodless victory must 
 have been heard by those on board, though the projectiles 
 with which they were accompanied fell short of their aim. 
 
 ' One fine day, two months later, the same brig hove in 
 sight, making for Bordighera in a very decided manner, but 
 this time in company with a small frigate and another brig, 
 which came up right and left, bringing their guns to bear so 
 as to command the high-road, and cut off any succour 
 either from the side of Genoa or that of Nice. This done, 
 the first brig fired a broadside, but evidently not intended 
 to do much harm, since only one man was killed. At the 
 same time, a hundred sailors and marines were landed, and 
 marched straight on the battery. The struggle was neither 
 long nor sanguinary ; the old eight-pounder was spiked, 
 and the lieutenant and his dozen men locked into the guard- 
 room. It is said that only two out of the warlike citizens 
 O 
 
210 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 were to be discovered in the town — the mayor, Mr. 
 Giribaldi, was one ; the other a hero whose name is lost to 
 history, who, at sight of the red uniforms, fired his gun at 
 random, and ran away. The English carried the mayor on 
 board the frigate, sentenced him to — an excellent dinner, 
 and sent him back in the evening in a very jovial state, the 
 key of the guard -room in his pocket. Thus terminated the 
 war between Bordighera and Great Britain, for at sunrise 
 the next morning there was no trace of frigate or brigs.' 
 
 As the Doctor finished his story, the latter part of which 
 had tickled Sir John amazingly, the boat, gently forcing its 
 way through the sand, came to a full stop also. Antonio 
 jumped out and offered his hand to Lucy ; but Lucy play- 
 fully put it aside, and sprang on shore without assistance. 
 Antonio uttered an exclamation of alarm. 
 
 ' Well done, Lucy ! ' cried the Baronet, who had seen 
 the whole transaction, and was highly amused by Antonio's 
 rueful countenance. ' Ha ! ha ! the patient is asserting her 
 independence, and going to give her doctor the slip. ' 
 
 What was there in these words, spoken without any 
 malice prepense ', nay, most good-humouredly, to cast a gloom 
 over Doctor Antonio's brow ! He evidently attached to 
 them a meaning they had not. All men, even those with 
 healthy, well-balanced minds, have their hours of over- 
 sensitiveness, and it is probable that our Doctor was in one 
 of those pleasant hours. He made no reply to Sir John's 
 vivacious sally, and walked on alone. Lucy, with that 
 quick perceptiveness that affection gives, understood his 
 silence, and, going up to his side, complained of being tired. 
 Antonio immediately gave her his arm, and the three re- 
 turned to the Osteria in unbroken silence. What party, 
 large or small, and bent on a pleasure expedition, ever did 
 return in the selfsame mood in which they set out ? Once 
 at the house, Antonio took his leave, then suddenly coming 
 back, said, with what was studied carelessness, * By-the-by, 
 
IN THE BOAT 211 
 
 Sir John, I think this is your forty-eighth day of bondage.' 
 The colour fled from Lucy's cheek. 
 
 'Is it?' asked Sir John, in some surprise. 
 
 'Yes, and the day of your deliverance also,' pursued 
 Antonio quickly. ' It is my pleasant duty to tell you, that 
 Miss Davenne is sufficiently recovered to bear the fatigue of 
 a journey without danger or inconvenience.' 
 
 Wonder of wonders ! Sir John does not leap for joy at 
 this announcement, does not throw himself, in a transport 
 of gratitude, on his deliverer's neck, or madly shake his 
 hand, but lets him depart with an embarrassed ' Ah ! indeed 
 — very well, thank you,' and follows Lucy into the house 
 without another word. How is it that Sir John receives 
 this longed-for piece of news with such marked coolness ? 
 Is he not the same man who, but a few weeks ago, would 
 have willingly purchased his release from the wretched 
 Osteria with half his year's income ? No, Sir John is not 
 the same man — Sir John is altered, Sir John has grown 
 lazy, has no energy to take a resolution, lacks the courage 
 to say 'to-morrow, next day, next week.' The elderly 
 gentleman has insensibly taken the colour of the medium in 
 which he is living. The sky, the sea, the soft, sweet-scented 
 air, have all told upon him also. Hannibal has found his 
 Capua. 
 
 O Italy, fair Italy ! thine is the imperishable spell to 
 soften and subdue all natures, however rugged and rebel- 
 lious ; all on whom thy warm breath plays yield to thee. 
 Many have come to thee in hatred and defiance, lance in 
 rest, who, no sooner had they tasted the sweet milk of thy 
 breast, than they laid down their arms, blessed thee, and 
 called thee ■ Mother.' Thy history is full of such conquests, 
 O parent land of many beauties and sorrows ! 
 
 Sir John sat down silently and moodily. Lucy's intent 
 gaze seemed as if it would read his innermost thoughts ; and 
 it was with anxious trepidation that she awaited the result of 
 
212 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 his brown study. There was a frown on the Baronet's fore- 
 head — the frown of a man at a loss to see clearly into his 
 own mind and feelings. Light dawned on him at last, and 
 showed him the inconvenience of leaving Bordighera just 
 then. His collection of plants for Davenne was not yet 
 completed, and really Lucy's health was so improved, it 
 would be a pity to go away without some pressing necessity ; 
 and since Aubrey could not be in London before the end of 
 August at the soonest, it might be as well to let Lucy have 
 as long as possible of the air which seemed to suit her. As 
 he came to this conclusion, Sir John's features relaxed, and 
 brightened like those of a man who had solved a riddle. 
 'After all,' said he, rising, 'it is pleasant to know that we 
 can go away whenever we like, though I see no reason for 
 setting off at once, as Doctor Antonio proposes, unless my 
 darling wishes to do so.' 
 
 'Oh no, papa ! pray, let us stay a little longer,' replied 
 Lucy eagerly — ' we are so comfortable here.' 
 
 ' Oh ! comfortable, comfortable ! ' muttered the Baronet, 
 with a comic mixture of testiness and satisfaction ; ' for my 
 part, I confess I do not see these great comforts, unless the 
 prospect of being broiled alive in this furnace of a country, 
 which will be the case in a few days, be one in your eyes. 
 However, before it gets too hot, we shall luckily be gone. 
 
 Sir John involuntarily sighed, and, quite reconciled to 
 himself by this little tirade, he left the room, without any 
 suspicion that his daughter had sighed also, and from the 
 depths of her young innocent heart, at the thought of leav- 
 ing the Osteria. Sir John was no exception to the rule that 
 all papas and mammas have exactly that sort of sight which 
 distinguishes objects at a distance clearly, while they need 
 spectacles to see those under their very nose. 
 
 Thus it came to pass, that two hours later, as Sir John 
 was arranging his pieces on the chess-board (Lucy having 
 retired for the night), he said to the taciturn Doctor, — ' So 
 
IN THE BOAT 213 
 
 you really think, Doctor Antonio, that this climate agrees 
 particularly well with my daughter ? ' 
 
 Antonio looked with some surprise at his interlocutor, 
 even paused an instant before answering, ' You have only 
 to compare the Miss Davenne of to-day with the Miss 
 Davenne of a few weeks ago, to be able to answer the 
 question yourself ; no more cough, colour good, sleep and 
 appetite both excellent ' 
 
 1 It is your opinion, then,' persisted Sir John, ' that a 
 longer stay here may tend to strengthen her constitution ? ' 
 
 Antonio felt an almost irresistible impulse to knock over 
 table and chess-board to give the unsuspecting Englishman 
 a hearty hug, — fathers of lovely daughters have no idea of 
 the perils they run, — but gloriously conquered himself, and 
 answered with proper professional dignity, ' I have no doubt 
 of it. This climate is as healthy as any in the world ; and 
 regular, quiet habits, and the absence of all excitement, are 
 the real panacea for such delicate persons as Miss Davenne. 
 A course of sea-baths during the hot season would, I am 
 sure, do her good.' 
 
 ' In that case,' replied the Baronet, ' I suppose we must 
 manage to remain here a little longer ; now for our game, 
 it is your turn to begin.' 
 
 They played three games that evening. Sir John was so 
 kind as to be wonderfully surprised at winning them all 
 three. Antonio all the way to Bordighera sang, ■ O bell' 
 alma innamorata,' with an energy and expression that did 
 credit to his lungs and musical taste. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SICILY. 
 
 LATE on a warm summer evening, Sir John, Lucy, 
 and Antonio sat on the balcony, listening to the 
 nightingales and watching the progress of the slow-sinking 
 moon. As the bright disk, lingering for a while on the top 
 of the hill of Bordighera, shot, through its thick screen of 
 trees, streams of light that quivered like fire, Lucy uttered 
 a little cry of delight. 
 
 ' Is not that like a volcano ? ' asked she ; ' I never saw 
 one, but I fancy it must be like that,' and she pointed to 
 the hill. 
 
 'You are right,' said Antonio: 'it is so similar that it 
 seems as though I were looking on my old familiar Etna in 
 miniature. It recalls to me many a happy night, when, 
 seated on the terrace-roof of my house in Catania, I 
 watched the solemn signs of an impending eruption, and 
 dreamed bright waking dreams of the future. The present,' 
 he continued, with a sad smile, 'bears as little likeness to 
 my dreaming as the red-hot liquid to the cold lava that the 
 lazzaroni shape into fanciful ornaments to catch a few 
 " grant" from strangers.' 
 
 This led to many a question from Lucy, and answers 
 from the Doctor, about Etna, Catania, and Sicily, in the 
 course of which Antonio had more than once occasion to 
 
 214 
 
SICILY 215 
 
 stigmatise, in strong terms, what he called the mismanage- 
 ment of his unfortunate native island. Sir John could not 
 hear this without entering his protest. ' Come, come, be 
 just,' remonstrated the Baronet; 'are kings, in a question 
 which is one of life and death to them, to be allowed no 
 right of self-defence ? ' 
 
 ' Put your question the other way, and you will be nearer 
 the mark,' retorted Antonio ; ' Is a nation to be allowed no 
 right of protecting and defending its liberties and indepen- 
 dence?' 
 
 ' Certainly,' said the Baronet ; 'but you go too far, too 
 far by a great deal ; if kings are sometimes driven to 
 extremities, whose fault is it but that of the party with 
 whom there is no possible transaction. I mean the ultra- 
 democratic party, that will be satisfied with nothing short 
 of implanting republics on the ruins of every throne ? ' 
 
 * Ultra-democratic party ! republics ! ' exclaimed Antonio, 
 in unfeigned amazement. 'Who ever dreamed of a re- 
 public in Sicily ? If we ever come to that, and it may be 
 the case some day, it will be the Bourbons' own doing. 
 The Sicilians are an essentially monarchical people ; their 
 traditions, habits, and customs are deeply rooted in 
 monarchy. We owe our free institutions to kings, and 
 through a long line of kings was Sicily respected and happy. 
 When the storm of 1789 swept the Bourbons of Naples from 
 off their continental dominions, where did they find safe 
 shelter, assistance of all kind and devoted hearts, but in 
 faithful, loyal Sicily ? For all which what return they made 
 the world knows. And who helped us to consolidate our 
 political edifice — I mean who assisted in the framing of our 
 Constitution of 18 12 — that Constitution in the name and 
 defence of which Sicilians have been struggling and dying 
 for the last eight-and-twenty years— but monarchical Great 
 Britain ? ' 
 
 ' Have you, then, a Parliament like ours ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
216 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 * We had,' answered Antonio sadly. 
 
 * And why has it been abolished ? ' inquired Lucy. ' You 
 promised to tell me all about Sicily some day — pray, do so 
 now.' 
 
 1 That was a rash promise,' said Antonio, with a half 
 smile, ' the fulfilment of which would amount to nothing 
 less than giving you a summary of Sicilian history, and I 
 scarcely think your patience, or Sir John's, would last out 
 the trial.' However, Lucy insisted, Sir John expressed his 
 willingness, and Antonio yielded. (The reader who objects 
 to history in a work of fiction has only to slip over the rest 
 of the present chapter. ) 
 
 * Sicilian liberties,' 1 said Antonio, ' are contemporaneous 
 with those of England. As early as in the eleventh century, 
 Sicily, under the auspices of a Norman Prince, like England, 
 settled the foundations of her freedom and independence. 
 The national sovereignty resided, defacto^ in the Parliament, 
 who disposed of the crown of the island, and no prince ever 
 considered his title good or his power secure, unless based 
 on an election by Parliament. The great objection felt to 
 the Princes of the House of Anjou, was on the score that 
 they were imposed by the Pontiff, and not elected by the 
 nation. This, and no other, was the origin of the irritation, 
 which exploded in the Sicilian Vespers (1282). It was the 
 Parliament who, of its own free-will, called to the throne 
 the line of Arragon, in the person of Peter, and at a later 
 period the Castilian, in that of Ferdinand the Catholic. 
 And it is not amiss to note, that, at the death of the latter, 
 his successor, Charles the Fifth, was not immediately ac- 
 knowledged ; it was not till 15 18 that he received the 
 investiture from the Parliament, and swore, like his pre- 
 
 1 Me'moire Historique sur les Droits Politiques de la Sicile, par 
 MM. Bonaccorsi et Lumia. La Sicile et les Bourbons, par M. Amari, 
 Membre du Parlement Sicilien. Gli Ultimi Rivolgimenti Italiani, 
 Memorie Storiche di F. A. Gualterio. Vol. IV. 
 
SICILY 217 
 
 decessors, to maintain intact the immunities and free customs 
 of Sicily. It may seem strange that the Sicilian Autonomy 
 passed unscorched through the fire of three centuries of 
 union with Spain, but our wonder will cease when we 
 reflect that the bond between Spain and Sicily was rather 
 nominal than real, and that during this whole period the 
 island preserved its own national representation, its own 
 laws, its own administration, flag, coin, and army. At the 
 war of succession, in the beginning of the last century, the 
 throne of Sicily was disputed along with all the other 
 dominions of the deceased Charles the Second of Spain. 
 The Treaty of Utrecht gave Sicily to Victor Amedeus of 
 Savoy, who, by a special clause of that Treaty, was bound 
 " to approve, confirm, and ratify, all the privileges, 
 immunities, customs, etc., enjoyed by the island." Thus 
 the liberties of Sicily came to form part of the public right 
 of Europe. But the sway of Victor Amedeus was of short 
 duration, for, a little more than twenty years after, Cardinal 
 Alberoni succeeded in tricking the Duke of Savoy out of 
 Sicily, which once more of its own free-will united itself to 
 the fortunes of Spain. The Bourbons began their rule by 
 a scrupulous observance of the fundamental compact, and 
 the two kingdoms of Naples and Sicily continued to be as 
 independent and distinct, the one from the other, as during 
 the reign of Philip the Second. When Charles the Third 
 received at Palermo, in 1735, the crown of Sicily, and the 
 homage of the National Representation, he in his turn took 
 the oath of fidelity to the Constitution. And so did his 
 son and successor, Ferdinand, who assumed the style of 
 Ferdinand the Third of Sicily and Fourth of Naples, in order 
 that the distinction of the two kingdoms should be made 
 clear to all the world. 
 
 1 The first years of his reign, under the guidance of the 
 enlightened Tannucci (Ferdinand was eight years of age 
 when placed on the throne), gave general satisfaction as far 
 
218 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 as regards Sicily, and this explains how the storm of 1789 
 passed over the island without disturbing its tranquillity. 
 Happy and secure in a Constitution which gave "her the 
 power of reform by pacific means, when necessary, why 
 should she take part in a struggle that could bring her 
 nothing better than what she already possessed ? Meanwhile 
 the thrones of continental Europe were shaken from their 
 foundations, and none more so than the Neapolitan. Will 
 it be believed that this was the moment chosen to aim a 
 blow at our secular liberties, and thus estrange the faith- 
 ful Sicilians from their Sovereign ? The Neapolitan 
 Government had joined the coalition against France, and 
 set about raising money, that great sinew of war. Our 
 Parliament was accordingly applied to for a monthly grant 
 of twenty thousand ounces (ten thousand pounds sterling) 
 for as long as might be required. The Sicilian Parliament 
 was composed of three parts, braccia we call them, that is, 
 three arms or branches of the State — the nobility, the 
 clergy, and, thirdly, the tenants of the Crown. A majority 
 of the whole was required for the validity of any measure. 
 The clergy and nobility did not oppose the grant, but they 
 objected to there being no period specified for its duration. 
 The dependants of the Crown alone voted the supply with- 
 out restriction. King Ferdinand, by an audacious stretch 
 of power, ordered that the vote of his tenants should stand 
 good for that of the whole Parliament. This first attack 
 on our rights, however, fell to the ground of itself; for 
 just as a fierce resistance was on the eve of breaking out, 
 the defeat of the Austro-Neapolitan army, under General 
 Mack, leaving Naples at the mercy of the French, com- 
 pelled the Court and its adherents to take refuge on board 
 the English ships-of-war then in the bay. 
 
 ' After having escaped many dangers on land, the Royal 
 fugitives had to encounter the perils of the sea. Two days 
 after their embarkation a violent storm arose, during which 
 
SICIL Y 219 
 
 one of the young princes expired ; but at length the rest were 
 safely landed at Palermo. " Men of Palermo," cried Queen 
 Caroline, as she stepped on the pier, "will you receive 
 your Queen ? " At that moment all past grievances were 
 forgotten, a general enthusiasm prevailed, and Ferdinand 
 and Caroline were conducted in a sort of triumph to the 
 Royal Palace, where they were soon surrounded by all 
 their accustomed luxury. The inhabitants of Palermo could 
 not do enough for their Majesties, — horses, carriages, plate, 
 and money were supplied in abundance. The Sicilians felt 
 confident that this arrival among them was to cement a 
 firmer union, and secure a more permanent good under- 
 standing between the nation and the Sovereign. They 
 were speedily undeceived. But of this period of four years, 
 from 1799 to 1802, when, at the Peace of Amiens, the Royal 
 family were restored to the throne of Naples, I shall say 
 nothing, as it would be only giving the same picture, but 
 with subdued colours, which I shall have to paint here- 
 after. 
 
 * In the year 1806, Ferdinand and his family were 
 obliged once more to fly to Sicily. Like to all the 
 Bourbons, experience and misfortune preached in vain to 
 this Royal pair. Holding, as they did, to the hope of re- 
 conquering Naples by the aid and resources of Sicily, it 
 would have seemed but natural that they should carefully 
 avoid, if only out of policy, hurting the feelings of the 
 islanders. But quite the contrary. First of all, the Court 
 laid violent hands on the Monti di Pieth, the patrimony of 
 the poor. The money invested in the bank on Govern- 
 ment security by private individuals was next seized ; the 
 property of absentees, whether that of friends or foes 
 mattered nothing, was confiscated ; and the sums thus 
 collected went to fatten the Neapolitan emigres, who 
 swarmed at Court, and who, according to a grave historian, 
 Colletta, were nothing better than "rogues, cowards, the 
 
220 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 worst consciences of the kingdom." Every post in the 
 Administration (and remember the Court was in Sicily), 
 every office, every charge, every honour, was bestowed on 
 Neapolitans, and Neapolitans alone. A system of political 
 delation was organised. No public'place, no drawing-room, 
 but was infested by spies ; the very privacy of families was 
 not safe from their intrusion. The Government sniffed 
 Jacobins everywhere. A person was imprisoned solely 
 because he had often been seen to converse with a friend of 
 his, who had been exiled on the charge of Jacobinism, — 
 pro crebris conversationibus. A citizen was banished for 
 having read a certain newspaper with pleasure,— -/n? lecturd 
 Gazettarum cum delect atione* There was no end to the 
 petty vexations exercised against those who wore whiskers 
 and pantaloons, both considered as the outward signs of 
 Jacobinism. 
 
 'King Ferdinand was one of the weakest of the Spanish 
 Bourbons ; so that he could hunt or fish with his low asso- 
 ciates, be the King of Nimrods, or Lazzaroni, he little cared 
 who enacted the part of King of the Two Sicilies. His 
 wife, the absolute, iron-willed, unscrupulous Caroline of 
 Austria, ruled him completely. This ambitious woman 
 could not make up her mind to the loss of the Neapolitan 
 throne. The rapid and immense success and fortune of the 
 Napoleon dynasty depriving her at last of all hope of re- 
 gaining Naples by the sole help of the Sicilians, and of a 
 few English vessels, she bethought herself of trying a new 
 experiment. She entered into a secret negotiation with 
 Napoleon himself, through the medium of her niece, Maria 
 Louisa. Napoleon kept her at bay some time, holding out 
 hopes that he would finally restore Naples to her, and give 
 her the March of Ancona into the bargain, provided she 
 managed to get rid of the English. 
 
 1 If the Bourbons of Naples still wore a crown, it was, 
 undoubtedly, thanks to the English, and it was not for 
 
SICILY 
 
 those reaping the advantage to argue whether there was 
 more of self-interest than generosity in the opposition 
 offered by England to France, wherever it was found 
 possible. That an English fleet had saved the King and 
 royal family in 1 799 ; that English blood had been freely 
 shed at Maida, and English gold freely spent for them 
 (from 1805 the King had received a yearly subsidy of three 
 hundred and eighty thousand pounds, which was raised to 
 four hundred thousand in 1809) ; that from ten to fifteen 
 thousand English soldiers were in the island for their 
 protection — all these were notorious facts. It was natural 
 to expect, at least, a candid policy from those accepting of 
 these favours. But neither common gratitude nor common 
 honesty were the distinguishing attributes of Ferdinand and 
 his queen. The English did at last get scent of Caroline's 
 machinations. The details are up to this day shrouded in 
 mystery, but damning proofs of their reality exist among 
 the papers in the Foreign Office at Paris. 
 
 1 Up to 1 8 10, England remained an attentive but passive 
 looker-on of all that was passing in the island ; that year, 
 however, she roused herself to action. Lord Amherst was 
 recalled and Lord William Bentinck sent in his place as 
 Minister Plenipotentiary from Great Britain, and Com- 
 mander-in-Chief of the British forces in the Mediterranean. 
 
 ' The English Ambassador found Palermo in a high state 
 of excitement, occasioned by a new outrage committed by 
 the Court on the very eve of his arrival. The large sums 
 voted by the Sicilian Parliament* the year before being 
 exhausted, the King, urged on by his Camarilla, resolved 
 on obtaining fresh supplies without troubling the repre- 
 sentatives of the country. For this end, the Council ot 
 State, composed, with one single exception, of Neapolitans, 
 was convened, and from its deliberation emanated the three 
 decrees which threw Palermo into such a ferment. By the 
 first, all the landed property of religious bodies and of 
 
222 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 parishes was arbitrarily declared to be Crown property ; 
 and in order more promptly to realise the value, a second 
 decree organised a lottery, in which the lands aforesaid 
 were to be the prizes. The third established a tax of one 
 per cent, on all sales, of whatever kind. 
 
 * The indignation at these measures was general, and 
 Parliament acted as the mouthpiece of this indignation. 
 Forty-three of the nobles of the Baronial branch signed an 
 energetic protestation, and had it laid before the King. 
 He did not make them wait long for an answer. In the 
 night of the 5th July 181 1, the Princes of Belmonte, Cas- 
 telnuovo, Villa Franca, Aci, and the Duke d'Angio, con- 
 sidered as the ringleaders of the opposition, were arrested, 
 and embarked for different prisons in the neighbouring 
 islands. 
 
 ' It was just at this crisis that Lord William Bentinck 
 appeared, and his advent was hailed by the Sicilians as 
 that of a saviour. While on one side he did his best to 
 calm the popular effervescence, on the other he made 
 energetic representations to the King and Ministers, on the 
 imprudence and folly of the course they had entered upon, 
 — but in vain. "That fat sergeant," said the Queen, who 
 had taken a hatred of him, " was sent here by the Prince 
 Regent to make his bow to the King, and not to lay down 
 the law." Unable to overcome this obstinacy, Lord 
 William went back to England to explain to the Cabinet 
 of St. James's the actual state of affairs in Sicily. After a 
 six-weeks' absence he returned to Palermo, and this time 
 with full powers to adopt any measures he deemed ad- 
 visable. The Englishman was not one to let himself be 
 made a fool of ; so finding that the conferences, to which 
 he was continually summoned by King, Queen, and heir- 
 apparent, led to no answers of the very categorical de- 
 mands he had presented, he cut the matter short by very 
 decided conduct on his own part. He began by suspend- 
 
SICILY 223 
 
 ing the supplies of money furnished by England to the 
 royal family, established his head-quarters at Palermo, and 
 brought thither some of the English troops from Messina. 
 These steps producing no effect, he threatened to put him- 
 self at the head of his army, take Palermo, seize the King 
 and Queen, and send them off to London. As Lord 
 William was known to be a man to keep his word, the 
 business was soon settled. The King had an official ill- 
 ness, and naming the Prince-Royal Vicar-General of the 
 kingdom, he went for change of air to his Park of Ficuzza. 
 The Queen also left Palermo ; the command of the 
 Sicilian army was given to Lord William ; the five barons 
 were set at liberty, and the illegal decrees annulled. At 
 the same time, the three branches of the Legislature were 
 called together for the avowed purpose of reforming the 
 Constitution. 
 
 * The Prince- Vicar opened Parliament in person, and 
 after a speech on the subject of the intended changes, pro- 
 posed the Constitution of Great Britain as guide for that 
 now contemplated for Sicily. This first meeting of Parlia- 
 ment, prolonged through the whole of the night, and even 
 part of the next day, will always be marked in our annals 
 as bearing witness to the patriotic devotion of all its 
 members. The clergy, renouncing their privileges, agreed 
 to unite themselves to the barons, so as to form one chamber 
 of peers. The barons on their side gave up all those 
 hereditary rights, of which, from time immemorial, they 
 had shown themselves so jealous. On that night feudality 
 ceased to exist in Sicily. Twelve articles, after long de- 
 bates, were agreed to, as those on which to raise the new 
 Constitution. As the Sovereign's sanction was necessary, 
 the Parliament, unwilling to run the risk of future subter- 
 fuge, prayed the Prince -Vicar to obtain the King's appro- 
 bation before affixing his own signature. The Prince 
 wrote a letter to the King to that effect, and in the margin 
 
224 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 of this letter the King wrote with his own hand, " This 
 being in conformity to my intention, I authorise you to do 
 it." 
 
 * Notwithstanding this, the Court party was busy hatch- 
 ing a plot against the openly approved of reform. A day 
 was fixed on for the King to go to the Church of St. 
 Francis, to return thanks for his recovery ; and under cover 
 of this pretext, a demonstration against the Constitution 
 was to be made. But the royal conspirators had forgotten 
 to take Lord William Bentinck into their reckoning. 
 Some artillery appeared in the streets, and there was a 
 military parade, — significant hints that stifled the demon- 
 stration in its birth. The King gave up St. Francis, and 
 contented himself with saying his prayers at home. But 
 the lesson was lost upon him, or rather upon the incor- 
 rigible Caroline. Nothing daunted, she prepared another 
 coup-de-main, for the execution of which she trusted to the 
 Sicilian troops stationed at Trapani and Corleone. The 
 object in contemplation was to get rid at once of the English 
 and the Constitution. But Lord William was once more 
 too much for her. All attempts at persuasion proving un- 
 availing, coercive measures were resorted to. A regiment 
 of cavalry, to begin with, surrounded the Royal dwelling 
 during the night, and blockaded it completely. Then only, 
 and not till after many a shift and evasion, did Ferdinand 
 yield to stern necessity, and agree to Lord William's con- 
 ditions, which were, — That the Queen should leave Sicily 
 at once ; that the Government should be once more con- 
 fided to the Prince Royal ; and that the alter ego conferred 
 upon him should be without restriction. 
 
 1 This victory over the Court party, together with the 
 absence of the Queen, restored something like tranquillity 
 to the country. During this calm, the Parliament con- 
 tinued its work of reform, and several important clauses 
 were added to the Constitution, — among them one regu- 
 
 
SICILY 225 
 
 lating the succession to the Crown, and establishing the in- 
 dependence of Sicily. The article is literally as follows : — 
 "In the event of the King of Sicily recovering the throne 
 of Naples, or indeed acquiring any other Crown, he shall 
 be bound to put in his place, upon the throne of Sicily, his 
 eldest son, or he shall leave his son in the island, and give 
 it up to him, declaring, from the present date, Sicily inde- 
 pendent of Naples and of all other kingdoms or govern- 
 ments." In May 1813, the Constitution of 1812, as it was 
 called, was promulgated, and Lord William Bentinck, 
 believing his task finished in Sicily, went to Spain. His 
 back, however, was scarcely turned, when the new political 
 edifice was vigorously attacked. Though Queen Caroline 
 was absent, her spirit still ruled at Court ; and not only 
 was every effort made to throw discredit on the Constitu- 
 tion, but everything was tried to excite the popular mind 
 against the English. Lord William Bentinck returned in 
 time to reconquer the ground lost in his absence, but he was 
 soon ordered to Leghorn and Genoa. It was as though 
 the good genius of Sicily had departed with him. 
 
 'I shall leave undescribed the hand-to-hand struggle for 
 and against liberty that ensued between the nation and the 
 king, and hasten to the catastrophe. After the fall of 
 Napoleon, the English evacuated Sicily. Then followed 
 the negotiations at Vienna, the surprise of the Emperor's 
 return, the stir and tumult of the hundred days, and the 
 final victory of the Allies. Murat's dethronement, decided 
 on at Vienna, restored to the Bourbons their dominions on 
 terra fir?na> and Ferdinand, leaving the heir-apparent at 
 Palermo, went at once to Naples. The signing of the 
 general Treaty of the Congress of Vienna took place in 
 Julie 181 5, and in December of the following year appeared 
 those two famous edicts, which erased the name of Sicily, as 
 an independent kingdom, from the map of Europe. 
 
 By the first of these edicts, purporting to be based on 
 P 
 
226 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 the 104th article of the Treaty of Vienna, Ferdinand can- 
 celled the separate titles under which he had reigned over 
 Naples and Sicily, adopted the style of Ferdinand the 
 First of the united kingdom of the Two Sicilies, and by 
 uniting the two crowns annihilated at one blow the inde- 
 pendence, the national flag, and coin of the island. By the 
 second, with a strange want of logic, the Constitution was 
 at once suppressed and maintained, for the King, while 
 claiming as his royal prerogative the right of fixing the 
 taxes, nevertheless engaged himself never to raise their 
 amount beyond the figure decided on by the Parliament 
 of 1813. "No increase" (such were the words used) 
 "can take place without the consent of Parliament." 
 
 * I said that the first decree purported to be based on an 
 article (104th) of the Treaty of Vienna. I should have 
 said pretended, for, after all, it was a quibble. The terms 
 used in the Treaty were these : — " King Ferdinand the 
 Fourth is re-established, himself, his heirs, and successors, 
 on the throne of Naples, and hereby recognised by the 
 Powers as King of the kingdom of the Two Sicilies." Now 
 this arrangement could neither in its form nor substance 
 affect Sicily. The agents sent by Ferdinand to Vienna 
 were sent to discuss an affair purely personal to himself — 
 his restoration, namely, to his lost throne of Naples. The 
 interests of Sicily were not mixed up in this matter — 
 Sicily had nothing to do or to say to the Congress of Vienna 
 — had not even a representative there. The King and the 
 Chevalier Medici figured before it solely on account of the 
 Neapolitan dominions. This is so true, that it was only 
 as Ferdinand the Fourth of Naples, and not under the 
 conjoined title of Ferdinand the Third of Sicily, that the 
 King was named in the acts of the Congress. It is alsfc to 
 be presumed, that, if the Powers assembled at Vienna had 
 really intended to merge the two countries into one, they 
 would have declared such an intention clearly and without 
 
SICILY 227 
 
 circumlocution, as they did when the annexation of Warsaw 
 to Russia, Belgium to Holland, and Genoa to Piedmont, 
 was stipulated. It is to be supposed, that the conditions 
 of such a union, as in the other cases, would have been 
 specified. Nothing of this is to be found in the Art. 104th. 
 It simply says, " Ferdinand is recognised as King of th« 
 kingdom of the Two Sicilies." Can it be seriously argued 
 for a moment, that the form of the singular given to the 
 word kingdom instead of the plural — a single letter more or 
 less in a word — be sufficient grounds to go on to destroy a 
 right founded on ages ? 
 
 1 So much for Sicilian independence. As for Sicilian 
 liberties, Ferdinand had provided himself with a plausible 
 pretext for getting rid of them in a treaty secretly concluded 
 with Austria. By this treaty it was declared that "His 
 Majesty the King of the Two Sicilies, in resuming the 
 government of his kingdom, shall not admit any innovation 
 which can interfere in any way with the ancient monarchi- 
 cal institutions, or with the system and principles adopted 
 by His Imperial and Royal Majesty in the internal govern- 
 ment of his Italian (the Lombardo- Venetian) provinces." 
 Had this convention been aimed against the Sicilian Con- 
 stitution, it would only have been one proof more of Ferdi- 
 nand's perfidy and treachery, and could never have been 
 considered as binding on Sicily. But the words of the 
 Treaty proved that only Naples was and could be meant. 
 The possession of the kingdom, and the changes to be or 
 not to be effected, were spoken of in the future. Now, in 
 the first place, Ferdinand had never lost anything in Sicily, 
 the Prince-Vicar having administered the affairs of the 
 island as his delegate ; and secondly, the changes in Sicily 
 had been consummated three years previous to the above 
 convention ; and far from being incompatible with mon- 
 archical institutions, they had been made with the view of 
 re-establishing the monarchy in its former conditions, and 
 
228 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 of restoring to vigour laws which had been sworn to by 
 thirty monarchs, one after the other. But of what avail is 
 right without might ? Those who had the power would 
 not use it in our behalf. The English Cabinet haggled a 
 little with the Neapolitan Ministers as to the moret)r less 
 of nominal privileges to be left us, but on the main point, 
 independence, we were abandoned to our fate ' 
 
 Sir John here made a movement as if about to speak, but 
 the Italian resumed, with a smile — 
 
 *I am only repeating historical facts, Sir John. The 
 fault of what happened, perhaps, lies less with individuals 
 than with the circumstances of the time. Peace was the 
 great desideratum of Europe, and to that desire Sicily was 
 sacrificed. When I say sacrificed, I am only echoing 
 opinions publicly held and expressed, both in and out of 
 the British Parliament, by distinguished fellow-countrymen 
 of your own. Lord William Bentinck, than whom no 
 better authority on the subject, said, in June 1821, — " What 
 I complain of is, that liberty was not given to a people to 
 whom it was promised. In fact, I look on our national 
 honour as pledged to see the promise fulfilled. As to the 
 instructions sent from England, I must own that, had I 
 framed them myself, even the deep interest I feel in the 
 Sicilians could have suggested nothing better. But what 
 has been done to enforce these instructions? Nothing. 
 Received with hope and joy by the Sicilians, by what were 
 they followed ? By the union of the two kingdoms. This 
 Act of Union was not a mere violation, it was the complete 
 overthrow of the Sicilian Constitution. It annihilated the 
 rights of the nation, and made Sicily a province of Naples." 
 I cannot vouch for these being Lord William's exact words, 
 as I am quoting from memory,' continued the Doctor, 'but 
 I am positive as to their meaning. Sir James Mackintosh 
 was another who took a similar view of the subject. But 
 enough of this. 
 
SICILY 229 
 
 * Do I need to say that Parliament was never assembled, 
 and that both the letter and the spirit of the so-called con- 
 cessions of 1816 were daily infringed? Public irritation 
 increased with each passing hour, and an outbreak was at 
 hand, when the Revolution of 1820 exploded at Naples, 
 and was followed by the proclamation of the Constitution 
 of Spain. The moment seemed favourable to the Sicilians 
 for the securing of their ancient independence by peaceful 
 means. A deplorable misunderstanding, however, brought 
 on a collision between the people and the Neapolitan 
 soldiers quartered in Palermo, in which the former 
 were victors. A provisional Junta was formed, with full 
 powers to decide on the best measures for re-establishing 
 the independence of the island. This Junta sent a deputa- 
 tion to the King at Naples to demand an independent 
 Government for Sicily, with the Prince-Royal at the head 
 of it. These demands were not listened to. The Nea- 
 politan Parliament claimed to absorb Sicily in the name of 
 two very opposite principles : — ist, the divine right of the 
 King, confirmed by the Treaty of Vienna ; 2dly, the right 
 of democracy, which could not allow so aristocratic a con- 
 stitution as that of 18 1 2 to subsist in Sicily. Unfortunately 
 the island was divided against itself by the partisans of the 
 Constitution of Sicily and of that of Spain. An army was 
 sent from Naples, and in the month of September the siege 
 of Palermo was commenced. After a fortnight of obstinate 
 fighting, a capitulation was signed, which left to the Sicilian 
 Parliament the solution of the question of independence. 
 But the Parliament of Naples took upon itself to annul this 
 capitulation, as one dishonouring the Neapolitan army ; it 
 retained, nevertheless, the arms and fortifications which had 
 been given up in virtue of the agreement. While the two 
 countries were thus quarrelling with each other, what was 
 King Ferdinand doing? He was gone to Layback and 
 Troppau to solicit Austrian interference against that very 
 
230 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Constitution to which he had so solemnly sworn in the 
 month of July of 1820. What mattered one perjury more or 
 less to the old King ? A few months afterwards the Aus- 
 trians occupied Naples and Sicily, and the two countries 
 who had not been able to agree to live respectively free, 
 now groaned under the yoke of a common slavery. 
 
 * Ferdinand died in 1825. He was succeeded by his son 
 Francis, who, as Prince-Royal, had taken the oaths to the 
 Constitution of 181 2, in 1820 to that of Spain, who had 
 even participated in the armed protestation against the 
 foreign occupation of 1 82 1. But in ascending the throne, 
 Francis I. lost his memory, and followed without hesitation 
 in the paternal footsteps. The whole five years this reign 
 lasted, the Government was floundering in a bog. The 
 spread of corruption, both at Naples and in Sicily, was in- 
 credible. Everything was to be bought, everything to be 
 sold ; offices, honours, titles, even justice itself, was in the 
 market. Viglia, the King's valet, and Caterina de Simone, 
 the Queen's First Catnerista, were the two most influential 
 persons of the kingdom, and through them most of the 
 infamous bargains were concluded. The King did not 
 attempt to veil his cognisance of all that was going on ; he 
 was, on the contrary, profuse of his cynical witticisms on 
 the subject. In 1828, the world had proof that he was to 
 the full as cruel as he was despicable. An attempt at in- 
 surrection in the town of Cosenza and in the province of 
 Salerno, was literally quenched in blood. By order of Del 
 Carretto, the King's other self, the little town of Bosco was 
 cannonaded till it was reduced to ruins, and then a column 
 of infamy raised to show where once it stood. The last 
 days of Francis are said to have been tormented by vain 
 'remorse. He died in 1830, leaving to Ferdinand, the 
 reigning King, a degraded, impoverished, and highly irri- 
 tated kingdom. 
 
 'Young Ferdinand's early measures (he was scarcely 
 
SICILY 231 
 
 twenty) augured well. Most of the ministers, creatures, and 
 favourites of the late King were gradually dismissed ; Viglia 
 was sent away ; days of public audience were established ; 
 and a manifesto issued declaring it to be Ferdinand's deter- 
 mination to restore order to the dilapidated finances of the 
 country. These were most popular measures. Nor was 
 Sicily left without her quota of promises. It was the King's 
 intention, as distinctly stated in his manifesto, " to seek to 
 heal the wounds inflicted on Sicily by his father and grand- 
 father." The dismissal of the Marquis della Fa vara, 
 lieutenant-general of the island, a man universally detested, 
 and the appointment in his stead of the Count of Syracuse, 
 his Majesty's own brother, made the good islanders believe 
 that the new Sovereign was in earnest. Consequently, 
 when in 183 1 he visited Sicily, his reception was most 
 enthusiastic. Unfortunately the sequel belied the com- 
 mencement. What had appeared pure love of justice, was 
 in truth mere kingcraft. The shock of the Revolution of 
 the three days in France was still reverberating throughout 
 Europe, and our King was wise enough to see the expe- 
 diency of soothing and conciliating the people, still under 
 the smart of the ignoble misgovernment of Francis. 
 
 * But as the danger diminished, so did the King resume 
 his natural disposition. The first symptom of the reaction 
 which was taking place in Ferdinand's mind was the 
 nomination of Del Carretto, the exterminator of Bosco, as 
 minister of police. This fatal man, and Monsignor Code, 
 the King's confessor, soon acquired a complete ascendency 
 over the young monach. Jesuitism 1 and the police became 
 
 1 The King's infatuation for this famous order went so far in subse- 
 quent years, as to appoint, by a Royal Rescript, its founder, St. 
 Ignatius de Loyola, field-marshal of the army, with the pay and ap- 
 purtenances attached to the rank. The money was actually paid to 
 the Chief House of Jesuits of Naples. See Gli ultimi Rivolgimenti 
 Italiani, Memorie Storicke, di F. A. Guallerio. Vol. iv. chap. xlix. 
 p. 75. Florence, Felice Le Monnier, 1852. 
 
232 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 presently the two corner-stones of the State. Everything 
 had been marketable in the preceding reign — matters were 
 no better now — Monsignor Code and Del Carretto playing 
 the part of the ci-devant Cameriere and Camerista. The 
 punishment of flogging, which had been first known in the 
 Two Sicilies during the Austrian occupation of 1821, was 
 re-established under the present administration. It was 
 not long ere all the new-born illusions of the Sicilians 
 vanished. The Government seemed imbued with the 
 desire of poisoning rather than healing old wounds. Our 
 Parliament was no more spoken of than if such a thing had 
 never existed — it was a crime only to name it ; yet the 
 taxes had risen far beyond the amount fixed by the Decree 
 of December 18 16, and in spite of the engagement entered 
 into that they should not be augmented without the con- 
 sent of Parliament. The abrupt recall of the Count of 
 Syracuse,- in 1835, brought the popular discontent to a 
 climax. 
 
 * In the summer of 1836, the cholera made its appearance 
 at Naples. Up to that time, the quarantine regulations be- 
 tween Naples and Sicily had been extremely severe and 
 vexatious. But when the terrible scourge was actually in 
 Naples, the sanitary cordons so strictly maintained while it 
 was still as far off as Russia, were all at once disregarded 
 and neglected. This inconsistency gave rise to a very 
 universal belief that the King and his ministers were in 
 league to send the cholera into Sicily. The epidemic 
 reached Palermo but too soon, and no city, I believe, 
 suffered more cruelly from its ravages. Out of a popula- 
 tion of 1 70, OCX) inhabitants, 24,000 perished in a month. 
 The general terror quickly lashed itself into a general 
 delirium. The idea that the Government was poisoning 
 the people by wholesale got abroad. An infant suspicion 
 of this kind once born, soon becomes a full-grown 
 certainty. 
 
SICILY 233 
 
 'Mario Adorno, one of those who had writhed most 
 violently under the loss of Sicilian independence, took ad- 
 vantage of the prevailing excitement to bring about an 
 insurrectionary movement in Syracuse, where he shortly 
 after proclaimed the Constitution. Catania immediately 
 followed the example, raised the Sicilian standard, tore 
 down the statues of the Bourbons, and formed a Provisional 
 Government. Partial risings took place also in the valley 
 of Messina, and in the small towns adjacent to Palermo, 
 where the belief in the poisoning plot was deeply rooted. 
 Furnished with unlimited sovereign power, and accompanied 
 by a strong body of troops, Del Carretto was sent to Sicily, 
 less to conquer than to reap the fruits of victory ; for, 
 by the time he landed, all revolution was over. In fact, 
 the news of his expedition having reached the Catanians, 
 they, finding themselves unsupported, of their own accord 
 effected a counter-revolution. All those most compromised 
 sought safety in flight, with the exception of Mario Adorno, 
 who was taken and shot. The absence of all resistance in 
 no way induced the destroyer of Bosco to forego one cruelty 
 in his power. Courts-martial were established everywhere, 
 and citizens sent by thousands to prison. Several hundreds 
 were condemned to death, and no less than a hundred un- 
 derwent the penalty. At Bagheria a boy of fourteen years 
 of age was shot. Executions took place to the sound " of 
 military music. Such, indeed, was the rage for killing, 
 that once, after one of these direful exhibitions, when the 
 corpses were counted over, one more than the appointed 
 number was found. 
 
 ' The noble conquest being achieved, and the noble con- 
 queror rewarded with the insignia of San Gennaro, the real 
 meaning of the bloody tragedy was speedily revealed by the 
 official acts which followed. The King gladly seized on the 
 pretext, which had been thus offered him, to do away at 
 once with even the shadow of the last remaining Sicilian 
 
234 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 franchises. The substance had long ago vanished. The 
 taxes were augmented, the administration was rilled with 
 Neapolitans, a thorough system of centralisation in Naples 
 adopted, all vestige of municipal liberty, of the liberty of 
 the press, of association, of petition, was destroyed. To 
 make a long story short, nothing was left to Sicily but eyes 
 to weep, and the undying memory of her rights. This 
 memory, and the consciousness of the righteousness of her 
 cause, will support that noble and unfortunate country 
 through all her trials until a day of reckoning comes for her, 
 as come it surely will.' 
 
 Antonio wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow — 
 less the effect of heat than of deep emotion. Lucy was 
 scarcely less moved, and it was almost in a whisper that 
 she said, ' You have not told us what obliged you to leave 
 Catania.' 
 
 * True,' answered Antonio ; ■ all recollection of my indi- 
 vidual troubles was lost in that of our national catastrophe. 
 Indeed, few will be able to credit that such a trivial incident 
 as I have to mention could be sufficient in any country to 
 force a man into exile. I had taken no share in the dis- 
 turbances in my native town. Not that my Sicilian heart 
 did not beat fast and loud at the sacred names of Indepen- 
 dence and Liberty — not that I did not sympathise with, and 
 approve of the struggle, in spite of the sad forebodings that 
 filled my mind as to the issue of an insulated attempt ; but 
 my every hour was occupied by professional duties. The 
 cholera, though less deadly than at Palermo, was neverthe- 
 less making sad havoc in Catania, and day and night I was 
 in requisition. One evening in the month of March, I was 
 called to the bedside of a dear friend, who had been sud- 
 denly taken ill. I had but just time to recognise the first 
 symptoms of the prevalent malady, when a party of soldiers 
 entered the room. An order for the arrest of my friend had 
 been issued, and a sergeant at the head of half a dozen men 
 
SICILY 235 
 
 were sent to seize bis person. The poor sick creature was 
 desired to get out of bed and prepare to accompany the 
 soldiers. I interfered, and making known my name and 
 profession, I said, that, to remove my friend in his actual 
 state was equivalent to killing him, and I therefore cautioned 
 the sergeant as to the heavy responsibility he was taking up- 
 on himself. The answer I received was, that precise orders 
 had been given, and that, dead or alive, my friend must go ; 
 saying which, the sergeant drew the blankets off the bed. 
 I lost all self-control at the brutal act. I do not know to 
 this day what I did or said, but it ended by my being hand- 
 cuffed, forced out of the house, and marched through the 
 streets. 
 
 'We had not proceeded far when we were met by an 
 officer, one of high rank, too, as far as I could judge in the 
 growing darkness. He stopped my escort, and asked some 
 questions of the sergeant. "A physician!" I heard the 
 stranger exclaim ; " this is surely not the time to arrest 
 physicians, my good friend." After a little more parley, I 
 was freed of the manacles ; the officer took me by the arm, 
 and led me one way, while the sergeant and his men went 
 the other. Being close to him, I now saw by his epaulettes 
 that my companion was a general officer. " Where do you 
 wish to go ? " he asked. I named the street where I lived. 
 He saw me to my own door, and as he took leave of me, he 
 said, " These are difficult times, and a charge of rebellion 
 is a very serious one. Had I any advice to give you, it 
 would be to get out of the way as soon as possible ; " and 
 with these words he left me. This was the circumstance 
 which led to my exile. Far less than I had said or done 
 that day had cost many a man his life. My mother 
 and uncle insisted on my following my unknown friend's 
 counsel, and so I did. Since then I have become ac- 
 quainted with his name, and with the fact that I am not 
 the only one whose life he has succeeded in saving. God 
 
236 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 bless him ! I am proud and happy to say that he is a 
 Sicilian ! ' 
 
 1 And your sick friend ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 * Dead, young lady, dead, a few hours after I left him. 
 I knew of his death before sailing. They had not dared to 
 take him away, but had contented themselves with leaving 
 a guard to watch his dying agonies. ' 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY. 
 
 ALL difficulties in the way of Battista and Speranza's 
 marriage being now removed by a splendid grant 
 from Sir John of two hundred pounds, three-fifths of which 
 were sufficient to cover all the debts of the family, and the 
 remaining eighty pounds more than enough to make the 
 Osteria a profitable, nay, brilliant business, it was settled 
 that the two lovers should be married on the 25th of June, 
 Speranza's birthday. Now, in every age and in every 
 country, birth, marriage, and death have always been 
 escorted by preliminaries and ceremonies of one kind or an- 
 other. In the present case, a pilgrimage to the sanctuary 
 of Lampedusa was deemed especially necessary, that our 
 Promessi sposi might pay their devotions, and offer their 
 thanks (in the shape of ex-votos) to the lady of that name, 
 to whose intercession they owed such a bright change of 
 fortune. For Rosa, and Speranza, and Battista, as, indeed, 
 nearly the whole of the parish of Bordighera, held it as an 
 article of faith, that the Madonna in general, and the 
 Madonna of Lampedusa in particular, had brought Lucy, 
 and all the blessings that had come with her, to the Osteria; 
 — thus unconsciously laying that mischievous trick of the 
 overturn of the carriage at the Madonna's door. Lucy's 
 interest and curiosity being greatly excited by the idea of 
 this pilgrimage, it came to be arranged that Sir John and 
 
 237 
 
238 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 his daughter should take the same time to visit the famous 
 shrine, and breathe the fresh air of the mountain for a couple 
 of days ; that Doctor Antonio, of course, should be of the 
 party, and that to him should be intrusted the care of all 
 the preparations for the trip, and arrangements for the so- 
 journ at Lampedusa. 
 
 On the 20th of June then, Sir John, his daughter, and 
 Antonio — the betrothed were not to come up till next morn- 
 ing—left the Osteria in a smart boat, with a gaily striped 
 red and white awning, commanded by Battista, and at which 
 he had been hard at work for more than a week, cleaning, 
 painting, and trimming, to do honour to the occasion. 
 Under the combined action of a sail tolerably well puffed 
 by a little breeze, and of three pair of vigorous oars, they 
 were not long in doubling the second headland. San Remo 
 — bright, verdant San Remo, rising up in the form of a tri- 
 angle, and smiled upon by its seven hills, clad all over in 
 most luxurious vegetation, then broke full on their view. 
 
 1 Do palm-trees grow naturally in this part of the coun- 
 try ? ' asked Lucy, pointing to the plantations that covered 
 the shore ; ' or are they cultivated for beauty's sake ? ' 
 
 ' Their beauty, I believe, is their least merit in the eyes 
 of their proprietors,' answered Antonio. ' Palms, you do 
 not perhaps know, are a very profitable kind of property, 
 and that is why they are cultivated. Cargoes of them are 
 sent yearly to France and Holland. In all the Catholic 
 countries the consumption of palms during Passion-week is 
 very great ; but throughout Italy, and especially at Rome, 
 it is enormous. There is a family of San Remo, which has 
 held for centuries, and still holds, the exclusive privilege of 
 furnishing palms to what is called "The Apostolic Palace," 
 that is, to the household of the Pope. ' 
 
 1 Was the monopoly purchased ? ' inquired Sir John. ' I 
 need scarcely ask, however, for I have been told that every- 
 thing is, ever was, and ever will be, sold at Rome.' 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 239 
 
 'Contrary to the rule,' replied the Doctor, 'this privilege 
 was given in acknowledgment of good service. The story, 
 such as it is, may amuse you, and help to while away the 
 time till we land. You have, I dare say, seen and admired 
 in Rome the obelisk which stands in Piazza San Pietro, or 
 Vaticano, and itself goes by the name of Vaticano. This 
 obelisk in 1584, that is, during the first years of the Ponti- 
 ficate of Sixtus v., was still lying half-buried in the earth, 
 not far from the ancient vestry of San Pietro. Many a Pope 
 before Sixtus had formed plans for having it disinterred and 
 removed to the Piazza San Pietro, but had always been de- 
 terred by the great difficulties and expenses of the under- 
 taking. Pope Sixtus v., an ambitious and enterprising 
 spirit, as everybody knows, made up his mind to realise 
 that which his predecessors had only thought about. He 
 confided the arduous task to Domenico Fontana, an archi- 
 tect of great renown, liberally furnishing him with all the 
 necessary means for its success. The mechanics of that 
 period were far behind those of the present day ; and it was 
 found no easy matter to free from the ground in which it 
 was sunk, and transfer without injury to the place where it 
 was intended to stand, a monolith of such portentous mag- 
 nitude. These two preliminary acts, however, were suc- 
 cessfully performed in the course of a year. But the final 
 and most delicate operation, that of raising the stupendous 
 bulk upright, still remained to be accomplished. All the 
 preparations for this purpose being at last completed, 
 Fontana went to the Pope and requested him to fix a day 
 for the elevation. The Pope did so, and promised to 
 honour with his presence a ceremony which could not fail 
 to attract from all parts an immense concourse of people. 
 
 '"That is what most alarms me,' said the architect; 
 "should the noise of the crowd bewilder the workmen, and 
 prevent my slightest direction from being attended to, I can 
 answer for nothing. " 
 
240 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 * " Never fear," said Pope Sixtus, " I will take good care 
 of that ; " and he instantly penned an edict, by which he 
 made known, that whosoever uttered a sound during the 
 erection of the column should suffer death. This proclama- 
 tion, with the tremendous Papal seal affixed to it, was with- 
 out delay placarded on the walls of Rome. 
 
 'On the day settled, Fontana, after having confessed, 
 taken the sacrament, and received the Pope's benediction, 
 mounted the high scaffolding from which he was to super- 
 intend the great work. His orders were to be signified by 
 means of bells, and of divers coloured flags, so that the 
 workmen out of hearing could understand and execute them. 
 The Piazza Vaticano, crowded to suffocation, looked as if 
 paved with heads ; and a great and imposing sight it must 
 have been to behold that countless multitude remain, by the 
 will of one man, as motionless and silent, as if, instead of 
 living people, it were composed of statues. Pope Sixtus, 
 from the lofty seat prepared for him, looked down upon the 
 assembled throng, standing thus spellbound before him. 
 
 1 At last the signal is given, the capstans begin to wind, 
 the pulleys to revolve, the cables and ropes to stretch and 
 strain, and creak. Up, up, slowly rises the granite monster. 
 Fontana waves his flags, the Pope stoops eagerly forward, 
 the thousands below hold their breath — a minute more 
 and the huge monolith will be erect. All at once an 
 ominous crack is heard, the obelisk is motionless for a 
 second, then sinks some inches ; the ropes no longer bear 
 upon it. The Pope frowns, — all Rome turns, pale. 
 Fontana's presence of mind forsakes him. "Water! 
 water!" shouts a voice on a sudden; "wet the ropes." 
 Fontana obeys the blessed prompting ; water is thrown on 
 the ropes, the slackened hemp contracts, once more the 
 workmen bent to their work with a will. The majestic 
 column is upreared, and stands before the admiring world, 
 another glorious proof of man's daring and ingenuity. 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 241 
 
 'He whose timely interference had brought about this 
 result was the captain of a trading-vessel, named Bresca, a 
 native of San Remo ; one who in his seafaring life had 
 probably had some similar experience of the slackening of 
 hempen ropes. In spite, however, of the undeniable service 
 he had rendered, the Swiss Guards, who knew of no virtue 
 but obedience, of no crime but disobedience to their master, 
 seized on Bresca, and brought him before the Pope. The 
 known severity of Sixtus v., a severity frequently amounting 
 to wanton cruelty, left little hope of the captain's life being 
 spared. Fortunately, the success of the undertaking he had 
 had so much at heart disposed the Pope to be lenient — we 
 ought to say, to be just— towards the man who had so 
 materially contributed to that success. His Holiness, then, 
 contrary to general expectation, received Bresca courteously, 
 and promised to grant any favour he might ask. The good 
 captain, as a matter of course, begged first the Pope's holy 
 blessing, and, secondly, the privilege for him, and his de- 
 scendants, of yearly furnishing the Apostolic Palace with 
 palms. This request was immediately conceded by a Papal 
 Brief, which further conferred on Bresca the title and grade 
 of Captain in the Pontifical army, and the right of wearing 
 the uniform, and of hoisting the Papal flag on his vessel. 
 This Brief rs still in the possession of the Bresca family, and 
 the monopoly it bestowed lasts to this day.' 
 
 1 Still, I think, this Pope Sixtus must have been a hateful 
 man,' exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 ' Certainly not an amiable one,' observed Antonio. ' One 
 can scarcely help shrinking from the skilful surgeon who 
 cuts deep into the human frame, although we know that the 
 most humane motives arm his hand. The task of Sixtus V. 
 was of a somewhat similar nature. When he came to be 
 the head of Church and State, both were in so rotten a 
 condition, that only heroic remedies, if any — the free use of 
 knife and scalpel — could heal them ; and these he applied 
 Q 
 
242 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 unflinchingly, unsparingly. Men are but what circum- 
 stances make them — a truce to moralising, for here we are 
 at the end of our voyage,' added the Doctor, looking 
 around — * and there, just in front of us, between those two 
 gently receding mountains, the little valley of Taggia 
 stretches inland ; and that river falling into the sea, a 
 hundred paces ahead of us to the east, is the Argentina, 
 the pride of the inhabitants of the dale, and now and then 
 their scourge, as when chafed by mountain torrents it roars 
 like a mad bull, and carries everything before it.' 
 
 A walk of two minutes brought our party to a cross- way 
 formed by the Taggia road, and the high-road to Nice, 
 meeting at right angles, and where an open carriage was in 
 waiting for them. Their drive was now through plantations 
 of olive-trees, whose branches, closing from either side of 
 the way, made a green canopy over their heads. 
 
 * What capital studies for a painter these twisted gnarled 
 trunks would make ! ' cried Lucy ; ' I never saw such a 
 number of odd, picturesque shapes.' 
 
 'Whatever may be said,' observed Antonio, 'of the 
 monotonous effect of olives seen in masses, we cannot deny 
 the individual tree credit for variety and originality of 
 form.' 
 
 'Certainly not,' said Lucy ; 'for my part, I confess to a 
 foible for the olive-tree. It speaks to my heart and ima- 
 gination. It recalls to my mind the branch-symbol of peace 
 that the dove brought back to Noah ; the moving forest of 
 olive-boughs that welcomed our Saviour on His entry into 
 Jerusalem; the garden where He prayed and suffered.' — 
 Really, Lucy, as these holy associations awoke in her mind, 
 did look very like one of Guido's divine Madonnas, at least 
 Antonio did not wonder at Battista's mistake any more. 
 
 'Pray, Doctor,' said she, after a pause, 'let me have one 
 of those twigs that hang overhead. ' Antonio having com- 
 plied, Lucy examined the leaves, dark dead-green on one 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 243 
 
 side, and silvery-grey on the other, then said, ' Are those 
 little white balls hanging in bunches the fruit ? ' 
 
 'They are,' answered Antonio; 'and if the weather 
 permits, by next January, those same small white things 
 will be transformed into glossy black berries, which, ground 
 in mills, furnish the well-known oil. After that, the 
 crushed kernel, washed and dried, makes excellent fuel, 
 while the dead leaves are used as manure. The olive-wood, 
 as you already know, is much prized by cabinetmakers for 
 their finest articles ; so you see, no part of the tree but has 
 a value. ' 
 
 1 How comes it, then,' asked Sir John, ■ that with so rich 
 a product at their very doors the people of this country are 
 poor ? ' 
 
 'The apparent contradiction is easily explained,' replied 
 Antonio. ' In the first place, you must understand that only 
 once in three years there is a good crop, that is to say, only 
 every third year are the trees well covered with the white 
 balls you are now looking at, which, remember, are, after 
 all, the promise, and nothing more, of a rich harvest. For 
 these little balls have to remain on the tree from April or 
 May when they form, until the following January when 
 they are to be gathered, and as they are of a very delicate 
 constitution, likely to be equally injured by extremes of any 
 kind, whether of heat or cold, drought, rain, or wind, you 
 may easily imagine the risks and losses they are liable to 
 during so long an interval as that of eight or nine months. 
 Add to this, that the cultivation of the olive is expensive, 
 the tree needing, at least every fourth year, plenty of a 
 particular and very dear manure, consisting of woollen rags 
 and the horns and hoofs of cattle ; that at certain seasons 
 the earth round each tree must be dug to give air to the 
 roots ; that the ?>iurricciuoli i or little walls of the terraces, 
 which support the soil of our mountainous districts, are 
 continually requiring repairs, while, as a climax, the cost of 
 
244 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 gathering the fruit, and making the oil, is calculated to be 
 twenty-five per cent, of the net produce. Bearing all this 
 in mind, you will, I think, cease to wonder at so rich a 
 product affording only poor incomes.' 
 
 Sir John, far from assenting to the Doctor's explanation, 
 shook his .head, as much as to say, there must be bad 
 management somewhere ; but as they had now come in 
 sight of the two dark ivy-festooned towers, which com- 
 mand the approach to the town, the conversation took a 
 different turn. 
 
 * Many a fierce assault of the Saracens has been bravely 
 met and repulsed here,' observed the Doctor, as he assisted 
 his companions to alight. * Down to a comparatively re- 
 cent period this Riviera has been infested by Barbary 
 Corsairs, who took advantage of the unguarded state of the 
 coast, and the want of easy communication between town 
 and town, to pounce upon a given point, and accomplish 
 their only object, plunder, before help from other parts 
 could be procured. Yes ; indeed,' continued Antonio, 
 answering the mute wonder expressed in Lucy's eyes ; 
 
 * there are persons still alive who recollect a descent of the 
 kind, when a convent of friars was broken into, and most 
 of the monks carried off. It was the policy of the most 
 Serene Republic of Genoa, at all times, out of jealousy of 
 her near neighbour, France, to prevent any carriage-road 
 being made between the capital and this part of her do- 
 minions ; and but half a century ago a journey from Genoa 
 here was considered, and really was, a difficult and rather 
 dangerous undertaking. ' 
 
 1 Not much to boast of yet as to safety, Doctor ; your 
 Prospero was almost as bad as a Corsair,' said Sir John, 
 laughing. 
 
 1 Ah, indeed ! ' retorted the Doctor, in the same tone ; 
 
 * still I hope Bordighera has not been quite so bad as Algiers 
 or Tunis. ' 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 245 
 
 'Not quite, not quite,' returned Sir John good- 
 humouredly. ' Then this fine road is a modern work,' 
 continued he. 
 
 ' Entirely so,' replied Antonio ; ' the actual Cornice road 
 was only completed in 1828, and we owe it to the following 
 accident : — Charles Felix, the then reigning sovereign, was 
 extremely partial to Nice, where he often resided. His 
 road from Turin thither was naturally by the Col di Tenda. 
 It so happened that during one of these visits to Nice 
 there was a heavy fall of snow, rendering the return to 
 Turin by the usual route impossible. The only alternative 
 was to go by water to Genoa, from whence his Majesty 
 could easily reach his capital. He accordingly embarked, 
 but the weather was so boisterous, and the sea so heavy, he 
 was obliged to put back. The people of the Riviera, who had 
 long been vainly endeavouring to obtain permission to open 
 a road along the coast, seized the opportunity thus offered to 
 them, v I ought to have said before that the Government 
 of Piedmont, along with the ancient States of the Republic 
 of Genoa, had inherited also its prejudices against a road 
 towards France. So the populations of all the towns and 
 villages turned out en masse, headed by the Mayors and 
 Cures, gaps were filled, and rocks removed, in an incre- 
 dibly short space of time. " Here, your Majesty, is a road 
 at your service," cried out every voice, and his Majesty was 
 graciously pleased to accept of the accommodation. Red- 
 hot orders arrived from Turin, commanding the Riviera to 
 let alone road-making — a day too late, however, for the 
 road was made, and King and courtiers had already sancti- 
 fied it.' 
 
 With this the Doctor led the way through the town, a 
 quaint-looking place, to be sure, with an intense middle-age 
 air and colour about it, full, both on the right and the left, 
 of dark vaults and mysterious archways, some of these last 
 opening unexpectedly on green, sunny vistas, refreshing to 
 
246 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 behold. Miss Lucy wondered at the number of massy stone 
 bridges thrown overhead across the street from house to 
 house ; and which, her cicerone explained, were meant as a 
 safeguard against a frequent unpleasant visitor — the earth- 
 quake. Another thing that puzzled the young English lady 
 was to see, now and then, on the outer door-steps, plates 
 full of oranges, lemons, and vegetables, without any one to 
 watch them. She was surprised to hear that they were 
 there for sale ; anybody who wanted such or such an article, 
 taking it sans cerimonie out of the plate, and leaving instead 
 the price, one or two sous. 
 
 This novel method of trading highly amused Sir John, 
 who remarked, * That though ingenious and economical, it 
 was not of a kind to thrive much in many places.' 
 
 Our trio now came to a street wider than the rest, where 
 a great many persons of all classes, gentlemen, priests, 
 labourers, and mechanics, were either assembled in groups, 
 or loitering about under arcades extending on both sides. 
 * This is the PantanoJ said Doctor Antonio ; \ the Exchange 
 and the Regent Street combined of the good folks of Taggia. 
 Here business is transacted, and here beaux and magnates 
 exhibit their finery and importance to the world. That tall 
 man in uniform is the quarter-master of the carabineers, one 
 of the powers that be. If we stay here a few minutes 
 longer, we shall see him set off to make an official report as 
 to how Doctor Antonio of Bordighera was seen to traverse 
 the Pantano at five minutes past four in the afternoon, in 
 the company of a foreign lady and gentleman ; an impor- 
 tant event of which my friend the Commandant of San 
 Remo will be informed before sunset.' 
 
 1 Are you in earnest ? ' cried Lucy. ' I can scarcely be- 
 lieve that any one would trouble himself about such trifles.' 
 
 * Trifles, indeed ! ' repeated Antonio, with the utmost 
 gravity ; ' might not Sir John be a French general in dis- 
 guise (he looks very like one, I am sure) come to revolu- 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 247 
 
 tionise his Sardinian Majesty's town of Taggia ? Our police 
 are for ever ready and willing to save the country from such 
 risks.' 
 
 Every hat was raised as our friends passed by, and many 
 a nod and smile, and waving of hands, addressed in par- 
 ticular to the Doctor, gave evidence of his treading on 
 familiar ground. He beckoned to a tall, thin, fair-haired 
 young man (' the maker of your easy-chair, Miss Davenne') > 
 who came forward, and after saluting the company, shook 
 hands with Antonio — an act of familiarity that called up on 
 Sir John's countenance only half of his wonted grimace, 
 for, making" a strenuous effort, the Baronet so far overcame 
 himself as to suppress the other half. This unpleasant im- 
 pression was, however, soon obliterated by the quiet and 
 deferential manner with which the young cabinetmaker 
 introduced his visitors into his workshop, a large room with 
 bare walls, and where they found a lad modelling a head in 
 plaster. 
 
 1 That youth,' said the Doctor, ' has a decided talent for 
 sculpture ; untaught, he has already modelled heads, and 
 even full-length figures. He is about to go to Rome, where 
 a rich and generous family of this country has volunteered 
 to pay all his expenses while he studies there ; and I am 
 greatly mistaken if the name of Salvatore Revelli does not 
 become, in a few years, one honoured in the Republic of 
 Arts. 1 This tall fellow, too,' continued Antonio playfully, 
 pointing to the cabinetmaker, ' but for his obstinacy in 
 sticking to the Pantano, might have earned fame and 
 money. — Now out with your fine things, sir, if you please.' 
 
 The number of fine things was not large — where was the 
 
 1 Antonio prophesied right. Revelli placed himself at once among 
 the most promising young sculptors of the day by his first work exhi- 
 bited in Genoa in 1849— a bas-relief representing an episode in the life 
 of Columbus, and intended for the monument the Genoese are erecting 
 to their great countryman. 
 
248 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 use of adding to them when what was there already found 
 no purchasers ? — nevertheless, there was more than enough 
 to prove the uncommon skill and taste of the workman. 
 There were, indeed, only a few paper-knives and portfolios, 
 richly ornamented with most delicate and fanciful carvings, 
 or diminutive figures, and three tables of most exquisite 
 workmanship. On one of these was delineated a series of 
 figures representing the different costumes of the people 
 of the Riviera, so admirably done that Lucy exclaimed — 
 
 * This is not the work of a cabinetmaker, it is that of an 
 artist, who not only draws beautifully, but is also a first-rate 
 colourist ! ' 
 
 * My friend,' said Antonio, ' has all the merit of choice and 
 arrangement, but there are no colours in these figures ex- 
 cept those bestowed by nature on the different bits of wood 
 of which they are composed.' 
 
 Lucy could scarcely believe this, and Sir John needed the 
 joint testimony of eyes and glasses before he could admit the 
 fact. He at once offered to purchase all that had been shown 
 them, expressing his regret to the Doctor that the' cabinet- 
 maker's stock was not larger. After a cordial exchange of 
 good wishes and thanks, Antonio and his friends took their 
 leave, and winding their way through some more streets, 
 all verdure and sunshine in the balconies and terraces above, 
 all shades and gloom below, they arrived at a bridge which 
 joined the two banks of the little valley. 
 
 On a lofty ridge opposite rose Castellaro, shimmering in 
 golden light. ' How bright and beautiful,' said Lucy : 
 
 * that is the gayest village in the world ; one might fancy 
 that Castellaro feels the happiness of existence.' 
 
 ' Or, ' pursued Antonio, ' that in a transport of joy it is 
 about to fling itself into the arms of the valley.' 
 
 'Just so,' laughed the Baronet; 'they must have stout 
 hearts who live in those foremost houses ; the mere idea 
 makes me giddy.' 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 249 
 
 About the middle of the bridge they came to a stone 
 pillar, on which was a Madonna and a Latin inscription. 
 1 Here is another memorial of an earthquake,' said Antonio, 
 pointing to the inscription. ' It is here stated, that in the 
 month of June 1831, a dreadful visitation destroyed two 
 arches of the bridge, the third and this one on which we are 
 now standing. Two children, brother and sister, who were 
 crossing at the very instant of the shock, were thrown down 
 with this, the eleventh arch, and, wonderful to relate, sus- 
 tained no injury ; in acknowledgment of which miraculous 
 escape the grateful father erected this pillar, with an inscrip- 
 tion commemorative of the fact.' 
 
 At the foot of a narrow steep path, a little past the bridge, 
 the party found two mules and two men waiting for them. 
 The Doctor preferred walking, he said. Sir John, once in 
 the saddle, opened his umbrella and took the lead, closely 
 followed by Lucy, a man at the head of each mule. * I 
 never saw such a detestable break-neck road,' cried out the 
 Baronet, after a short time, • certainly the parish does not 
 ruin itself by keeping the roads in order.' 
 
 * It will improve as soon as we pass into the parish of 
 Castellaro,' said Doctor Antonio. 'Castellaro has more 
 than once pressed on Taggia the necessity of the latter 
 having its part of the road repaired. You will never 
 guess the answer always given : — It is not Taggia that 
 wants to go to Castellaro, but Castellaro that wants to 
 come to Taggia ; so let Castellaro repair the road if it 
 chooses, at its own expense. Such are the notions of 
 political economy entertained hereabouts.' 
 
 The elastic air of the mountain, strongly impregnated 
 with the racy perfume of the rosemary and thyme growing 
 plentifully about, began to act as a gentle stimulant on our 
 travellers, whose spirits rose with every step. Sir John 
 waxed so poetical, as to liken the enormous clusters of 
 yellow furze scattered over the hill to smiles irradiating a 
 
250 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 rugged old face. Lucy, with girlish buoyancy, fell to pelt- 
 ing Antonio with every flower supplied by the victim, who 
 cried out treason, and, seemingly in mortal fear, would fall 
 back, shriek, and hide behind rocks and trees, and play 
 such childish tricks, as we, his historiographers, cannot take 
 upon ourselves to relate. Lucy's merry peals of laughter 
 at Antonio's odd ways, and at the grave face with which 
 he warned her against peeping behind, and thus spoiling 
 her pleasure, were most cheering to listen to. He presently 
 came out of one of his hiding-places shouting and waving 
 a huge bunch of flowers, so inconceivably gay that they 
 could only be met with, he declared, on the way to the 
 gayest village in the world. From the centre of each of 
 the large white blossoms he held in his hand there sprang 
 up a long elegant aigrette of deep lilac stamens. The en- 
 semble, so rich and delicate, had a certain resemblance to 
 the tail of a white peacock. ' What can it be ? ' said Lucy. 
 ' It is the capparis spinosa,' answered Antonio ; 'and these 
 flowers you admire so much are but capers in full blossom, 
 best known for culinary purposes.' This piece of informa- 
 tion did not cool Miss Davenne's admiration, who said she 
 liked caper sauce, and, seeing Antonio stick some of the 
 flowers in his famous conical hat, wished to have some in 
 her own, which looked pretty indeed. Sir John, laughingly, 
 allowed himself to be adorned in the same way — the two 
 guides had likewise their share, and thus caparisoned, the 
 little troop traversed the village of Castellaro, rather stared 
 at, but received with the same tokens of respect and 
 sympathy which had accompanied them throughout the day. 
 Now and then some villager would step up to the Doctor 
 with a request that he would go to visit some sick person, 
 which, the case not being urgent, was put off with a good- 
 humoured smile for the morrow. 
 
 A broad, smooth road, in high order, what Sir John 
 called a road fit for Christians, opened from the village 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 251 
 
 northwards, and stretching over the side of the steep moun- 
 tain in capricious zigzags, now concealed, now gave to view 
 the front of the sanctuary, shaded by two oaks of enormous 
 dimensions. 'The Castellini who made this road "in the 
 sweat of their brows,"' said Antonio, 'point it out with 
 pride, and well they may. They tell you with infinite 
 complacency how every one of the pebbles with which it is 
 paved was brought from the sea-shore, those who had mules 
 using them for that purpose, those who had none bringing 
 up loads on their own backs ; how every one, gentleman 
 and peasant, young and old, women and boys, worked day 
 and night, with no other inducement than the love of the 
 Madonna. The Madonna of Lampedusa is their creed, 
 their occupation, their pride, their Carroccio, their fixed idea.' 
 
 'A strange infatuation,' remarked Lucy ; ' I should like 
 to hear the legend, for, of course, there is some tradition 
 extant about it.' 
 
 1 All that relates to the miraculous image,' answered 
 Antonio, 'and the date and mode of its translation to 
 Castellaro, is given at full length in two inscriptions, one in 
 Latin, the other in bad Italian verses, which are to be 
 seen in the interior of the little chapel of the sanctuary. 
 Andrea Anfosso, a native of Castellaro, being the captain of 
 a privateer, was one day attacked and defeated by the Turks, 
 and carried to the Isle of Lampedusa. Here he succeeded 
 in making his escape and hiding himself, until the Turkish 
 vessel which had captured his left the island. Anfosso, 
 being a man of expedients, set about building a boat, and 
 finding himself in a great dilemma what to do for a sail, 
 ventured on the bold and original step of taking from the 
 altar of some church or chapel of the island a picture of the 
 Madonna to serve as one ; and so well did it answer his 
 purpose that he made an unusually prosperous voyage back 
 to his native shores, and in a fit of generosity offered his 
 holy sail to the worship of his fellow-townsmen. The 
 
252 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 wonderful of the affair does not stop here. A place was 
 chosen by universal acclamation, two gunshots in advance of 
 the present sanctuary, and a chapel erected, in which the 
 gift was deposited with all due honour. But the Madonna, 
 as it would seem, had an insurmountable objection to the 
 spot selected, for, every morning that God made, the 
 picture was found at the exact place where the actual church 
 now stands. Sentinels were posted at the door of the 
 chapel, the entire village remained on foot for nights, 
 mounting guard at the entrance — no precaution, however, 
 availed. In spite of the strictest watch, the picture, now 
 undeniably a miraculous one, found means to make its way 
 to the spot it preferred. At length the Castellini came to 
 understand that it was the Madonna's express will that her 
 head-quarters should be shifted to where her resemblance 
 betook itself every night ; and though it had pleased her 
 to make choice of the most abrupt and the steepest spot on 
 the whole mountain, just where it was requisite to raise 
 arches in order to lay a sure foundation for her sanctuary, 
 the Castellini set themselves con amore to the task so 
 clearly revealed to them, and this widely renowned chapel 
 was completed. This took place in 1610. In the course 
 of time some rooms were annexed for the accommodation 
 of visitors and pilgrims, and a terrace built, and many other 
 additions and embellishments are even now in contempla- 
 tion, and no doubt will be accomplished some day ; for, 
 although the Castellini have but a small purse, theirs is the 
 grand lever which can remove all impediments — the faith 
 that brought about the Crusades. ' 
 
 As Antonio ceased speaking, John and Miss Hutchins, 
 two personages of whom we have been lately strangely 
 forgetful, were at Lucy's stirrup, who playfully asked the 
 Doctor if the taboo were raised, and she might now look be- 
 hind her. • As if you had not been doing so for the last hour,' 
 said Antonio, shaking his head at her. Lucy turned sharply 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 253 
 
 round, and embraced at one glance the wonderfully varied 
 scene before her. 
 
 To the north a long, long vista of deep, dark, frown- 
 ing gorges, closed in the distance by a gigantic screen of 
 snow-clad Alps — the glorious expanse of the Mediterranean 
 to the south — east and west, range upon range of gently 
 undulating hills, softly inclining towards the sea — in the 
 plain below, the fresh, cozy valley of Taggia, with its 
 sparkling track of waters, and rich belt of gardens, looking 
 like a perfect mosaic of every gradation of green, chequered 
 with winding silver arabesques. Ever and anon a tardy 
 pomegranate in full blossom spread out its oriflamme of 
 tulip-shaped dazzling red flowers. From the rising ground 
 opposite frowned mediaeval Taggia, like a discontented guest 
 at a splendid banquet. A little further off, westwards, the 
 eye took in the Campanile of the Dominican Church, 
 emerging from a group of cypresses ; and further still, on 
 the extreme verge of the western cliff, the sanctuary of our 
 lady of the Guardia showed its white silhouette against 
 the dark blue sky. 
 
 A half-fretful, half-plaintive, ' Now, Lucy, my dear, if 
 you would only put off your enthusiasm till after dinner,' 
 from Sir John, interrupted Miss Davenne's silent but 
 delighted survey, and brought her at once to her father's 
 side. They sat down to a succulent dinner, of which Sir 
 John partook with an alacrity and zest highly complimen- 
 tary to the hygienic qualities of the mountain air. The 
 repast being over, Lucy proposed that they should take 
 coffee on the terrace, which being agreed to by her father, 
 they immediately went thither, and Sir John, after sipping 
 his Mocha, and paying an ample tribute of admiration to 
 the loveliness of the view, took the Times from his pocket, 
 and plunged into its columns. Lucy and Antonio, thus 
 left to themselves, sat watching in silent wonder the glories 
 of the evening hour. 
 
254 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 The sky was bright and limpid as polished steel, save 
 where three lovely cloudlets, like long scarfs of orange 
 gauze, hovered in the west. The sun, half hidden behind 
 the brow of the western mountain range, shot, through the 
 breaks of the lower hills in front, some of its rays in fiery 
 columns aslant the valley. As the dazzling orb sank slowly, 
 the zone of shade on the mountain opposite rose with 
 corresponding progress, and like a tide of dark waters, 
 chasing before it the broad sheets of light, narrowed them 
 by degrees to a purple line, which lingered for a while on 
 the topmost ridges, the last farewell then vanished with a 
 quiver. Now the foremost range of the chain resumes at 
 once the rigidity of its outlines, while those in the back- 
 ground, behind which the sun has gone down, float in a 
 transparent mist of lapis-lazuli and pink. The sky in the 
 west is a glorious furnace, the warm reflections from which 
 befleck with crimson the distant snow of the Alps, and light 
 up the horizon of the sea. Another moment the reddish glare 
 pales and gives way, the shadows thicken in the valley 
 beneath, and the gorges to the north darken and darken 
 apace. The fiery coruscations in the west have softened 
 into subdued rosy tints, and these in their turn, by a har- 
 moniously graduated scale, fade into a greenish mother-of- 
 pearl transparency, which passes from grey to azure, until 
 west and east merge into a uniform deep blue, spangled 
 here and there with a trembling star. 
 
 ' And our beautiful clouds ? ' said Lucy. 
 
 ' Gone ! ' replied Antonio sadly ; * emblem of many a 
 bright hope, vanishing even as you watch them. ' 
 
 'But they will come again to-morrow,' said Lucy naively, 
 and as in so saying she bent her head a little towards 
 Antonio, the evening breeze carried some of her golden 
 curls over his lips, as if offering them to his kiss. 
 
 'Who can tell,' said he, ' but that black clouds pregnant 
 with thunder will envelop those summits to-morrow? ' 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 255 
 
 The wonderful evolutions of light and shade which, out 
 of respect for our reader's patience, we have unceremoni- 
 ously despatched in a few lines, had in reality occupied a 
 full hour, the first quarter of which had been consecrated by 
 Sir John to his newspaper, the second to find a commodious 
 posture, and the last half to a glorious doze. This was the 
 reason why the young lady and the gentleman spoke in 
 whispers, and speaking in whispers chanced now and then 
 to lean towards each other. 
 
 The impressive stillness of the evening was suddenly 
 broken by the bells of the six churches of Castellaro ringing 
 the Ave Maria, echoed in quick succession by those of the 
 far more numerous churches of Taggia, and of the far-away 
 Capuchin and Dominican convents. It was the sweetest 
 and most melancholy concert imaginable. Sir John changed 
 his position, but did not wake ; and Antonio began reciting, 
 almost in Lucy's ear, the so often quoted, yet most excel- 
 lent to quote, incomparable lines of Dante — 
 
 ' Era gia l'ora che volge il disio 
 
 A* naviganti, e 'ntenerisce il cuore 
 
 Lo di c'han detto a dolci amici : a Dio 
 E che lo nuovo peregrin d'amore 
 
 Punge, se ode squilla di lontano 
 
 Che paja il giorno pianger che si muore.' 
 
 Translation. 
 ' Now was the hour that wakens fond desire 
 In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart, 
 Who in the morning have bid sweet friends farewell ; 
 And pilgrim newly on his road with love 
 Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, 
 That seems to mourn for the expiring day.' — Cary. 
 
 *I never entirely felt till now,' said Lucy, with glistening 
 eyes, ' the full pathos of those beautiful verses. The regret 
 for the distant fatherland which informs them strikes home 
 to the heart. They must have been written in such an hour 
 as this.' 
 
256 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 * And by an exile,' added Antonio. ' Probably the eyes of 
 the great Ghibelline were gazing on a chain of mountains 
 such as that rising before us, which stood between him, and 
 "II bello ovile ov* ei dornii agnello. Nimico cC lupi che gli 
 danno guerra." 1 
 
 'But while we are talking,' he went on, 'night has 
 dropped her veil in earnest, and the fire-flies begin to light 
 their tiny lanterns — a signal that it is time for me to go 
 home.' 
 
 ' Home ! ' repeated Lucy, surprised ; ' you are surely not 
 going back to Bordighera to-night ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no,' said Antonio ; 'you do not suppose I am such 
 a fickle cavalier. Do you see that mass of white there to 
 the left of Taggia, with lights in it ? ' 
 
 ' I remarked that house before,' returned Lucy ; ' it looks 
 mysterious. ' 
 
 ' That is what I call my home when I come to Taggia. ' 
 
 ' It is rather far off,' said Lucy ; ' can you not stay 
 here ? ' 
 
 ' There is no room. ' 
 
 ' Have you no friends at Castellaro ? ' 
 
 ' None half so dear as the one who expects me at 
 Taggia.' 
 
 'You are, then, much attached to that friend?' 
 
 ' I love and revere her with all my heart,' was the 
 answer. 
 
 Lucy was silent. 
 
 'You recollect,' Antonio went on, 'my telling you once 
 that of all my fellow -creatures the one who ranked highest 
 in my eyes was of your sex. I am now going to that lady. 
 Good-bye till to-morrow, and pleasant dreams. — Bless me, 
 how cold your hands are ! You had better go into the 
 house. Yet the air is so soft and mild. Do go in 
 
 1 '. . . The fair sheep-fold, where a sleeping lamb 
 The wolves set on, and fain had worried him.' — Carv. 
 
PROGRESS TO THE SANCTUARY 257 
 
 immediately, and have a cup of hot tea, pray do. —You will 
 not? Well, good-bye, I must not stay longer.' 
 
 Notwithstanding that Sir John, now thoroughly awake, 
 repeatedly urged her to go in, Lucy lingered on the terrace 
 till she saw a tall, dark figure cross the bridge beneath, 
 amid a shower of fire-flies, — the valley by this time looked 
 like a sea of dancing stars. Then, and then only, she 
 rose and joined her father, who had himself gone in to 
 order tea. 
 
 Two hours later the same tall figure which had crossed 
 the bridge was at one of the casements of the mysterious 
 house, standing out in bold relief against the light within. 
 Now, had you whispered in the ear of that figure, as it stood 
 at the window in silent contemplation, ' There is sleepless- 
 ness somewhere in the neighbourhood on your account,' 
 what a start it would have given. So true is it, that even 
 the most thoughtful and tender of men cannot think of 
 everything that the sensitiveness of a woman will suggest to 
 plague herself with. 
 
 The figure at last withdraws, shuts the window with a 
 sigh, and an earnest ' God bless her ! ' — a wish in which we 
 join with all our heart. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS. 
 
 IN the place of honour, viz. at the foot of the balustrade 
 which separates the main altar from the body of the 
 neat little church of the sanctuary, we find, at eight o'clock 
 next morning, Speranza and Battista on their knees, most 
 devoutly hearing the mass performing on their behalf. The 
 altar, on which the miraculous image stands, but hidden 
 from profane view by a curtain, is richly ornamented, and 
 the walls around it, as well as those of the two minor chapels 
 to the right and left of the nave, are covered with ex-votos, 
 most of them consisting of silver hearts, occasionally 
 interspersed by a silver leg or arm, with even a silver 
 baby swaddled according to inviolable Italian fashion. 
 There are also many primitive little pictures, nine out of 
 ten of which are intended to represent vessels sinking in 
 horrid seas, with preternatural waves, and the Madonna 
 seated on a cloud looking placidly on. 
 
 Mass being over, the balustrade is flung open by the old 
 Sacristan, who beckons forward Speranza and her betrothed. 
 This is the signal for the congregation, composed chiefly of 
 women, to rush towards the altar. The four tapers in front 
 are lighted, and then the curtain slowly rises amid a jingling 
 of little bells, and there appears a picture of small dimen- 
 sions — something less than a yard high, and about two feet 
 
 in breadth — containing three figures, our Lady and the 
 
 258 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 259 
 
 Divine Infant, with round each head a golden glory, and a 
 St. Catherine by their side. A general murmur of satisfac- 
 tion is sighed forth by the worshippers, whose eyes brighten 
 and glisten as they are raised in contemplation. The 
 Sacristan looks radiant. Speranza on her knees, crimson 
 with blushes, makes her offering, a huge silver heart ; 
 Battista slyly and awkwardly tenders his, a picture repre- 
 senting a carriage just upsetting, with the Madonna as usual 
 on a cloud. A short prayer from the priest, a short response 
 from the congregation, and then the priest retires. The 
 Sacristan, while slowly extinguishing the tapers, carries on a 
 little ex-official conversation with some of the bystanders, 
 in the course of which he remarks that it is wonderful to see 
 how much more beautiful the picture grows every day; 
 there is a jingling once more, the curtain falls, and the 
 devout drop away one by one. 
 
 1 How can these people,' said Lucy to the Doctor, as they 
 descended the stairs of a small gallery over the door of the 
 chapel, from which they had witnessed the whole cere- 
 mony, — *How can these people believe that so small a 
 picture could have served as a sail ? ' 
 
 ' Your observation, my dear Miss Davenne, smacks hor- 
 ribly of the heretic, ' returned the Doctor gravely ; * had 
 the picture been of a proper size, where would have been 
 the miracle ? ' 
 
 And leading the way to the left of the chapel, through a 
 vault supporting the terrace, where they had sat the 
 previous evening, watching the sunset, Antonio added, 
 ' Now, if you will trust yourself to my guidance, I will take 
 you where an agreeable surprise awaits you. ' 
 
 * As you please,' said Lucy. 
 
 This cold way of receiving a proposal sportively made, 
 so different from her habitual, rather buoyant manner on 
 similar occasions, caused Antonio to look first in her face, 
 then say, ■ I fear you did not sleep well last night.' 
 
2 6o DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 'On the contrary,' was the abrupt reply, *I never slept 
 better in my life.' (O Miss Davenne, Miss Davenne, 
 were it not for that crimson blush staining and burning 
 your cheek, how properly we should scold you for telling 
 such a fib in the very teeth of the Madonna !) Antonio 
 looked at her again, but said nothing, did not even offer her 
 his arm ; indeed she kept sufficiently far from him to justify 
 his thinking, that just then she did not wish for his support. 
 And thus they walked on in silence, till after a sharp turn 
 round a rock they came to a small table-land, covered with 
 a thick jungle of wild roses. Lucy, even in her present 
 mood, could not help brightening up at the sight. ' This 
 is where the original chapel stood, ' said Antonio ; * you can 
 perceive the remains of the old walls among the bushes ; 
 keep back a little, or you will never get free from the 
 brambles,' he added, as he himself plunged into the very 
 thick of them, and began cutting away right and left ; then 
 carefully stripping off the thorns, he made a splendid bouquet, 
 and handed it, without speaking, to Lucy, who received it 
 also without speaking. 
 
 ' Is that a Capuchin ? ' she asked at last, pointing to a 
 man dressed in a long loose gown, with a rope round his 
 waist, coming along the road at a short distance from them. 
 
 1 That is the Sacristan, who played so conspicuous a part 
 in the chapel this morning. He has laid aside his robes and 
 put on his hermit's gown, for you must know he is the 
 Hermit of Lampedusa, and goes by no other name. He is 
 one of the fixtures of the chapel, and guards it day and 
 night. The Madonna and he are in fact one.' 
 
 Lucy and the Doctor on their way back to the sanctuary 
 came upon the Hermit (he probably had been waiting for 
 them), who made a low obeisance to the lady, and ex- 
 changed some words with the gentleman. 
 
 'This man,' said Antonio, in Italian, tapping the Hermit 
 good-naturedly on the shoulder, • has the Madonna in his 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 261 
 
 sleeve ; deny it if you dare.' The Hermit, evidently much 
 pleased at this somewhat profane compliment, acknowledged 
 his sense of it with a little toss of the head, and a depreca- 
 tory motion of both hands, as much as to say, ' Pray, spare 
 my modesty,' and passed on. Lucy had eyed him with 
 some curiosity during this halt. He was a thin, dry, ruddy- 
 complexioned man, about sixty, with a pair of small grey 
 eyes, as restless and piercing as those of a ferret, — tell-tale 
 witnesses to his being of a choleric disposition. 
 
 'That poor old fellow,' said Antonio, 'carries on a little 
 trade in common prints of the Madonna, and he told me he 
 was going to call on you presently to show you his collec- 
 tion. He will expect you to make some purchases, which 
 you can bestow on Speranza and Battista, who will be de- 
 lighted to accept of them. This sort of tribute, which he 
 levies on all visitors to the shrine, with some other trifling 
 perquisites, constitute the Hermit's income, for he has no 
 salary. He is an original worth studying ; his fanaticism 
 in all that concerns the Madonna is most ferocious. Com- 
 pared to him, Torquemada was a pattern of toleration.' 
 
 They found Battista and Speranza on the terrace. Thus 
 taken by surprise, poor Battista, who had not yet con- 
 quered his awe of Lucy, coloured prodigiously, and tried to 
 conceal himself behind Speranza — a manoeuvre perceived 
 by every one, but of which, out of compassion to the poor 
 young man, no one took notice. Antonio went to fetch a 
 table for Miss Davenne, and she sat down to sketch. As 
 good as his word, the Hermit shortly after made his appear- 
 ance, bringing with him a large bundle of prints, admired 
 and praised by all present, and of which Lucy, as just 
 agreed, became the purchaser. 
 
 1 Have you plenty of visitors ? ' asked Antonio. 
 
 * Santi chiodi ! I should think so,' cried the irascible old 
 man, whose abrupt manner of speaking and habitual jerk of 
 the head caused him to seem in a permanent passion ; ■ I 
 
262 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 should think so, indeed. It is the same all the year round. 
 People come from Turin, from Genoa, from Nice, from all 
 the parts of the world. And those who cannot come, the 
 Madonna hearkens to just as well if they pray to her ; it is 
 faith which saves. Why, only last week, the Marquis of 
 Papparilla, one of the greatest nobles of Genoa, fell ill ; 
 the physicians had given him up. But his mother, a really 
 holy woman, do you know what she does ? — gives up the 
 physicians as they had given up her son, and sits down and 
 writes a letter to the Cure, begging him to have a Triduo 
 at the shrine. And what happens ? — the very first day of 
 the Triduo the Marquis was out of danger. ' 
 
 ' And what is a Triduo ? ' asked Lucy. 
 
 .' A Triduo ! ' (with the characteristic toss of the head 
 more marked than ever). ISanti chiodil three days of 
 prayer, and the benediction with the holy sacrament, the 
 bells of the parish ringing all the while. You can have a 
 Triduo for seven francs and twelve sous ; three francs for 
 the parish, three for the Madonna, and four-and-twenty 
 sous for the ringing of the bells ; eight sous come to me. 
 If you pay three francs twelve sous more, you may have a 
 mass performed each of the three days. Each mass twenty 
 sous, and four additional sous for the walk from Castellaro 
 hither. Why, it is a mere nothing.' 
 
 * Certainly,' said Antonio, ' it is not dear. Pray, is the 
 sanctuary of the Madonna della Guardia ' — pointing to it 
 in the distance — ' at all like this ? ' 
 
 * Like this ! ' exclaimed the old man, reddening, and 
 making a grimace of supreme contempt. * Sanctuaries like 
 this, my good gentleman,' he continued, with great severity 
 of tone, ' are rare, though you hunt through all Christendom 
 for them ; a sanctuary like this, my good gentleman, is not 
 to be found elsewhere in all Christendom — but go into the 
 vestry, I beg, and read the Papal Brief hanging there ; it 
 will teach you that this sanctuary of Lampedusa is equal 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 263 
 
 to Rome— yes, sir, the same in point of privileges and 
 indulgences, whether during life or in articulo mortis. 
 All that. can be got at Rome, where his Holiness the 
 Pope dwells, can all be got here without any exception. 
 When the shrine of our Lady of the Guardia can say so 
 much for itself,' he concluded with a look of offended 
 dignity, ( then, and then only, shall I place it on a footing 
 with this.' 
 
 'Still,' persisted Antonio, with much gravity, 'though 
 I am far from wishing to make comparisons, which are 
 always odious things, still I have it from competent 
 authority that at the intercession of that Madonna of 
 the Guardia some miraculous cures have lately taken 
 place.' 
 
 1 May be so,' said the Hermit, with cool condescension. 
 ' Far be it from me to disparage the Madonna della Guardia ; 
 may be that she has cured some poor old gouty man or 
 rheumatic old woman. But has she ever restored speech 
 and hearing to those born deaf and dumb, cured paralytics 
 bedridden for twenty-five years, and made rain to fall at 
 a day's notice ? ' 
 
 'You have then yourself witnessed real miracles?' in- 
 quired Antonio. 
 
 ' Santi chiodil have I witnessed miracles? I hope I 
 have,' burst out the old man eagerly. ' Do you remember 
 the spring of 1835 ? No, you don't, for you were not yet 
 come to these parts. Not a drop of rain, I give you my 
 solemn word, had fallen for three whole months, and the 
 crop of olives that promised so well that year was fast 
 going to destruction. There was nothing but lamentation 
 throughout the Riviera. Triduos had been performed ; 
 the sacrament had been exhibited for weeks in every parish 
 round ; Novenas had been going on at the Madonna della 
 Guardia (with a slight sneer), the relics of San Benedetto 
 had been shown ; the miraculous crucifix in the oratory of 
 
264 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 San Sebastian, at Taggia, had been carried in procession, 
 — still not a drop of rain. All hands were now raised in 
 supplication to Castellaro. "What are the Castellini 
 waiting for?" was asked on every side. "They who 
 possess such a miraculous image, why do they not bring it 
 forth ? Do they mean to delay till every hope of saving the 
 olives is lost ? " Well, sir, what does our Cure do ? He 
 writes a beautiful letter to the Bishop of Ventimiglia, which 
 made every one weep who read or heard it ; now or never, 
 he writes, is the time for having the Madonna of Lampe- 
 dusa carried to the parish church, and shown to the faithful. 
 The Bishop, like a holy man, as he is, sends back a beauti- 
 ful letter in answer to the Cure's, saying, that the time in 
 fact was come to give the Madonna of Lampedusa a fair 
 trial. On the first of May, then, we set off in procession — 
 such a crowd as you can have no conception of: — there 
 were all the Confraternities from Taggia, from Riva, from 
 Pompejana, from Boscomara, indeed where did they not 
 come from? — so we set off, the Cure in his white surplice 
 heading the procession, the Confraternities following behind 
 with big tapers in their hands — real wax tapers — and we 
 carry the blessed picture under a baldaquin, just as if it 
 had been the sacrament, — we carry it, I say, to the parish 
 church. Well, what do you think was the consequence? 
 On the evening of that same day, — mind, of that same day, 
 — rumble, rumble, rumble, flash, flash, flash, a terrific 
 thunderstorm came on, and then down poured rain, rain, 
 rain, in bucketsful, as though it had never rained before. 
 To finish my story, our picture remained in the parish 
 church for fifteen days, and for fifteen days the rain never 
 ceased pouring in torrents ; till, at last, fearing there 
 might be a second deluge, we brought the Madonna back 
 in a hurry, and lo ! as soon as we had done that, there 
 was an end of rain, and the sun shone out splendidly, and 
 we had a plentiful harvest. Do you call this a miracle or 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 265 
 
 not ? ' asked the Hermit, looking round on his audience 
 with beaming eyes. 
 
 Speranza and Battista, who had listened open-mouthed to 
 the story, in a sort of trance of ecstasy, immediately sent 
 forth a volley of inarticulate sounds, meant to express en- 
 thusiastic acquiescence and wonder. 
 
 * But this is not all,' resumed the Hermit, after a silence 
 of a minute or two, the better to enjoy the renewed 
 surprise of his listeners. * One evening, while the picture 
 was in the parish church, another attendant and I had 
 just replaced the fourteen big wax tapers that burned 
 before it all day, by the fourteen oil lamps which, for the 
 sake of economy, were lighted at night, and we were going 
 away, when all of a sudden the lamps began to dance up 
 and down. " Do you see that? " said I to the other man. 
 " Yes," answered he, all of a tremble; the word was scarcely 
 spoken, when up and down went the lamps again. ' 
 
 'Did the picture also dance up and down?' asked 
 Antonio, with the most perfect composure. 
 
 * Not the least,' answered the Hermit earnestly ; ' the 
 picture did not move in the least. " The Madonna gives us 
 a sign," says I to my comrade, " there is something wrong 
 here. " And so we began rummaging about, poking under 
 the benches, looking into the confessionals, and searching 
 every hole and corner. For my part, to tell you the truth, 
 I thought that there might be thieves in the church, for you 
 must know we have ten beautiful silver lamps there. We 
 looked, and looked, without finding anything, and we had 
 made up our minds to go away, when all at once the lamps 
 began dancing more violently than ever. We set to work 
 to search all over again, and guess what we found at last ? 
 — (A tantalising stop ; Speranza and Battista's eyes were 
 ready to start out of their heads with thrilling expectation. ) 
 — We found a little boy of six years old, quietly sleeping 
 under the shelter of one of the minor altars. Now fancy, 
 
266 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 if the poor child had awakened in the dead of the night 
 there all alone, he would certainly have died of fright. 
 This is what the Madonna would not permit, so she gave 
 us a sign, and through her holy interference, the innocent 
 little creature was saved from certain death. ' 
 
 This conclusion not being contradicted by anybody, 
 while it was most emphatically agreed to by Speranza and 
 Battista, who knows how many more miracles the old man 
 would have narrated, had it not been for Antonio, who, 
 announcing that he must go to visit some patients, both at 
 Castellaro and Taggia, playfully drew the Hermit's arm 
 under his own, and carried him off, on the plea of having 
 some important communication to make respecting our 
 Lady of the Guardia. Lucy recommenced drawing; Battista 
 crept farther and farther away, then vanished altogether ; 
 and Speranza, seating herself by the side of her young bene- 
 factress, began to work at some of her wedding garments. 
 We ought to have said before, that, among the contrivances, 
 provided by Doctor Antonio's foresight for the convenience 
 of his fellow-travellers, there figured a wide awning, which 
 had been by his orders put up over the terrace that 
 morning, and it is under its shade we leave Miss Davenne 
 for a while. 
 
 Among the numerous loungers who were the constant 
 ornament of the Boulevard de Gand of Taggia, and con- 
 sequently one of those who had marked the progress of our 
 little party through the Pantano, was Signor Orlando 
 Pistacchini, manager and chief actor of the dramatic 
 company bearing his euphonious name, and forming the 
 delight of the respectable public of Taggia. When we 
 make this last affirmation, we avail ourselves of a rather 
 hyperbolical phrase, copied literally from the manuscript 
 bills placarded at the four corners of the Pantano. If we 
 were to state facts in their genuine historical nakedness, we 
 ought to say, that as nobody went to the theatre, so the 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 267 
 
 company in question formed the delight or horror of no- 
 body ; and we are free also to declare that the honourable 
 corps dramatique were bona fide starving. A very un- 
 pleasant predicament, and one which caused the unlucky 
 manager, who was fasting from all food, to lean rather de- 
 jectedly against a stone pillar, ruminating as to how or 
 where he was likely to find a dinner. Roused from his 
 sad reflections by the advent of the strangers, Orlando 
 Pistacchini languidly raised his hat, speculated for one 
 moment on what they might have had for breakfast, and 
 then relapsed into his painful meditations. But when Fame 
 with her hundred trumpets, or, to speak less poetically, but 
 more truly, when a tall fair-haired cabinetmaker spread 
 far and wide the intelligence that Doctor Antonio's two 
 companions were none other than the Milordo Inglese of 
 Bordighera and his daughter, on their way to Lampedusa, 
 where they were to stay a couple of days, — when the 
 manager, we say, heard this, a sudden flash of light revealed 
 to him an endless succession of breakfasts and dinners ; 
 he ran home at full speed, sat down at his table, and wrote 
 as follows : — 
 
 * Most Illustrious Milordo, 
 
 ' When a friend and protector of the fine arts of your 
 rank and generosity comes within the reach of such humble 
 but sincere votaries and worshippers of Melpomene and 
 Thalia as we profess to be, we should be unworthy indeed 
 of that name of artists in which we pride ourselves, did we 
 not reverently tender to the noble representative of Art 
 and Great Britain such public testimony of respectful 
 sympathy and deference as in our power lies. To that 
 effect the Pistacchini Dramatic Company are making pre- 
 parations for an extra performance on the evening of to- 
 
268 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 morrow, the 22d June, to consist of the fifth act of the 
 celebrated Tragedy 
 
 ARISTODEMO, 
 
 FOLLOWED BY THE HIGHLY ENTERTAINING COMEDY 
 
 L'AJO NELL' IMBARAZZO, 
 ( The Tutor in a Puzzle), 
 
 in which Orlando Pistacchini will have the honour to 
 appear as Aristodemo and l'Ajo, Such is the entertain- 
 ment for which we solicit the patronage of the English 
 Mecsenas, and at which we humbly crave the favour of his 
 presence, and that of his unparalleled daughter. All Taggia 
 will flock to the theatre to do honour to such distinguished 
 guests. We hope you will come. Alas ! the Muse is too 
 often unheeded nowadays, and if noble and generous 
 hands are not raised in her support, what is to become of 
 her? We therefore entreat you most humbly to come. 
 This is the ardent prayer of your Lordship's most humble 
 and obedient servant, 
 
 * Orlando Pistacchini, 
 1 Manager and Chief Actor. 
 
 * N.B. — No pains or expense will be spared to give the 
 performance the splendour befitting so glorious an occasion. 
 The house will be lighted a giorno, and a flight of pigeons 
 will take place between the Tragedy and Comedy. We 
 trust to your noble heart too entirely to apprehend the dis- 
 appointment of a refusal. ' 
 
 Orlando made two copies of this sort of last lay of a 
 manager on the brink of destruction ; the second, with 
 slight variations, being intended for Miss Davenne, and 
 then went to bed, ' perchance to sleep.' The next morning 
 saw him and his spouse Signora Rosalinda (a little round 
 body, choking with fat, and something asthmatic) both 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 269 
 
 dressed in their best attire, blowing and panting in the hot 
 sun, on the road to Lampedusa. 
 
 Sir John Davenne, much about the same time, after a 
 comfortable breakfast, had taken a fancy to go and enjoy 
 his morning's paper in the shade of one of the two ever- 
 green oaks that spread their dome of verdure at a little 
 distance in front of the sanctuary. The shade being very 
 thick, and a little breeze blowing from the north, Sir John, 
 after an hour or so, felt rather chilly, so he got up, and 
 began, with eyes still riveted on the paper, walking slowly 
 forward in the sun, and, as his evil star would have it, in 
 the direction of Castellaro. The Baronet was in the keen 
 enjoyment of a very sharp attack on the Whig leader of the 
 House by a member of the opposition, when all of a sudden 
 a shadow fell on his paper, and raising his eyes, he found 
 himself confronted by a very short apoplectic-looking 
 woman, in a faded pink bonnet, and a tall, lanky yellow 
 man, all skin and bones, both of whom, with outstretched 
 arms and frantic gesticulations, proceeded forthwith to 
 apostrophise him in a violently theatrical manner. Sir John 
 hurried on with an oath ; the man and woman, gasping and 
 panting, but keeping their place on either, side of the as- 
 tounded Baronet, most gallantly maintained their fire . Sir 
 John in despair wheeled round again, and quickened his 
 walk almost to a run; the dramatic pair wheeled also, 
 quickening their pace in the same proportion, the lady in 
 particular skipping after him in hot chase. 
 
 * Gracious me ! ' said Speranza, happening at the mo- 
 ment to look in that direction ; ' what can Milor, your 
 papa, be running so for ? ' 
 
 1 Don't you see a man and woman pursuing him ? ' ex- 
 claimed Lucy in dismay ; ' they are thieves, perhaps. ' 
 
 'Oh no! no danger of that,' replied Speranza. 'I see 
 now who they are ; it is the manager of the Taggia theatre, 
 Signor Pistacchini, with his wife. I '11 run down and see 
 what it is they want.' 
 
270 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 In another moment, Sir John stepped on the terrace, 
 quite out of breath and temper. 'What is the matter, 
 papa ? ' cried Lucy. 
 
 • How can I tell you, child ? ' grunted Sir John. ' A 
 couple of vagabonds, who stick to me like my shadow, 
 bellowing all the while as if they were possessed. I don't 
 understand a word they are saying. No privacy to be had 
 in this country, not even at the top of a mountain.' 
 
 * Speranza knows these people, ' said Lucy soothingly ; 
 1 they are actors belonging to the theatre of Taggia ; they 
 mean no harm, I am sure.' 
 
 ' What is it to me whether they mean harm or not, when 
 they do me actual harm?' replied the Baronet sullenly. 
 • Confound the — a — pair of impudent strollers.' 
 
 Lucy was silent. Speranza came back presently with the 
 two famous addresses, and said that Signor and Signora 
 Pistacchini having heard of Miss Davenne and Sir John's 
 being in the neighbourhood (it was worth something to 
 hear Speranza say Sir John) had settled to give a grand 
 performance in their honour, and had come up on foot all 
 the way from Taggia to entreat that father and daughter 
 would honour the theatre with their presence. ' The poor 
 creatures are steaming like horses, and are so worn out and 
 faint, ' continued the girl, her voice dying into a whisper, 
 meant only for Lucy's ear. 
 
 ' Are faint with hunger? ' cried out Lucy, quite shocked, 
 and her voice vibrated with painful surprise. ' Papa, these 
 poor people have walked all the way from Taggia, and have 
 had no breakfast.' 
 
 ' Well, what of that ? ' returned papa peevishly ; * if they 
 have had no breakfast, why, let them have one, that 's all. ' 
 
 Acting upon this hint, Speranza was despatched with 
 orders to see that Signor Pistacchini and his wife were 
 treated to a good meal, and to say that afterwards Miss 
 Davenne would be happy to receive them. Lucy then 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 271 
 
 looked over the addresses, and not without some peals of 
 laughter did she translate to her father the one intended 
 for him. Sir John could not help smiling at what he 
 properly named the hungry style of the address. Shall we 
 add that the incense it exhaled, however gross, rather 
 agreeably tickled the worthy Baronet's senses, and that the 
 statement about the advent of the British Meaenas found 
 favour in his sight ? 
 
 * Suppose we go, papa?' said Lucy, seeing her father 
 restored to serenity. 
 
 'And come back past midnight, up that break-neck 
 road ? ' asked Sir John. ' Nonsense, my dear ! Signor 
 Pastaccani, or whatever you call him, and his wife do not 
 care a fig for our presence ; it is money they want. Give 
 them some, and get rid of them.' 
 
 'We had better ask Doctor Antonio what to do,' said 
 Lucy. 'Though it is clear enough that these people are 
 sadly in want, yet ' (she went on with some hesitation) ' it 
 is difficult to offer money to people who ask for none, and, 
 for what we know, may have seen better days.' — Kind, 
 sensible, considerate Lucy ! 
 
 ' Pooh ! ' said Sir John, rising to go, ' try, and you will 
 see whether they take it or not. ' 
 
 Agreed, Sir John, ten to one they would take it. 
 Hunger, malesnada fames, as you have read at school, is a 
 beast hard to manage, and most of those who are in the 
 saddle will dismount on any terms. Still, the method you 
 propose has objections. Might not that handful of coins 
 you bid your gentle daughter tender in the shape of alms, 
 bring a blush on those two wrinkled brows, which had 
 better be spared them ; or rend away one more shred of 
 that last safeguard of honesty, self-respect, which had better 
 be left untouched ? While, if you wait till to-morrow, and 
 send your large or small donation — through the benevolent 
 Doctor, for instance — send it as an equivalent for the 
 
272 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 pleasure that was prepared for you, the odds are ninety to 
 a hundred that you wound no feeling, bow down no head in 
 shame, and are blessed all the same as a generous benefactor. 
 These reflections, that for the sake of effect we have put 
 under the form of an apostrophe to our friend the Baronet, 
 rose spontaneously in the mind of our sweet heroine, and 
 prompted her behaviour during her subsequent interview 
 with Signor Pistacchini and Signora Rosalinda. Far from 
 offering money, Miss Davenne did not make even a remote 
 allusion of the sort. She said how sorry she was that they 
 had had such a hot and fatiguing walk, and how grateful 
 she and her father were for their flattering invitation ; she 
 was not sure whether she could avail herself of it, but some 
 of her friends would be sure to go to the theatre, and con- 
 sequently she begged that two boxes, at all events, might be 
 retained for their party in the name of Sir John Davenne. 
 Upon this Signor Pistacchini and his wife took their leave, 
 if not quite satisfied with the result of their expedition, yet 
 highly enchanted with their reception, and so entirely con- 
 quered by Lucy's grace and kindness, that they emphatically 
 declared to Speranza, as she faithfully reported, that the 
 young lady was an angel, and as such, they still hoped, 
 would condescend to honour them with her presence on the 
 ensuing evening. 
 
 * And why should you not go, dear lady ? ' said Speranza, 
 her great eyes sparkling ; ' only think what a splendid per- 
 formance it will be, with illuminations as bright as day, and 
 a flight of pigeons ! ' 
 
 * Should you like to see it ? ' asked Lucy, smiling at the 
 peasant girl's enthusiasm. 
 
 'Oh yes ! — of all things in the world — and Battista too,' 
 was the naive reply. ' Signor Pistacchini is such a beauti- 
 ful actor, they say.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' said Lucy ; ■ well, Speranza, you shall go. ' 
 ' Not unless you do,' answered Speranza resolutely. 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 273 
 
 I And why not ? ' returned Lucy. Speranza silently shook 
 her head. ' We shall see what Doctor Antonio says about 
 the matter ; at all events, you shall stay here till to-morrow. 
 Hutchins, I dare say, will find a corner for you in her room, 
 and Battista must do the best he can for himself. ' 
 
 ' Oh ! never mind him, he can sleep anywhere,' said 
 Speranza ; and away she ran in high glee to communicate 
 this unexpected arrangement to her lover. 
 
 When Doctor Antonio returned, Lucy gave him Signor 
 Pistacchini's fine piece of eloquence to read. 
 
 * What do you think of doing ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' What should you advise ? ' inquired Lucy in her turn. 
 
 I I should advise you to go,' said the Doctor ; ' here a 
 little bit of human nature offers to your observation, why 
 should you not profit by the opportunity ? So my advice 
 is, Go.' 
 
 'I would fain do so,' returned Lucy, * chiefly on 
 Speranza's account, who has set her heart on going. But 
 papa objects, as it would be difficult to come back to 
 Lampedusa at night.' 
 
 ' I don't see why you should absolutely come back to 
 Lampedusa for the night, ' observed Antonio. 
 
 1 Have you not told me yourself many a time that there is 
 no decent hotel at Taggia?' 
 
 'True,' said the Italian ; 'but you and your father could 
 sleep at Signora Eleonora's. ' 
 
 ■ You mean at the house you call your home ? ' 
 
 ' Just so. Signora Eleonora wishes very much to make, 
 your acquaintance. ' 
 
 ' I am much obliged both to her and you, but it is not my 
 habit to put to any inconvenience persons whom I don't 
 know. We shall not go.' 
 
 This ' brief sentence was delivered curtly, haughtily, 
 almost scornfully, in the best style of Sir John Davenne 
 himself, when on his high horse. Antonio coloured deeply, 
 
274 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 but said nothing. He went to a chair at some distance, 
 took up the paper that was lying on it, sat down, and 
 seemed absorbed by its contents. We cannot vouch that 
 he did actually read, unless he read the same word over and 
 over again, as his eyes did not move. Lucy went on with 
 her drawing, seemingly in a great huny to finish and get rid 
 of it. 
 
 Presently Speranza came in singing merrily, ! JMa Vamor 
 della Rosina, Dove mat lo trove, — but the song died on her 
 lips the moment she saw the couple on the terrace, sitting 
 so far apart from one another, with every appearance of in- 
 difference to each other's society. She went on tiptoe to 
 Doctor Antonio, and asked in an undertone, ' Are we to go 
 to the theatre ? ' 
 
 1 1 am afraid not, my poor Speranza ; Miss Davenne re- 
 fuses to sleep at Signora Eleonora s.' 
 
 I Oh what a pity ! ' cried Speranza, very crestfallen ; 
 * and why does she refuse ? ' 
 
 I I do not know — you can ask herself.' 
 
 Speranza went to Lucy, and bending down at her side, 
 said something to her in a whisper, overheard by the Doctor. 
 Lucy rose instantly, went up to Doctor Antonio, and lean- 
 ing on the back of his chair, said, with some little confusion, 
 ' Is the kindest of doctors still inclined to introduce the 
 crossest of girls to Signora Eleonora ? ' 
 
 1 To be sure ! ' said Antonio, looking up at her with a 
 queer mixture of amazement and pleasure ; ' how can you 
 .doubt it ? ' 
 
 ' Then,' said Lucy, all smiles and blushes, • I shall be 
 most happy to make your friend's acquaintance.' 
 
 Now or never would haj'e been the time for the Doctor's 
 exclaiming with Figaro — l Donne, Donne, eterni Dei chi 
 v 1 arriva a indovinar ?' Who, indeed, can fathom the depths 
 of a woman's heart ? Here was a girl, just now all pepper 
 and vinegar, who suddenly becomes as sweet as sugar- 
 
NEW CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS 275 
 
 candy ; she, who scornfully refused, but a moment ago, to 
 accept a civility from a person she did not know, now begs 
 as a favour to be introduced to that very person ! Where 
 is the criterion, we would like to know, whereby to account 
 for such flagrant contradictions ? We had a faint hope of 
 finding a clue to this riddle in the few words whispered by 
 Speranza to the young lady, but the more we reflect on 
 those words, the less can we see how they could have oc- 
 casioned that sudden change in Miss Davenne's disposition ; 
 however, let the judicious reader judge for himself, and 
 make what he can of them ; we transcribe them literally. 
 1 Why,' had said Speranza, — ' why, dear lady, will you not 
 go to Signora Eleonora ? She is the nicest and sweetest old 
 lady in all the Riviera.' 
 
 Another thing that puzzles us is this, how a man of sense 
 and feeling, as we take Antonio to be, should not have 
 called on Lucy to explain the why of her unreasonable 
 crossness, or how it was that he should not have thought 
 proper, at least, to put on a look expressive of some dis- 
 pleasure at the wilful ways of the dear spoiled child. But 
 quite the contrary. Antonio gazed on her more fondly than 
 ever, and addressed her with a thrill in his voice, as if 
 Miss Lucy's whim had still more endeared her to him. 
 
 ' And Sir John ? ' asked the Doctor. 
 
 * We must try and coax papa to agree to go,' said Lucy. 
 The negotiation with Sir John was long and difficult, lasting 
 all dinner-time. Lucy brought all her feminine diplomacy 
 to bear against papa, and was admirably seconded by that, 
 rogue of a Doctor Antonio, who from time to time threw 
 out mysterious hints about Signora Eleonora's ancestors, and 
 talked in such a way about the loop-holes and casements of 
 that lady's dwelling, as invested it with the prestige of a 
 castle. WTiat could Sir John, thus attacked in every weak 
 point, do but yield ? Lucy was in the most amiable and 
 cheerful mood all the rest of the day, she had taken such a 
 
276 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 fancy to the old lady, that she could speak of nothing else, 
 and during the quiet walk she took after dinner, with her 
 father and Doctor Antonio, to the jungle of wild roses, Lucy 
 insisted on hearing the Signora's story, which did not take 
 long telling. Signora Eleonora was a widow, of whose 
 numerous family only two sons survived, and both of these 
 sons were political exiles. The lady had left Genoa, the 
 former residence of the family, for the environs of Taggia, 
 where all that remained of the bulk of her property was 
 situated, and where she lived in great retirement. A short 
 story, concluded Antonio, which might easily be made a 
 long and impressive one, could only the hundredth part of 
 the sorrow, fortitude, and active charity comprised in it be 
 related. How warmly Lucy sympathised now with Doctor 
 Antonio's admiration for Signora Eleonora ! how^keenly she 
 felt for her, and for another poor bereaved mother whose 
 only son was also an exile ! 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE THEATRE. 
 
 ON coming to the Sanctuary next morning, Antonio 
 found Lucy very busy making a sketch of Signora 
 Eleonora's house, which she intended as a present to the 
 old lady. Lucy had not discovered till that morning how 
 picturesque the old building looked, and how nicely the 
 dark vaulted gallery along its front contrasted with the 
 open terrace above, all verdant with a trellis of vine. 
 Antonio sat down by Lucy, and began telling her how on 
 the previous evening he had paid a visit to the Pistacchinis, 
 whom he had found supping on a salad, to give them the 
 longed-for news that Sir John Davenne and his daughter 
 would honour the play with their company on the morrow ; 
 and how the intelligence had been received with such frantic 
 demonstrations of joy, such hurrahing, such dancing about 
 the room, such a throwing of the poor salad out of the 
 window, that he, the Doctor, had for a moment hesitated 
 whether he ought not to have recourse to his lancet as a 
 sedative. ' To see the manager, ' pursued the Doctor, ■ as 
 I have seen him this morning, parading through the Pan- 
 tano in all his glory, receiving and answering with a royal 
 condescension suited to Aristodemo, applications for tickets 
 pouring in on him from all sides — to hear the thrilling in- 
 flections of his voice, as he confidentially stated to me that 
 
 277 
 
278 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 places were at a premium, and that he relied on the receipt 
 of a hundred francs — to see and hear this was better than 
 any comedy ever acted. You are going to make the fortune 
 of the company. All Taggia will assemble in the theatre to 
 see the English family. ' 
 
 1 But how do they know that we shall be there ? ' asked 
 Lucy. 
 
 ' Everything is known in small places like this, and then 
 Pistacchini has taken good care that the public shall be 
 circumstantially informed. There is even now hanging 
 over the Cartellone (huge play-bill) in the Pantano, this 
 announcement in letters half a foot high, Under the 
 Patronage of the English Family ; besides which, all the 
 manuscript bills placarded at every corner have a significant 
 N.B. in large text, The presence of the English Family is 
 certain ! ' 
 
 Lucy was excessively diverted by the notion of thus 
 forming the great attraction of the evening's performance, 
 and Antonio went on to tell her of the arrangements he had 
 made. There was, as far as he could judge, but one pos- 
 sibility of anything going wrong. Signora Eleonora had 
 done wonders already in providing for the reception not 
 only of Sir John and his daughter, but also in finding a 
 room for Speranza and Hutchins ; that, however, was all she 
 could do. Now, Doctor Antonio had his misgivings how 
 English John would stand the delights and comforts of the 
 Taggia Locanda, whither he was to go under Battista's 
 charge. John had, to be sure, been seen to smile when 
 told at what cost he must enjoy the theatre ; ' but his ignor- 
 ance,' stated Doctor Antonio, ' is a bliss from which I dread 
 his awaking. And to-morrow, at two o'clock,' ended the 
 Doctor, * I have settled with Sir John that the whole party 
 shall be at the cross-way, where the Taggia road joins that 
 of Nice, to return to Bordighera. ' 
 
 'I shall be glad to see that old ugly Osteria again,' said 
 
THE THEATRE 279 
 
 Lucy, smiling ; ' what transports Rosa will be in to have us 
 back ! ' 
 
 At a little past seven in the evening, Sir John and Lucy 
 mounted the mules that were to take them down the moun- 
 tain. Sir John was as trim and precise in his dress as if 
 he had been going to Her Majesty's Theatre on a drawing- 
 room night ; Lucy was in her blue muslin, and broad straw- 
 hat, which Speranza had adorned with blue cornflowers and 
 red poppies, and vastly lovely she looked, the little flutter 
 of her spirits giving unusual brightness to her complexion. 
 It being still broad daylight, the descent though steep had 
 no danger ; Antonio, however, had his hand all the way 
 on the young lady's bridle-rein. They left the mules at the 
 entrance of the bridge, and joined by the two English 
 servants and the Italian lovers, they crossed over in military 
 order, turned to the left, and after a five minutes' walk by 
 the river-side, came all at once on an enormous palace. ' It 
 is curious, is it not,' remarked Antonio, ' to find in a small 
 town like Taggia, a building belonging to a private family 
 of such magnificence and taste as this, having a theatre to 
 boot, like another Versailles ? ' A crowd was assembled 
 here, evidently gaping with curiosity, but a passage was at 
 once made for the English visitors, who were piloted by 
 Antonio, through a gate to the left, into a peristyle swarm- 
 ing with people on tiptoe also, to get a peep of the illus- 
 trious strangers. 
 
 To the left of the entrance-door was a table covered with 
 a red cloth, and on the table, between two lighted wax- 
 candles, was a silver basin, containing a fair average of 
 coins, some modestly enveloped in paper, others boldly un- 
 covered, and before that table, like the Dragon of Hes- 
 perides, was seated our newly-made acquaintance, Orlando 
 Pistacchini, in the royal robes, and on his head the royal 
 bandeau of Aristodemus, king of Messenia. As soon as he 
 caught a glimpse of Sir John, he rose up, laid his two palms 
 
280 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 on his heart, and in that attitude made r. low obeisance 
 to the new-comers. Sir John, who had been previously 
 instructed by Antonio of the custom on such occasions, 
 dropped a very neat compact little packet of white paper into 
 the basin, which, as it fell, gave forth a most exhilarating 
 jingle. Expectation was at its highest pitch, every neck 
 lengthened and strained towards the table. Aristodemus 
 bowed once again, had one wild passing thought of snatch- 
 ing at the packet ; but conquering the temptation, led the 
 way up a flight of wooden stairs to the two reserved boxes. 
 Here he again crossed his palms over his heart, bowed low, 
 and retreated without turning his back, as though in the 
 presence of royalty. Lucy put off her hat, and leaning over 
 the front of the box, with her beautiful rich ringlets flowing 
 in profusion down her cheeks and neck, elicited a general 
 murmur of admiration frqm every part of the house. 
 
 It was a pretty little theatre, brilliantly illuminated with 
 wax-candles, and pit and boxes crammed to suffocation. 
 ' All the ban and arrtire ban of the local aristocracy are at 
 their post,' whispered Antonio to Lucy. 
 
 ' Aristocracy at Taggia ! ' said Lucy, smiling. 
 
 * Yes, indeed, and among the most stiff-necked of aristo- 
 cracies,' remarked Antonio slyly. 'The list is headed by 
 a marchioness, that elderly lady there with the Genoese 
 pezzotto on her head, and who looks — mark that I only say 
 looks — so unpretending. This palace and theatre belong to 
 her, and her family have been lords of the soil from time 
 immemorial. The marchioness has paid you the compli- 
 ment of giving up her box to you this evening.' 
 
 1 How kind ! ' exclaimed Lucy ; ' I should like to be able 
 to thank her. ' 
 
 ' You can adopt our Italian custom, if you like, and pay 
 her a visit in her box. That pinched nose and yellow face, 
 shadowed by white feathers on the left, belong to a baroness, 
 and the old gentleman with the powdered head, whispering 
 
THE THEATRE 281 
 
 in her ear, and who looks so full of importance, is the, 
 mayor of the town. That grey-haired, grey-eyed, lusty 
 countenance beyond, which looks so innocent ' — Antonio's 
 descriptions were suddenly cut short by a sharp whistle, 
 and the curtain rising discovered to view Aristodemo in 
 that peculiar brown study, which seems the normal condi- 
 tion of all tragedy heroes. But not all Orlando's efforts at 
 official despondency could subdue the joyous twinkle which 
 the certainty of a monster-receipt had kindled in his eyes. 
 Aristodemus went through his part with spirit, and met his 
 death in gallant style, his fall being pronounced capital by 
 connoisseurs. Lucy had all the while the benefit of a 
 double performance, of which the one on the stage was not 
 the most interesting. Through a chink in the wooden 
 partition between the boxes, she and Antonio could see 
 Battista's countenance, and watch all the crescendo'oi terror 
 depicted in the young man's features, when he saw the king 
 feel for his poniard and try its point. ' Is he going to kill 
 himself? ' he asked of Speranza in great alarm ; and what a 
 start he gave, and how his hair literally stood on end when 
 the steps of the spectre, who is supposed to inhabit the 
 royal tomb, were heard approaching, and Aristodemus, 
 driven to madness by the sound, actually plunged his 
 poniard into his breast ! 
 
 The flight of pigeons which came after the tragedy gave 
 rise to an incident which still farther increased the excite- 
 ment always attendant on this pretty sight. Inventive 
 Signor Pistacchini had arranged, as he hoped, an agreeable 
 surprise for the English visitors and the public, in the shape 
 of a pigeon, which, fastened by some contrivance of his 
 own to two pack-threads thrown across from a sort of ceil de 
 bceuf'm the drop-scene to the front of the box occupied by 
 the strangers, was to appear to glide of its own accord 
 within their reach. Now, from some impediment or other, 
 the bird thus launched only achieved half of its aerial course, 
 
282 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 and stopping midway, hung, head downwards, fluttering 
 its wings most piteously. This mischance caused an im- 
 moderate uproar; the whole pit rose at once, the most 
 enthusiastic standing on the benches with uplifted arms, 
 vainly striving to reach the pigeon, while a universal shout 
 for the manager was raised. Pistacchini quickly made his 
 appearance, armed with a pole, and getting down from the 
 stage into the pit, he managed to push the unlucky bird 
 sufficiently near to Lucy to allow Antonio to release and 
 deliver it into the English girl's hands, amid a thunder of 
 applause. 
 
 This little addition to the entertainment, which was not 
 in the evening's programme, being over, Lucy went and 
 paid a visit to the marchioness to thank that noble lady for 
 having given up her box. ' So very kind,' said Miss Lucy, 
 ' as it undoubtedly afforded the best view of the stage ; ' 
 and then she spoke so nicely about the beauty of the palace 
 and the prettiness of the theatre, that she left the old 
 dowager highly prepossessed in her Tavour. 
 
 After having endured the protracted terrors of the tragedy, 
 Battista might be held entitled to some indemnification at 
 the manager's hands, and if so, he certainly received an 
 ample one from the comedy which followed. Who could 
 depict his transports at seeing the { Puzzled Tutor ' listening 
 thunderstruck to his eldest pupil's confession that he is 
 married, yes, positively married, to the young lady of the 
 house opposite ! Unhappy tutor, what is he to say to his 
 pupil's father, who has ordained and decreed that his sons 
 are never to exchange a word with one of the other sex ! 
 Not only married, but, Heaven help us ! the papa of a baby 
 who is actually heard crying and screaming ! The tutor is 
 ready to tear his hair. His pupil a family man, his misoga- 
 mist employer a grandfather ! Into what fits of irresistible 
 laughter was Battista thrown when the youngest son of this 
 terrible count is surprised by his father, on his knees, mak- 
 
THE THEATRE 283 
 
 ing a declaration to Martha the old cook ? and then, when 
 the ' Puzzled Dominie ' is persuaded to go and fetch the 
 baby, and is confronted on the way back by the count, who 
 flings open the poor man's scanty cloak and discovers the 
 infant Bernardino topsy-turvy, like the poor pigeon, what 
 ecstasy of glee could be compared to that of Battista ? And, 
 indeed, who could help laughing at the drollery of this 
 comedy ? Even to Sir John Davenne, who understood but 
 little of what was going on, the laughter was contagious, 
 while, as for Lucy, she laughed almost as much as Battista. 
 
 Before the end of the evening the marchioness returned 
 Lucy's visit, and the mayor, as the representative of the 
 town, came partly to pay his respects to Sir John and Miss 
 Davenne, and partly to indulge his own curiosity and that 
 of the baroness, whose compliments he was charged to 
 deliver. Lucy was really pleased with all this attention, 
 and the proud Baronet not a little gratified, particularly as 
 that wag of a doctor minutely detailed with becoming 
 gravity all the titles and qualifications of these personages. 
 
 It was past midnight when the curtain fell for good and 
 all, and our party made their exit from the theatre, Antonio 
 confiding to Lucy as he saw John — rendered more than 
 usually solemn by the reflected honours of the evening — 
 marching away with Battista, that he respected John as a 
 martyr. As for the English lady's-maid, who, arm-in-arm 
 with Speranza, followed in the rear of Sir John, Lucy, and 
 Antonio, she was in a great state of flutter ; and when she 
 discovered that the party of young men — the cabinetmaker 
 very conspicuous — before and behind them, carrying blazing 
 torches, and singing Rossini's Buona Sera, were there to 
 do them honour, she fell to crying and laughing, it was so 
 dreadfully affecting, she declared. This escort was quite a 
 spontaneous compliment, Doctor Antonio asserted, with 
 which he had nothing to do. Thus accompanied they 
 reached Signora Eleonora's house, where they were received 
 
284 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 by a smart young woman and man, it having been made one 
 of the conditions of the acceptance of the old lady's hospi- 
 tality, that she should not sit up for them ; and after taking 
 tea, which was all ready, the Baronet and his daughter were 
 shown to their rooms, Speranza and Miss Hutchins to 
 theirs, and the Doctor departed to find a bed at some other 
 friend's house. 
 
 It was rather late in the morning when Lucy, after a 
 night of sound sleep, got up, and going to open the window 
 to let in the fresh air, caught sight of a comely lady, dressed 
 in black, walking in the garden below, who appeared to be 
 impressing directions in a cautious whisper on the smart 
 young woman, Lucy's acquaintance of the previous evening, 
 now busy gathering flowers to add to the large nosegay she 
 already held in her hand. The noise of the window open- 
 ing caused Signora Eleonora to look up. ' Ah ! good 
 morning, Miss Davenne,' said the lady, in a tone of hearty 
 welcome ; ' it does my heart good to see you ; I hope we 
 have not disturbed your sleep?' 
 
 'Oh! not at all, thank you,' said Lucy, blushing; 'I 
 have slept so well.' 
 
 1 So much the better,' returned the kind old lady ; ■ young 
 people need a good deal of rest. You must let me know 
 when you are ready to receive me. I long to kiss that 
 sweet face of yours. ' 
 
 When, shortly after, the Italian lady, carrying the 
 flowers with her, went to visit her young guest, there was 
 in her voice and smile so much softness, something so touch- 
 ing in the slight melancholy that fell, like a veil, over her 
 whole person, something so truly motherly in the manner 
 with which, taking Lucy's hands in her own, she parted the 
 ringlets from the fair brow, and kissed her the while, and 
 called her 'my child,' that Lucy felt a tightening of her 
 throat, which prevented her giving an answer to the kind 
 inquiries after her health, and leant her lovely head on the 
 
THE THEATRE 285 
 
 bosom of her newly-found friend. Poor Lucy could no* 
 help thinking all the time of her own dear mother. 
 
 While the two ladies were thus making acquaintance 
 with one another, Sir John had been on a tour of inspection, 
 and was receiving impressions from all he saw much to the 
 advantage of the dwelling and its owner. Though not 
 looking half so grand as they had done on the night before, 
 when seen by torchlight, still the gloomy archway and 
 avenue of stone pillars that led up to the house, and the 
 dingy, strong-built house itself, all had a solemn, stern 
 appearance of their own, which pleased and interested the 
 Englishman. The half-effaced frescoes on the time-worn 
 walls, the mutilated statue of the marble fountain facing 
 the entrance, the coat of arms, carved in black, stone over 
 the doors, and over the mantelpieces of the huge fireplaces 
 within, all such vestiges of ancient splendour had been 
 noticed and chronicled in favour of Signora Eleonora, and 
 had set working the bump of veneration for old things and 
 old times, which was among the most prominent on the 
 Baronet's skull. Doctor Antonio, bent on obtaining his 
 breakfast, came suddenly upon the Baronet, who was stand- 
 ing with head thrown back, apparently meditating on a 
 species of old funnel, with a double opening over the great 
 door, which Doctor Antonio said was an appendage of most 
 houses near the coast, being meant to enable those within 
 to pour down heated liquids on the assailants. The appear- 
 ance of the Chatelaine, just coming from the garden, hand 
 in hand with Lucy, completed the series of agreeable im- 
 pressions received by the Baronet, who, unable to express 
 his feelings otherwise, hastened forward to hand the old 
 lady to the house with all due deference. Signora Eleonora 
 was not only ladylike, as he subsequently whispered to 
 Antonio, but had all the dignity of manner belonging to a 
 court. 
 
 The table was laid on the terrace, of which we have 
 
286 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 already had occasion to speak * and Signora Eleonora and 
 her guests sat down to breakfast in the pleasant shade of a 
 vine, which, trained over a trellis, hung down in festoons, 
 forming a verdant wall on all sides, except to the south, 
 from whence there was a glorious view of the sea. Signora 
 Eleonora did the honours of the table with that easy grace 
 of manner, under which a true lady of the old school knows 
 so well how to hide her unremitting attention to the comfort 
 of each guest. To see her smile so pleasantly, to hear her 
 talk so cheerfully, you would never surmise that the dear 
 old lady had wounds in her heart which bled without inter- 
 mission. Signora Eleonora did not make one of that 
 numerous sisterhood who use their own sorrows as a club 
 with which to knock down other people's spirits. Indeed, 
 during the two hours she had spent with Lucy the kind soul 
 had not so much as made the most covert allusion to her 
 trials ; and Lucy, though ardently wishing to show her 
 sympathy, had not dared to broach a subject so kept in the 
 background. Encouraged, however, by the Doctor's pre- 
 sence, our sweet English girl now made bold to ask Signora 
 Eleonora how her sons were. They were very well when 
 last she heard, was the answer. 
 
 ! I hope,' went on Lucy, after a little hesitation, ' that 
 you hear regularly from them.' 
 
 'Pretty regularly,' said the old lady, 'hitherto, thank 
 God ; a little sooner or a little later, letters from my sons 
 have always found their way to me. ' 
 
 Lucy's eyes turned to Antonio. 
 
 ' Signora Eleonora means to say,' explained the Doctor, 
 ' that hitherto the person or persons deputed to open and 
 scan all letters from the Signora's sons to her, or hers to 
 them, have been generous enough to let them reach their 
 destination.' 
 
 'It is too bad,' exclaimed the warm-hearted Lucy, 'to 
 interfere in that way between a mother and her sons. ' 
 
THE THEATRE 287 
 
 'Bad as the case is,' observed the Signora meekly, 'it 
 might be still worse. I have heard of poor Polish refugees 
 who were pitilessly cut off for years and years from all 
 epistolary intercourse with their mothers and wives.' 
 
 Honest Sir John, on being made cognisant of the topic 
 they were discussing, declared that he considered the charge 
 thus laid at the door of the Government of so serious and 
 odious a nature, that — that — that ' 
 
 'That you can scarcely believe it,' prompted Antonio, 
 'unless clearly proved by facts. This is but just. Will 
 Signora Eleonora allow me to tell Sir John the story of the 
 French marshal ? ' 
 
 Signora Eleonora having smiled assent, Antonio pro- 
 ceeded thus: — 'One of Signora Eleonora's sons, at that 
 time a child of eight years old, while living here, took a 
 great liking to a boy of his own age, a native of Taggia, and 
 they became great play-fellows and friends. In the course 
 of years this boy was drawn for the army, and rose to the 
 rank of sergeant. Two years ago this young man happened 
 to come here on a visit to his parents, and Signora Eleonora, 
 naturally enough, in writing to her son, mentioned that his 
 former play-fellow, now a good-looking soldier of eight-and- 
 twenty, had risen to be a non-commissioned officer. The 
 Signora's son wrote back how glad he was to hear of the 
 good fortune of the "marshal," as he jokingly called his 
 former playmate. Well and good. A few days after re- 
 ceiving this letter, who should call upon Signora Eleonora 
 but that same powder-headed old gentleman who paid you 
 a visit in your box last evening, no other, in fact, than the 
 Mayor of Taggia, who required of her to let him see with- 
 out delay the French marshal she harboured in her house, 
 or it would be his unpleasant duty — such being the pre- 
 cise orders he had received from Turin — to proceed to 
 search the house. Signora Eleonora at first could scarcely 
 believe her own ears. A French marshal ! — where had she 
 
288 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ever known one ? At last she recollected her son's letter, 
 and so laughed at the worthy magistrate as quite to put him 
 out of countenance. Explanations were given, the letter 
 shown, and here the matter ended.' " 
 
 Sir John had heard before of permanent courts-martial 
 for trying, shooting, or hanging Italian patriots by the score, 
 of thousands languishing in prison, or wandering homeless 
 through the world, yet none of these collective misfortunes 
 had awakened his sympathies or aroused his indignation 
 half so much as this little anecdote. There was something 
 so puerile, so mean in such surveillance, he said. Thus, a 
 homoeopathic dose of medicine has sometimes been known 
 to act powerfully on constitutions which had resisted allo- 
 pathic doses ten thousand times as strong. It may be, too, 
 that the sight of the gentle-looking person to whom such 
 indignities had been offered had roused all the man in Sir 
 John's breast. We suppose that he knew nothing at that 
 time of a certain English statute which made it legal in 
 certain circumstances, and under certain regulations, to 
 oreak the seal of private letters and pry into their contents, 
 even in his country ; ten to one but that, when he did be- 
 come aware of such a provision, though loathing the very 
 name of reform, he wished for a reform in that respect, and 
 did his best to bring one about. 
 
 After breakfast Lucy went to her room to fetch the sketch 
 which she had made of Signora Eleonora's house. The 
 old lady was as much pleased with it as though it had not 
 been the work of a beginner, and fastening it to the wall in 
 her sitting-room, said that she should never see it without 
 thinking of her young English friend. It was now time to 
 go. The Signora insisted upon accompanying them to the 
 end of the avenue. Sir John offered her his arm, and it 
 was a pleasure to see with what a courtly and deferential 
 air he supported his hostess, and the care he took to suit 
 his step to hers. The parting between the two ladies was 
 
THE THEATRE 289 
 
 touching ; they separated more like friends than acquaintances 
 of a few hours' standing. Big tears trembled in Lucy's eyes 
 as she fondly kissed' the withered cheeks of the old lady, 
 and said, ' I pray that one day you may be consoled by your 
 dear ones being restored to you.' Big tears trembled in 
 Signora Eleonora's eyes, as, kissing the fresh beautiful 
 girl, she answered, * May it please God to listen to your 
 prayer. I live in hope ; but if the Almighty has willed it 
 otherwise, I have faith that we shall all meet there,' and she 
 raised her eyes to heaven. ' God bless you ! Farewell ! ' 
 — and they were gone. 
 
 Signora Eleonora stood still, giving a last wave of her 
 hand ere they disappeared at the turn of the road, then, 
 with slow steps and brow bent to the ground, the lonely 
 ssoul walked back to her lonely house. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF. 
 
 EARLY and quietly on the next day but one after the 
 return to the Osteria, Battista and Speranza were 
 married in the parish church, and by ten o'clock, the usual 
 breakfast-hour of the English family, every trace of such 
 little festivity as could not be dispensed with, viz. the 
 modest repast, and a very limited number of guests, had all 
 disappeared. Much as Battista had set his heart on parad- 
 ing the fair prize he had won through the main street of 
 Bordighera, and on the being serenaded in the evening — 
 much as Speranza would have liked to display to the whole 
 town her complete bridal attire, a gift from Lucy, which 
 had arrived from Genoa the day before, and last, not least, 
 to exhibit the bridegroom's comely figure, killing locks of 
 hair, and new suit of velveteen, yet, upon consideration, 
 they thought it wiser to deny themselves such indulgences. 
 The fine gauze dress, rich veil, orange-flower wreath, and 
 white satin shoes, were therefore laid by with an effort so 
 heroic, that we can conceive none greater, unless we com- 
 pare it to that which Battista made when he thanked the 
 musical band of Bordighera, and begged them not to 
 come. 
 
 ' So that we are happy, what does it signify whether we 
 appear so or not to other people ? ' said Speranza in explana- 
 tion to Miss Davenne. '.Were we to make a smart show, 
 290 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF 291 
 
 or did I put on the beautiful things you have given me, 
 there would be a gossip and outcry about the bride, and her 
 finery, and the wedding, and this and that, ten miles round. 
 And what would be the consequence? Why, that we 
 should be recalled to mind in a quarter where it is safest for 
 us to be forgotten. The less Battista's name is mentioned 
 the better for us. ' Non destar can che dorme> — Don't rouse 
 sleeping dogs, — an Italian proverb of much import and 
 frequent application in a country where everybody's fortune 
 and liberty are at the mercy of irresponsible powers ; where, 
 for instance, a poor woman can be despoiled, ipso faclo, of 
 her hard-earned savings, and hear them adjudged to the de- 
 nouncing party by a commandant in his cups ; and where a 
 legal adviser, for suggesting legal means of redress, can be 
 sent to a fortress, and kept there for months to learn to hold 
 his tongue another time. No wonder if, with such flagrant 
 examples before their eyes, people grew prudent in self- 
 defence. Were you aware that you were walking over 
 mined ground, would you not do so with cautious steps ? 
 Similar cases to the one above quoted had been, and were, 
 of public notoriety. We have picked one out of a hundred 
 as peculiarly illustrative of a system which meddled with 
 everything and everybody on any and every occasion. 
 Travellers describe a tree in the island of Java, whose pesti- 
 ferous exhalations blight every tiny blade of grass within 
 the compass of its shade. So it is with despotism. No 
 detail of life, however purely personal or trivial, is safe 
 from the subtle, all-pervading action of this accursed upas- 
 tree. 
 
 As soon as the hot weather had regularly set in, which 
 was by the middle of July, it was decided that Miss Davenne 
 should begin her course of sea-baths. Her wish was to 
 bathe in the dusk of the evening, but Antonio put in his veto 
 against this, and was not to be coaxed into consenting, his 
 fear being that the bath, acting as a stimulant, might inter- 
 
292 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 fere with her night's sleep. * We will build a bathing- 
 machine for you,' said the considerate Doctor, 'in which 
 you may be as private as in your room.' And this was no 
 boast as the sequel proved, for a few hours afterwards there 
 rose on the beach of the Gulf of Spedaletti, as trim and com- 
 modious a machine as ever graced the shores of fashionable 
 Brighton or Dieppe. ' What a turn for mechanics this man 
 must have had, he is always contriving,' I fancy I hear some 
 reader exclaim on reading this. I beg your pardon, sir or 
 madam, Antonio had no more turn for mechanics than you 
 or I, but he had, what I wish you and I had, a great will to 
 serve and oblige his fellow-creatures ; and there is nothing 
 like that, I am told, for rendering a man ingenious. Set to it 
 in a proper spirit, gentle reader, and you will yourself be 
 the first to wonder at the result. 
 
 Antonio's bathing-machine was nothing more nor less than 
 the body of an old cart with an awning and curtains, 
 fastened by ropes which could be shortened or lengthened 
 at will, to stout piles driven into the beach. A short ladder 
 gave access to it from the land side, and a longer one 
 on the sea side. A contrivance, you see, not likely to have 
 cost its inventor much effort of imagination. Four red 
 streamers floated gracefully from the four poles supporting 
 the awning, and gave a smart look to the whole. But in this 
 and other embellishments Antonio had no share whatever, 
 they were Battista's exclusive fancying and making. — Suum 
 cirique. 
 
 Every morning at peep of day, Lucy attended by 
 Speranza as bathing- woman — Speranza who could swim like 
 a shark — went to enjoy her bath and the wonders of the 
 sunrise. Though a part of her childhood had been spent in 
 the country, yet, owing to her indifferent health, Lucy had 
 never been an early riser ; consequently that marvellous 
 crescendo of light, and sound, and life, with which Nature 
 seems to hail the advent of her Great Luminary, was quite 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF 293 
 
 a novelty to her, and a delicious one. After the bath, which 
 was to last at first a quarter of an hour and no longer — such 
 being the precise orders of the Bordighera Esculapius, and 
 which Speranza was not the woman to see infringed— Lucy 
 was to have a cup of hot tea, and return to her bed till 
 seven, when she got up. The rest of the morning till ten, 
 when she joined her father for breakfast, Miss Davenne 
 employed first in watering and tending her flowers — she 
 had quite a garden of her own now — then with her pencils 
 and brushes in the balcony. Doctor Antonio always made 
 his appearance about eleven, remaining an hour with her, 
 talking or reading. The hours between midday and dinner 
 were occupied by a siesta, by strolls in the garden, by a 
 book enjoyed in the shade, by painting again, or the piano. 
 We have omitted, we believe, to say that an excellent piano 
 had been procured from Nice. Occasionally, there were 
 duets with the Doctor, who never failed to make a second 
 call in the afternoon. Her day generally closed with a 
 short walk up the hill, or a visit to the Count's casino, 
 with sometimes a drive to a neighbouring town or 
 hamlet. But this last became daily of rarer occurrence, for 
 the gentle-natured girl had observed poor Battista's dis- 
 appointment and mortification whenever he saw the 
 carriage at the gate, and the crestfallen looks with which 
 he vanished into the gloomiest recesses of the garden ; and 
 she had no heart to inflict on any one unnecessary trials. 
 Battista's first excessive terror of Lucy had given place to a 
 reverential adoration as excessive. Whenever she went out 
 to walk, he would watch her from a respectful distance, or, 
 if he thought himself unobserved, follow at her heels ; and 
 many a time had his quickness and cleverness in getting out 
 of sight, on the walkers turning suddenly round, and then 
 once more re-appearing in their rear, been a source of amuse- 
 ment and astonishment to Lucy and Doctor Antonio. 
 There was a good deal of the dog in Battista's nature \ 
 
294 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 which remark is not meant in disparagement, but quite the 
 contrary, considering that the canine race are remarkable 
 for fidelity, devotion, and sagacity, all qualities in which 
 few other animals of the creation excel. 
 
 Our sweet Lucy benefited much by the sea-baths, and 
 more still, it is allowable to conjecture, from such a tenor of 
 life as we have depicted, one equally from free ennui or ex- 
 citement. Sir John was in raptures at her glowing cheeks 
 and dawning embonpoint^ and would jocosely observe to the 
 Doctor that she was certainly about to rival Signora 
 Pistacchini in size. If country life be healthful to the body, 
 it is no less so to the mind. Few have sought to become 
 intimate with Nature, interesting themselves in her wonder- 
 ful proceedings, without bearing witness to the enlargement 
 of ideas, and the awakening of wholesome sympathies con- 
 sequent upon such communion. At all events this was the 
 case with Lucy. Perhaps — we hope we shall not be 
 charged with presumption in behalf of our hero, when we 
 hint that perhaps her constant intercourse with a man of 
 some experience, practical good sense, and genuine simplicity 
 of heart like Antonio, might have contributed in some degree 
 to such a result. Be this as it may, one thing was certain, 
 Lucy felt and was quite another being, with new powers, 
 both physical and mental. 
 
 Antonio, in the meanwhile, was stroking his beard vio- 
 lently. Ever since the trip to Lampedusa, or, to be more 
 particular, ever since that afternoon when Lucy proved so 
 whimsical and inconsistent, a change had come over our 
 dear friend. That evenness of spirit and temper, which 
 might have been compared to the gentle, measured flow of 
 transparent waters, was now somewhat disturbed, and 
 subject to fits of intermission. Antonio was less talkative 
 than he used to be, and would sit by Lucy's side for half an 
 hour together without uttering a word ; evidently abstracted 
 even to absence of mind. One day on being suddenly 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF 295 
 
 aroused from one of these reveries by the question, ■ What 
 are you thinking of?' he reddened prodigiously, and — 
 curious enough — Lucy caught the infection, and blushed 
 also. There was, too, at times, something formal and 
 ceremonious in his manner of addressing Lucy, as of one 
 desirous to retrace some of those steps which circumstances, 
 aiding and abetting, had led to that gentle familiarity 
 which existed between himself and Miss Davenne. But 
 Lucy would not submit to these manoeuvres ; she took the 
 bull by the horns, as the saying is, and with the pettishness 
 of a spoiled child, would exclaim on any such occasion, 
 * What have I done to you that you look so cold and distant 
 to-day ? Do you wish to show me that, now I am quite 
 well, you do not care about me, — that I am a bore to you? ' 
 or some such remonstrance. As there was no resisting the 
 spell of her voice, and of the feelings that prompted her 
 words, the upshot of the matter was, that any attempts at 
 formality, if there were any intention of the kind on 
 Antonio's part, ended in creating still more friendly feelings 
 and interest in the heart of each for the other. 
 
 The symptoms exhibited by our Doctor were such as to 
 give intimation of some inward struggle ; a struggle about 
 the definite nature and object of which, we regret that we 
 cannot be as explicit as we would — nay, can offer nothing 
 more than mere conjecture. A human heart is a skein of 
 such imperceptible and subtly interwoven threads, that even 
 the owner of it is often himself at a loss how to unravel it, 
 and, in all likelihood, this was the case with Antonio. That 
 a man of his discretion and temperate habits of mind, and 
 withal a dealer in realities, as we have known him to be, 
 should willingly and consciously give himself up to rash 
 castle-building, is an hypothesis which we cannot for a 
 moment admit. That Fancy — insidious fairy as she is — 
 might .not have succeeded in catching him now and then off 
 his guard, and practising some of her conjuring tricks on 
 
296 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 him, we would not certify. Antonio was but a man after 
 all, and labouring, to all appearance, under an indisposition 
 common to mankind, and which is said to affect the organs 
 of mental vision. Besides, there are hours in life — we de- 
 nounce among others twilight's treacherous hour — when the 
 best constituted mind is not proof against the spell of fond 
 imaginings, and most impossible things appear possible, nay, 
 easy. When a man, the paroxysm once over, does his best 
 to aid reason to re-assert her predominance, he does all that, 
 in our judgment, can reasonably be expected of him ; and 
 who can tell but that Antonio's fits of taciturnity and thought- 
 fulness were the silent workings of a mind bent on banishing 
 the deceitful phantoms evoked by Fancy in an evil hour ! 
 
 But it is time for us to resume our narrative. 
 
 'Do you know Lord Carnifex?' asked Antonio of Sir 
 John one evening, after Miss Davenne had retired to her 
 bedroom. The query was put in a would-be unconcerned 
 tone, which was evidently assumed. 
 
 'Very well,' replied Sir John; 'he is a distant relation 
 of my wife's family. What of him ? ' 
 
 ' I read a paragraph about him and his youngest daughter 
 in your paper this afternoon. Here it is,' continued Antonio, 
 taking the paper from a table behind him, and handing it to 
 Sir John, who read aloud : — 
 
 ' Romance in high life. — We entertained our readers not 
 long ago with the account of a silly scene enacted at Florence, 
 and in which Miss Fanny Carnifex, youngest daughter of 
 the noble Lord of that name, and a young Roman painter, 
 played the principal parts. The scene we related has 
 lengthened into a two-act comedy, and just as Lydia Lan- 
 guish would have wished, in this case there has been an 
 elopement after all. As the matter is now one of public 
 notoriety, we have no hesitation in giving all the names 
 concerned at full length. According to our informant, the 
 hero, Marini, a handsome young fellow, scarcely two-and- 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF 297 
 
 twenty, is of a respectable bourgeois family, and considered 
 a rising artist. It seems that he was Miss Fanny's drawing- 
 master, and took advantage of the opportunity thus afforded 
 him to win his pupil's affections.' 
 
 (' The impudent scoundrel ! ' parenthesised Sir John.) 
 
 'One morning the love-stricken pair burst in on the 
 young lady's noble parent while in his dressing-room, and 
 kneeling down before him, implored his consent to their 
 union. The upshot of this step may be foreseen. Marini 
 was sans facon turned out of doors, and Miss Fanny con- 
 signed at once to the care of her maternal aunt, Lady Biribi, 
 who carried the fair culprit off to Rome. Here closes that 
 first act of which we gave an account already. The sequel 
 may be told in a few words. Eluding the strictest vigilance, 
 Miss Fanny succeeded in joining her rash young lover, who 
 had followed her to Rome. This deplorable denouement 
 has created a painful excitement throughout the English 
 colony at Rome and Florence. The noble Lord, we are 
 assured, has taken no steps whatever with regard to the 
 fugitives, and is fully determined to leave his daughter to 
 her fate.' 
 
 ' Serve her right ! ' exclaimed Sir John, crumpling the 
 paper with hands that trembled with emotion. ' If I were 
 her father she would never see a shilling of mine. Let them 
 starve. I know him well. By God ! I would never speak 
 
 to him if he were to have anything to do with the ' 
 
 The last word was inaudible, as the Baronet rose, and be- 
 gan angrily striding up and down the room. 
 
 'What good purpose can all such anger answer now?' 
 said Antonio quietly. 
 
 1 Give" a warning to all silly minxes, sir, disposed to dis- 
 grace their family,' retorted Sir John impetuously. 
 
 The Doctor ventured to observe, in a conciliating voice, 
 'Luckily the young man seems respectably connected.' 
 
 ' D such respectability ! ' roared Sir John. ' A 
 
298 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 fellow little better than a beggar, living on his pencils 
 and wits. ' 
 
 ' Michael Angelo and Raphael lived on their pencils and 
 wits,' remonstrated Antonio, beginning to feel chafed. 
 
 * Welcome to do so,' replied the Englishman. ' I would 
 have given my daughter to neither of them for all that. ' 
 
 A sharp repartee quivered on Antonio's lips, but he 
 gulped it down. 
 
 1 The consummate rascal ! ' went on the Baronet, with 
 renewed fury. 'And to think that not one Englishman 
 among the whole set had spirit enough to blow the fellow's 
 brains out. It's enough to make one disown one's 
 country ! ' 
 
 'Come, come, Sir John,' said Antonio good-naturedly; 
 'you must not be so severe. Love and two-and-twenty is 
 a terribly intoxicating draught.' 
 
 ' Love ! ' laughed the Baronet contemptuously. ' Non- 
 sense : it was the girl's pounds, shillings, and pence that 
 the cold-blooded villain wanted. They only marry for 
 money, these — a — confounded Italian adventurers.' 
 
 The Italian grew scarlet, and bit his lip. Perhaps the 
 Englishman noticed this, or perhaps it was only the sound 
 of his own words that sobered him. He paused for a second 
 in front of Antonio, who, his arms folded over his breast, 
 stood leaning against the piano ; then, moved by a sudden 
 impulse, Sir John stretched out his hand and said, with 
 noble simplicity, ' Very wrong of me to wound your feelings. 
 Pray forgive me. I did not mean it. That odious story 
 quite got the better of me. I confess I have an unconquer- 
 able aversion to marriage with foreigners. Don't let us 
 speak any more on the subject. And now, are you for a 
 game ? ' 
 
 Antonio was for a game, and they sat down to it ; but 
 Sir John was so distrait that his opponent had to take all 
 imaginable pains to make him win. It was near midnight 
 
ANTONIO PLEDGES HIMSELF 299 
 
 when the Doctor issued from the little garden-gate : instead 
 of turning to the right to gain the high-road to Bordighera, 
 he took to the left, down the lane towards the sea, and be- 
 gan walking up and down the beach. His step, though 
 slower than usual, gave no evidence of overwrought feelings, 
 nor did his countenance, to which the pale moonshine, that 
 fell on it, imparted an expression of calm solemnity. He 
 walked thus for a considerable time, then lay down at full 
 length, his face upturned to the heavens. -The grey light 
 of breaking day found him in the same posture. He then 
 rose, and, as if summing up the result of his long reverie, 
 said aloud, 'What matters it, after all, whether a man is 
 happy or unhappy, so that he sees his duty and abides by 
 it ? So now, Viva V Italia ! my first and my last love ! ' 
 and he bent his way homewards. 
 
 From that day all fits of moodiness or taciturnity were at 
 an end, and the gentle current of serene good sense and 
 quiet humour, which gave such a charm to the Italian's 
 manner, flowed on rich and equable as when we first made 
 his acquaintance. Had that night of solemn thought con- 
 quered the struggle within, or only ministered to the com- 
 batant sufficient strength to control and keep down its out- 
 ward manifestation ? Was Antonio in the solitude of his 
 own dwelling as much master of himself, as composed, even 
 cheerful, as he was at the Osteria in Lucy's presence ? We 
 leave it a secret between the well-meaning creature and his 
 Creator. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE IDYL AT A CLOSE. 
 
 IT was one of those hot sultry days in the month of 
 August, so trying to the nerves of sensitive people, and 
 during which Nature, as it were, herself exhausted, seems 
 to come to a stand-still. Shooting through a thin veil of 
 white clouds, as through a burning-glass, the rays of the 
 sun poured down upon the earth volumes of heavy malig- 
 nant heat. No leaf stirred, no bird was singing, the very 
 cicadas had suspended their shrill chirp. The only sound 
 that occasionally broke the ominous stillness was the plain- 
 tive cry of the cuckoo calling to its mate. 
 
 Lucy had tried drawing, gardening, practising, sleeping, 
 all with no success, and now lay panting on a sofa. ' Here 
 you are at last ! ' said she, as Doctor Antonio walked in ; 
 ' I have been longing for you these two hours. I feel so ill. ' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' exclaimed Antonio, turning white ; ' what is 
 the .matter with you ? I met Sir John on his way to the 
 Count's not an hour ago, and he never breathed a syllable 
 about your being unwell.' 
 
 * I said nothing about the matter to papa,' answered 
 Lucy ; ' he is uneasy enough already at not having heard 
 from Aubrey.' 
 
 ' You mean your brother ? ' 
 
 * Yes ; Aubrey was to write by the Indian mail which we 
 
 see has arrived, and without bringing any letter from him,' 
 300 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 301 
 
 1 1 am very sorry for that,' said Antonio. ' But tell me 
 all about yourself. You have not been coughing, have 
 you?' 
 
 ' No ; but I feel very uncomfortable — so faint — so op- 
 pressed—so hot.' 
 
 1 No wonder. Everybody suffers more or less from this 
 weather. Let me feel your pulse — there is no fever. It is 
 this confounded sirocco that tells on your nerves. Now, 
 just lie down again quietly,' and he arranged the pillows 
 under her head, ' a ;d I will try to make you more comfort- 
 able. Miss Hutchins,' he added, walking away, ' will you 
 make a glass of strong lemonade for Miss Davenne? the 
 juice of two lemons in half a tumbler of water — lukewarm 
 water, if you please.' 
 
 'Yes, sir,' answered the lady's-maid, in the most melli- 
 fluous voice at her command. Miss Hutchins, be it known, 
 was quite conquered ; a hard conquest, but Antonio had 
 achieved it. The once stiff abigail now courted his notice, 
 and prided herself in carrying out his directions. 
 
 Presently Antonio re-appeared, followed by Speranza, 
 both of them looking like Jacks in the green on a May 
 morning, or like a bit of Birnam-wood, from the quantity 
 of cut boughs they were carrying. They spread them all 
 over the floor, then, Rosa bringing in a watering-pot, the 
 Doctor watered the branches several times, saying, ■ This 
 will soon cool us, provided we let in no air from the furnace 
 without.' He shut up the glass-door, and let down the 
 green curtain over it so as to create a twilight. ' Do you 
 like your lemonade?' he asked, as Lucy put down her 
 glass. 
 
 1 Very much ; it is so refreshing. ' 
 
 ■ Do you feel inclined to go to sleep ? ' 
 
 1 No,' said Lucy ; ' are you going ? ' 
 
 ' Not unless you feel sleepy. You do not ? Very well. 
 Shall I read to you ? ' continued Antonio, going to the book- 
 
302 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 shelves near the piano, and coming back with a book — 
 1 shall I read something from your favourite poet, Giusti ? ' 
 
 ' What a clever man you are ! ' said Lucy, instead of an- 
 swering the question. ' I feel better already. What is to 
 
 become of me when you are no long ' The rest of the 
 
 phrase was lost in a burst of tears. 
 
 Poor Antonio stood still with the book in his hand, and 
 large tears in his eyes, within an ace of crying also. For- 
 tunately for him, something stuck in his throat at this 
 moment, and necessitated his clearing it violently. Having 
 by this means recovered his voice, he said, ' See how nervous 
 you are ; you weep without the least cause, as if you were 
 going away to-morrow. Don't you know the Italian pro- 
 verb — " Prendi tempo e camperai?"' His tone was that 
 of a mother chiding her pet child. There ensued a pause, 
 during which Lucy by degrees recovered from her emotion. 
 
 'Doctor,' said she, all at once, 'do you believe in pre- 
 sentiments ? ' 
 
 'Not a bit,' replied Antonio briskly; 'I believe in the 
 sirocco.' 
 
 'You are wrong then,' said Lucy gravely. 'Did you 
 not tell me once of sensitive plants which foretold storms? 
 Well, I am one of them. I am sure that some misfortune 
 is about to happen to me. I feel it in the air. ' 
 
 ' You feel the treacherous south wind, that is what you 
 feel. A shower of rain will put your discomfort and pre- 
 sentiments all to flight.' 
 
 Lucy shook her head incredulously, then said, ' Will you 
 read to me ? Anything you choose. ' 
 
 ' Let us try " II Brindisi di Don Girella." It is so droll, 
 it will make you laugh ; ' and carrying a chair close to the 
 glass door, in order to profit by the little light that stole in 
 through it, he began reading. 
 
 We have reasons of our own for particularising as minutely 
 as possible the details of this domestic scene, and the posi- 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 303 
 
 tion, with regard to each other, of reader and listener. A 
 little to the right of the glass door, at some five or six paces 
 from it, stood sidewise the sofa on which Lucy was lying, 
 her face towards the light. She had on a white muslin 
 gown with a blue sash ; her broad-brimmed straw-hat was 
 hanging by its blue ribbons on a corner of the back of the 
 sofa, just over her head. Miss Hutchins, her arms crossed 
 before her, sat at the large table in the centre of the room, 
 busily engaged in trying to swallow a series of obstinate 
 yawns that would not be suppressed. Opposite to Lucy, 
 that is, to the left of the glass door, but so close to it that 
 the green curtain touched his book, was seated Antonio. 
 
 Well, the reading had been going on for some time, and 
 more than once had the condensed vis comica of the inimit- 
 able poet brought a faint smile on Lucy's pale face. By 
 degrees, however, her perception of the author's meaning 
 became fainter and fainter, and the rich melodious voice of 
 the reader, soothing her like the murmuring of a brook, 
 lulled the sweet girl into that state, which is not yet sleep, 
 yet neither is it waking, but a voluptuous compound of the 
 two. All on a sudden a heavy footstep is heard coming up 
 the stairs. Lucy started up — 'Who can that be?' faltered 
 she, with a shudder. At the same instant the glass door is 
 flung open with a crash, a colossal figure stalks in noisily, 
 and, ' Halloa, Lucy, my girl,' roars out a voice like thunder, 
 as the living tower stoops down to kiss the prostrate form. 
 ' Here you are at last ! Heyday ! what is all this ? By 
 Jove !*with your green boughs and watering-pots you look 
 as pastoral as one of the shepherdesses in a ballet. Une 
 chaumiere et ton cceur. Ah ! ah ! nothing is wanting to the 
 
 Idyl, as they used to say at Eton ; d it, not even the 
 
 shepherd ! ' 
 
 ' Aubrey ! ' cried Lucy, in a tone of reproach, but could 
 say no more. The oath and witty sally, we need scarcely 
 remark, were aimed at our friend the Doctor. Antonio 
 
3o 4 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 had received such a violent slap from the door, when 
 Aubrey entered, as to be nearly felled to the ground, and 
 in the effort to recover his balance his chair was upset. 
 The new-comer turned round at the noise, saw Antonio, 
 and uttered the silly vapid joke about the shepherd. 
 
 The eyes of the two men met in no friendly way. 
 Aubrey's haughty scowl, curled lip, and somewhat aggres- 
 sive demeanour, evinced little good-will to the object of his 
 present scrutiny. Antonio's firm-set lips, ashy-pale counten- 
 ance, and collected look of self-defence, gave evidence of 
 his scenting the near approach of a foe. Thus they stood, 
 confronting each other, types of two fine races, two such as 
 even Greece and Rome had seldom seen the like ; the one, 
 fair, rosy, blue-eyed (Lucy's very eyes !), the other, dark as 
 a tempest ; the Englishman taller by nearly a head than his 
 tall antagonist, square chested, broad-shouldered in propor- 
 tion, the very ne plus ultra of muscular development and 
 strength ; the Italian less bulky, but as firmly knit, springy 
 and supple as a tiger, with iron nerves and sinews, ready 
 servants of the indomitable will betrayed in the sombre fire 
 of his eyes. God grant that they may never meet in anger, 
 for theirs will be like the meeting of two thunder-clouds ! 
 
 This mutual survey did not last ten seconds, but even 
 that time sufficed to develop between the two a strong feel- 
 ing of antipathy. Lucy, woman-like, divined it, and her 
 increasing terror loosened her tongue. ' My brother, 
 Captain Davenne. — Doctor Antonio, my doctor — papa's 
 best friend.' The words broke the spell. Captain Davenne 
 bowed slightly, as did Doctor Antonio. A parting recom- 
 mendation to Lucy to keep quiet, and to go to bed early 
 if she did not feel better in the evening, and the Doctor 
 withdrew. 
 
 Aubrey began kicking about in the most uproarious man- 
 ner all the chairs and arm-chairs that were in the room — 
 every fresh kick eliciting a fresh start from Lucy — till, at 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 305 
 
 last, having disposed them somewhat symmetrically by the 
 side of the sofa, he stretched his ponderous limbs on this 
 extempore couch, talking loudly all the while. Lucy was 
 thus made aware, between one kick and the other, of the 
 string of lucky circumstances which had procured for her so 
 unexpectedly the blessing of her brother's company. They 
 were briefly these. The invalid brother officer, whose 
 duties had devolved upon Aubrey, recovering more rapidly 
 than had been anticipated, Captain Davenne had in con- 
 sequence been enabled to sail by the very Indian mail, the 
 arrival of which, without a letter from him, had caused Sir 
 John's uneasiness in the morning. What was the use of 
 writing when he should reach England at the same time as 
 his letter ? In London he had met Tom Carnifex — eldest 
 son of Lord Carnifex — who had just received a hasty sum- 
 mons from his father to join him at Florence as quickly 
 as he could. Tom had offered Aubrey a place in his 
 britschka ; Aubrey had accepted it, and here he was. 
 Of the stranger he had found in his sister's company, of 
 the pleasant or unpleasant impression made on him by 
 the sight, not a single v/ord. 
 
 Who so surprised and happy and elated as Sir John, 
 when, on entering the room soon after, the first thing his 
 eyes fell upon was his long-missed treasure, Aubrey, seated 
 by the side of his sister ? Sir John would, had his sense of 
 decorum permitted, have done foolish things. How proudly 
 and fondly he gazed on the * boy,' as he called him ! Truth 
 to say, Aubrey's Herculean proportions and handsome 
 features must have excited the admiration of a more im- 
 partial judge than his father. The Baronet's eager inquiries 
 immediately brought forth a second edition of Aubrey's 
 statements just related, and then began between father and 
 son a brisk fire of queries and answers, like hammers plying 
 in quick succession on an anvil. No wonder they had 
 much to say to one another, considering their ten years' 
 U 
 
306 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 separation. They rattled on uninterruptedly, until John 
 Ducket's advent to lay the cloth for dinner put an end to 
 their effusions. Captain Davenne complimented John on 
 his good looks, an honour which spread on John's grave 
 face a grin of intense complacency. The two gentlemen 
 then adjourned to Sir John's own room, from whence they 
 were shortly after summoned forth by the announcement 
 that dinner was on the table. Aubrey ate and drank 
 enough for two, and as he ate and drank, his praises of the 
 fare, the wines, the situation, rendered still more impressive 
 by sundry oaths and tremendous peals of laughter, which 
 made plates, glasses, decanters, and the very glass door 
 ring again, grew louder and louder. 
 
 ' By-the-by, my dear boy,' said the Baronet, 'at what 
 inn did Carnifex leave you ? ' 
 
 ' At none,' was the answer. ' I left my portmanteau at a 
 kind of pot-house, where he changed horses. I say, John, 
 you must go there after dinner and have my portmanteau 
 brought here.' 
 
 * I am afraid,' said Sir John, ' that there is no room for 
 you here ; it is a mere nutshell ; there is not a hole to spare, 
 I know.' 
 
 ' Never mind,' retorted Aubrey, a la guerre comme a la 
 guerre, I can sleep on the sofa, or on the ground, anywhere. 
 Here I am, and here I mean to stay, for I suppose you won't 
 turn me out by force.' 
 
 This being Aubrey's ultimatum, from which it was clear 
 that no reasons, however good, would divert him, a short 
 consultation ensued between Sir John and John Ducket, the 
 upshot of which was that John should manage to find a 
 resting-place for himself where he could, and that his room 
 should be made as comfortable as possible for his young 
 master. To be of service to Aubrey, John would have 
 willingly slept in the fields. 
 
 Dinner over, Captain Davenne, to Sir John's great 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 307 
 
 amazement and consternation, lighted an enormous cigar. 
 ' First-rate cigars,' said he, puffing away ; ' I hope you 
 don't dislike the smell, Lucy ; I know my father doesn't. ' 
 Lucy protested she had no objection to it — she rather liked 
 it than not. Now, the truth was that she could not bear it. 
 What was it that forced from her an assertion so little con- 
 sonant with the truth? Lucy, almost unconsciously, felt a 
 sort of necessity to humour her brother. Poor, timid, weak 
 Lucy ! How many of thy sisters have I seen, as candid 
 and artless as thou art,- sin in a like and worse way, to 
 propitiate such bears as this brother of thine ! For all 
 which sins, let us hope, not the weak, sensitive things will 
 be called to account some day, but the blustering, over- 
 bearing rulers, in whose violence the sins originated. 
 
 Sir John neither openly admitted nor contradicted 
 Aubrey's declaration as to himself; it might be he did not 
 feel sure how a flat denial on his part would be received, or 
 it might be that he chose, on that first day of re-union, to be 
 indulgent. He only prudently proposed a levee en masse to 
 the garden, where they would have coffee. The usual hour 
 for Antonio's evening call was now past, and no Antonio 
 had appeared. ' I hope the Doctor is not going to give us 
 the slip,' said Sir John, after he had consulted his watch 
 two or three times. ' My son's company is no good reason 
 why I should not have my friend's also. I wish you very 
 much to make his acquaintance, Aubrey — as nice a man 
 this Doctor Antonio as you could meet anywhere — quite a 
 gentleman : we are under infinite obligations to him.' And 
 then Sir John told his son all over again the story of the 
 overturn, and the Italian's timely help, already related in 
 sundry letters to India ; and, warming with the subject, the 
 Baronet went on to enlarge on all the unremitting attention 
 Antonio had paid to Lucy, and how ingeniously he had ■ 
 contrived to amuse her during her confinement to the house. 
 The lending of books, the lectures on botany, the lessons 
 
308 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 on the guitar, were all set forth, the catalogue winding up 
 with that stupendous masterstroke, the easy-chair invented 
 by the Doctor. To all of which discourse Aubrey listened 
 with an attention quite edifying, and an appearance of great 
 gratification — a gratification made more evident as he 
 watched the pleasure the details afforded to his darling 
 sister, on whose glowing countenance the sympathising 
 brother's eyes rested all the while. 
 
 ' I long to shake hands with this Phoenix of doctors,' said 
 Aubrey, ' and apologise for my rudeness. I suppose it was 
 he I found here this morning ? ' 
 * Yes,' said Lucy. 
 
 ' What do you say,' continued Aubrey, speaking to Sir 
 John, but looking at his sister, ' to our going and laying 
 violent hands on this forgetful friend of yours, and dragging 
 him captive here ? — ha ! ha ! ha ! ' 
 
 1 Ah, do ! ' said Lucy, with sparkling eyes, and inwardly 
 calling herself all sorts of names for having so unkindly mis- 
 judged her brother. Sir John agreeing immediately to the 
 proposal, Captain Davenne lit a fresh cigar, and out they 
 sallied. As they passed through the garden -gate, Aubrey 
 was seized by a violent fit of laughing. ' What are you 
 laughing at ? ' asked Sir John, perplexed. 
 
 * Why, this is such a devilish queer house — such a wrong- 
 sided look about it. I would give something to carry it 
 bodily to London and show it at a shilling a head. I bet 
 something no one would credit that Sir John and Miss 
 Davenne had lived contentedly weeks in it. I verily be- 
 lieve Hutchins and John have forgotten what a decent room 
 is like.' 
 
 Sir John felt his son's words as a personal reproach. He 
 hung his head. 
 
 . ' Apropos de bottes' (Aubrey had been in love with a 
 French actress at Madras, and spoke French fluently, and 
 
 liked to show that he did), * the old Duke of B asked 
 
 after you. ' 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 309 
 
 'Very kind of him,' said the Baronet, his features ex- 
 panding. ' H©w is the old gentleman ? ' 
 
 ■ As fresh as ever,' said Aubrey ; * he wondered what had 
 become of you. Indeed, everybody does ; Lady Deloraine 
 
 most of all, at whose house I met the ian ambassadress 
 
 and her daughter-in-law, Lady Charlotte Tuicy, both of 
 them full of suspicions about your absence, and willing to 
 join in any conspiracy for carrying you off by force from 
 your mysterious hiding-place.' 
 
 ' God forbid they should put their threat in execution ! ' 
 said the Baronet chuckling. ' But, talking of carrying off, 
 have you heard of that pretty business of Fanny Carnifex's 
 elop ' 
 
 ' Blast the cowardly Italian beggar ! ' yelled out Aubrey. 
 * I have heard all about it. ' 
 
 ' Are they — married at least ? ' asked Sir John, with an 
 effort. 
 
 ' They are ; but it is a matrimonial alliance that won't 
 last long. Fanny will soon be a jolly widow, I can tell 
 her.' 
 
 1 How do you mean ? ' inquired Sir John, surprised. 
 Aubrey stopped short, slowly raised his right arm, held it 
 out as if taking aim, and, with a clack of his tongue, imi- 
 tated the report of a pistol. ' Tom Carnifex is one of the 
 best shots in England, my dear sir,' said he carelessly, by 
 way of explanation. 
 
 The acting of this little scene was so splendidly natural, 
 there was in the look of the performer something so 
 savage, that Sir John could not help a shudder. However 
 desirable it might have once seemed to him that the 
 offender should be made an example of, it was no part of 
 Sir John's programme of to-day to be present at the exe- 
 cution. 
 
 Engrossed by such pleasant converse and anticipations, 
 the chief of the Davenne dynasty and his heir had come 
 
310 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 in sight of Doctor Antonio's poor dwelling, just as its tenant, 
 in no very pleasant mood, was issuing from the door. An- 
 tonio was little prepared for the present warm greeting from 
 the surly stranger of a few hours back, who now, shaking 
 him heartily by the hand, made a sort of laughing apology 
 for having been so unceremonious in the morning. Though 
 rather taken by surprise, the Italian returned Aubrey's ad- 
 vances in as kindly a spirit as he could summon on such 
 short notice ; and the three, Antonio in the middle, walked 
 back to the Osteria, where they found the Count, between 
 whom and young Davenne an introduction in due form took 
 place. The evening passed, if not as quietly as usual, not 
 the less agreeably, perhaps, for being rather noisy. Captain 
 Davenne was in the most communicative of humours, and 
 rattled away famously, laughing a good deal at his own 
 jokes and stories, drinking freely all the while of what he 
 called lemonade ; and so it was, only with a strong infusion 
 of old Jamaica rum. Some of his tiger-hunting adventures, 
 which he told with great spirit, were listened to with thrill- 
 ing interest, — Antonio translating for the Count, who had 
 learnt about as much English as Sir John had Italian. Lucy 
 retired early, but not before she had seen a real goodwill and 
 friendship springing up between her brother and her doctor 
 and friend. Let us hope that she slept well, poor girl. As 
 ten struck, Sir John and Antonio, according to habit, sat 
 down to their game of chess, which was on the Baronet's 
 part a series of continual blunders. His thoughts were 
 otherwise engaged. 
 
 When Lucy, about eight next morning, after her early 
 bath, and one or two hours of additional rest, crossed the 
 ante-room on her way out, she found her brother already 
 installed on the sofa, and yawning violently. ' Where are 
 you going ? ' asked Aubrey. f To water my flowers. I have 
 a nice little garden of my own; come and look at it.' 
 Aubrey raised his long length, went, looked at it, and ad- 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 311 
 
 mired it. The garden was not her own making, was it ? 
 Oh, no ! Speranza had made it. Speranza, the landlady's 
 daughter, a very nice girl. Doctor Antonio had given Lucy 
 most of the plants. 'Are they not beautiful?' 'Very,' 
 said Aubrey, adding, ' Do you know, Lucy, I am quite in 
 love with that Doctor of yours ? ' 
 
 'Are you?' said Lucy, looking up at him with such 
 beaming eyes. 
 
 ' I have seldom seen a more commanding figure than his, 
 and he is very gentlemanlike, certainly. I wish he were an 
 English Duke.' 
 
 1 Why ? ' said Lucy. ' I assure you he is quite contented 
 with his lot.' 
 
 ' Because if he were, young lady, you would make a 
 handsome couple.' Lucy grew scarlet. 'As it is,' pur- 
 sued Aubrey slowly, in a clear, cruel, stern voice, — ' as it is, 
 I would rather see you dead and buried than married to 
 that man.' 
 
 The little watering-pot slipt out of her hand, and her 
 knees gave way. 
 
 ' D it ! ' cried Aubrey, raising her from the ground, 
 
 ' you needn't take fright at a mere supposition ! ' And, 
 without another word, he passed his powerful arm round 
 his sister's waist and led her up the stairs to the sofa. 
 This was the first and the last time that Antonio's name 
 was mentioned between them. 
 
 The Doctor called, as was his wont, during the morning, 
 but instead of his usual warm recognition from Lucy he re- 
 ceived a silent bow. Her cheeks were dreadfully pale, her 
 eyes red. He inquired about her health, and got a hurried 
 answer that she was very well. He would have felt her 
 pulse, — there was no need, she assured him, she was very 
 comfortable. When he stooped over her shoulder to ex- 
 amine her drawing she recollected that she had left a brush 
 in her room, which was indispensable at that moment, and 
 
312 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 got up to fetch it. There was a constraint about poor Lucy 
 which Antonio had never seen. His heart contracted pain- 
 fully. That Aubrey was the cause of the sweet girl's 
 altered looks and manner, Antonio had not the least doubt ; 
 but how and why? Was he, Antonio, in any way con- 
 nected with this new state of things? To solve the 
 mystery he would have willingly shed his blood. Oh for 
 ten seconds alone with her, — but ten, to ask one question, 
 receive one answer ! He loitered longer than he generally 
 did, to take advantage of a possible chance. In vain. 
 There stood between him and her a moving Chinese wall. 
 
 Four days passed without the situation mending. 
 Aubrey had taken such a fancy to the wretched Osteria 
 that neither the Count's pressing invitations, nor his father's 
 exhortations to take his horse and go and enjoy the fine 
 scenery, could prevail upon the colossal dragoon to leave 
 its precincts for a moment, unless Lucy did, which was 
 commonly the case in the evening, when he would put her 
 arm under his and fondly support her steps. All the rest 
 of the day, from seven in the morning to eleven at night, 
 Aubrey would spend indoors, most of the time stretched 
 at full length, smoking and indulging in his favourite 
 beverage, or shaking the poor inn with his ponderous 
 strides. His most gracious smile and heartiest squeeze of 
 the hand was for Antonio, to whom he had taken such 
 a liking, that for nothing in the world would Aubrey have 
 missed a minute of his new friend's company. A bois- 
 terous, rather vulgar, lively, good-tempered, companionable 
 fellow, this young Davenne, easily satisfied with everything 
 and everybody, making light of the inconveniences of his 
 far from comfortable room downstairs, never hinting by 
 word or look at any the least wish on his part to leave his 
 present quarters. His conversation with Sir John turned 
 almost exclusively, it is true, on London (the London, we 
 mean, whose existence is acknowledged by people of rank 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 313 
 
 and fashion), London gaieties, the illustrious relatives and 
 acquaintances of the Davenne family, on the general regret 
 at the Baronet's prolonged absence, and so on. But nine 
 times out of ten it was Sir John himself who broached the 
 subject ; and then, was it not natural and proper for a 
 dutiful son to dwell on such topics as were palpably the 
 most agreeable to his father ? 
 
 Meanwhile the healthy bloom was fading fast from 
 Lucy's cheek, and her head drooped like a lily deprived of 
 sunshine. It was not enough that poor Lucy was to be 
 weaned all at once from the joys and benefits of the friendly 
 intercourse which habit had made a sweet necessity to her. 
 But she had to wear a mask, and act a part too cruelly at 
 variance with her feelings. Why she was compelled to do 
 so she scarcely knew, but a mysterious warning from within 
 told her that only at such a cost might something awful be 
 averted. Her heart was full of strange misgivings and 
 fears. Aubrey's show of friendship to Antonio, far from 
 reassuring her, added to her uneasiness. It was clear, 
 even to her inexperienced eye, that all that extreme good- 
 will was assumed, a mere display, and being so, what could 
 be Aubrey's motive ? And the saddened girl brooded, till 
 her head grew giddy, over the hostility of the two young 
 men's first meeting, the significant hint given to her on the 
 morrow, and Aubrey's sudden change of manner. 
 
 No pleasant early associations connected with the boy 
 came to counteract the painful impressions aroused by the 
 full-grown man. Aubrey, be it remembered, had spent his 
 boyhood at Eton, and of his holidays Lucy recalled little, 
 excepting her terrors for her doll, and for a favourite kitten 
 it had been his delight to torment. But there was no want 
 of clearness in her perceptions with regard to his six months' 
 stay at home previous to his entering the army. The 
 almost daily quarrels between father and son, her mother 
 all in tears, the gloom that pervaded the family,- Aubrey's 
 
3H DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 angry scowl, and something worse, in return for her 
 childish attempts at conciliation (she was scarcely ten 
 years old at the time), and the fear in which she stood of 
 him ; such were Lucy's sole recollections, such the images 
 and feelings linked in her memory with that brother of 
 hers. Intervening years had softened, but not obliterated, 
 these impressions, and the Aubrey that, to the day of his 
 arrival, figured in his sister's mind, was anything but the 
 type of youthful dutifulness and affection. What she had 
 now seen of him brought the conviction home to her that 
 the man had kept the promise of the boy. Lucy, from the 
 first, had felt afraid of him. His boisterous ways and over- 
 bearing manners, his frequent oaths and coarse mirth, told 
 cruelly on her nerves, and wounded all the sympathies of 
 her refined nature. Delicate, sensitive organisations, like 
 Lucy's, have an inborn horror of violence in any shape ; it 
 is with them a dissolving element, something incompatible 
 with their being, from which they shrink as instinctively as 
 those plants to which Miss Davenne had likened herself in 
 her last conversation with Doctor Antonio, — shrink from 
 the touch of a hand. On these grounds alone would the 
 pressure of Aubrey's presence have been too much for 
 Lucy. How incomparably more so when fancy obscurely 
 hinted at the possible bursting of that violence, of which 
 she stood in such awe, in a direction where much of her 
 grateful affection and reverence lay ! 
 
 On the fourth day from his son's arrival, Sir John gave a 
 farewell dinner, and announced to the small but select 
 party, the Count, the Mayor, Doctor Antonio, etc., that 
 his departure was fixed for the day after the next. Aubrey 
 might watch his sister as much as he pleased, Lucy did not 
 wince. Indeed her misery was such that she felt almost 
 relieved by the announcement. 
 
 So that she may but say, c Thank you, Doctor Antonio, 
 God bless you and your country,' — so that she may but say 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 315 
 
 this to him freely, as her heart prompts, without restraint, 
 with no eye upon her, Lucy will depart in peace. This 
 thought is ever uppermost in her mind ; nay, she has no 
 thought but this one, which presses on her temples like a 
 crown of thorns, to thank and bless him. It would look so 
 unfeeling not to do so. This man has been all forbearance, 
 all gentleness, all kindness to her. What could a friend, a 
 brother, a father do more than he has done for her ! ' Bless 
 you and your country.' She murmurs the words to herself; 
 she would fain write them down for him, but that they look 
 so cold on paper. He has no idea, she is sure, of the depth 
 of her gratitude, of all that she is feeling. Fool that she 
 was not to have let him know when time was her own, — 
 when no dark cloud cast its shadow between them ; on one 
 of these bright mornings frittered away in general conversa- 
 tion on the balcony ; on one oi these moonlit evenings 
 spent by the water's edge, so near that the silvery wave 
 came creeping lovingly to their very feet. Oh those sweet 
 strolls in the garden, — those boatings on the blue sea, — 
 that blessed trip to Lampedusa ! Oh that she could recall 
 one minute, only one, of that past ! 
 
 Vain yearnings, vain imaginings ! Unrelenting time 
 rolls on, the day is come, the very hour of departure is at 
 hand, and Lucy has found no opportunity of unburdening 
 her heart. She sits on her invalid chair looking vacantly 
 before her, as though in a dream; Aubrey and Antonio 
 stand in the balcony and discuss the English policy in 
 India, Antonio with a very pale face, and unwonted anima- 
 tion of manner ; Sir John paces the room, meditating a 
 farewell speech, casting now and then a disconsolate glance 
 at his daughter ; Hutchins is bustling up and down, in and 
 out, in a state of flurry and excitement ; John Ducket left 
 for Nice in the morning to make room for the Captain in 
 the rumble ; and poor Hutchins has been working for two. 
 She announces that the horses are to the carriage. ■ Now, 
 
316 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Lucy,' says the Baronet encouragingly. Aubrey is 
 already at his sister's side, and helps her to rise ; Hutchins 
 has noticed a small basket hanging on Lucy's arm, and 
 offers to carry it for her ; Lucy draws it back hurriedly, 
 and frowns on her maid ; a handful of poor withered, 
 almost colourless flowers, once so blue, — such is the 
 treasure she clings to so closely. 
 
 As Sir John and the Doctor go down the steps, followed 
 by Aubrey and Miss Davenne, a number of persons 
 assembled in the garden take off their hats and caps and 
 wave them in the air. Sir John's tongue cleaves to his 
 palate, and he gives up his speech. He even thinks it 
 prudent to proceed to the shaking of hands in silence. 
 Those who choose to kiss his hand — Prospero, his younger 
 brother, their aged mother — all are free to do so now. Sir 
 John offers no resistance. Meanwhile, Aubrey hurries Lucy 
 on to the little gate, where the carriage is waiting. Rosa 
 and Speranza, and a little in the rear, Battista, are crying 
 like fountains. Lucy returns half-unconsciously the warm 
 caresses of the two women, who kiss her hands and clothes, 
 and cling desperately to their young benefactress, until 
 Aubrey, with an oath, jerks her into the carriage. Antonio 
 helps the Baronet in. * Pleasant journey, Sir John ; buon 
 viagg/o, Signorina, take care of yourself.' The Signorina 
 does not say a word— does not smile, does not bow, but 
 stares at the kind face — the kind face that dares not even 
 smile, alas ! for it feels the evil eye resting on it. A clack 
 from the postilion, a shout from the assembled bystanders, 
 \ Buon viaggio, il Signore gli accompagni^ ' the ponderous 
 machine rolls up the lane, and the kind face disappears. 
 Lucy arouses from her trance : ' Papa, are we going ? ' and 
 she bursts into a passion of tears. It was like the giving 
 way of a dam in a river. Papa fairly gives way too, hugs 
 the suffering child to his bosom, and father and daughter 
 mingle their tears. While this passes within, Aubrey, in 
 
THE IDYL AT A CLOSE 317 
 
 the rumble, lights a fresh cigar from the one he had been 
 smoking. 
 
 Those left behind stood on the highway watching the 
 fast diminishing carriage. They watched till it disappeared. 
 Poor Antonio was sick at heart, and would fain throw off 
 his mask. But no ; he must listen to the idle verbiage of 
 the Count and the Mayor, who insisted on accompanying 
 him home. He reached it at last, threw himself upon his 
 bed, and — man is but man after all— wept like a child. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ABSENCE. 
 
 WHEN two persons dearly attached to one another 
 separate, how much more to be pitied is the one 
 who remains than the one who goes ! Every old familiar 
 place and object becomes to the former a cruel remem- 
 brancer, out of which rises the image with which it is 
 associated. Every hour that passes brings back the re- 
 collection of some sweet corresponding habit, now, alas ! 
 broken, and jvith it fresh yearnings and regrets ; while 
 every hour that flies, every object that fleets by, the excite- 
 ment of the motion, the incidents, the very annoyances of 
 travelling, create for the latter a thousand little diversions, 
 the effect of which cannot but be to divide and lessen the 
 concentration of thought and feeling on one given point. 
 
 Lucy was no exception to the rule. It was not her fault 
 if the scenery between Bodighera and Nice united to its 
 character of loveliness, one of grandeur ; if the road often 
 climbed to aerial heights ; if the towns below were so 
 picturesquely grouped ; if the indentations of the coast 
 proved so capricious, and opened at every turn new and 
 bold prospects. It was not her fault if she had eyes, and 
 through them received impressions. We do not mean to 
 say by this that the agony of separation did not continue to 
 
 throb in her bosom ; that her thoughts did not impetuously 
 318 
 
ABSENCE 319 
 
 rush back, clinging round the friend she had left ; that she 
 did not feel desolate and miserable. We only mean to say 
 that the novelty and variety of external things and incidents 
 forced themselves upon her notice, and mingled with the 
 main current of her thoughts and feelings. 
 
 At Nice, which was their first halting-place, the Davennes 
 met a family — one of the elect few whom Sir John could 
 condescend to acknowledge — such as England only can 
 send forth, consisting of a father and mother, young still, 
 with a train of from twelve to fifteen sons and daughters. 
 The female members of this family, seven in number, pounced 
 upon Lucy, and took possession of her. She had to visit, 
 under their guidance, all the remarkable places in the town 
 and its environs ; to join in picnics ostensibly got up for her ; 
 to go to a dilettanti French play, a professional concert, 
 and to hear a celebrated improvvisatore, — all of which occu- 
 pations and amusements, compressed within the three days 
 she spent at Nice, left our poor heroine but little leisure- 
 time to devote to tender regrets. 
 
 At Paris, where, according to his old programme, Sir 
 John made a sojourn of a month, what with official sight- 
 seeing of the Louvre, the Luxembourg, the Palais- Royal, 
 Versailles, St. Cloud, Fontainebleau, etc. etc. ; the indis- 
 pensable daily drive in the Champs Elysees and the Bois de 
 Boulogne ; the trying on of innumerable new dresses and 
 bonnets ; the theatres, soirees at the Embassy, going to 
 parties, and giving parties ; and last, not least, morning 
 visits among the English in Paris, life was a race indeed ; 
 without taking into account a formal presentation at the 
 Tuileries, and the honour of a seat along with her father 
 and brother at the royal dinner-table at Neuilly. Though 
 little partial to the chief of the Orleans dynasty, whom he 
 could not forgive for being the son of Philippe Egalite of 
 revolutionary memory, and making no mystery of his feel- 
 ing on the subject, Sir John, to use his own words, 
 
320 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 thought proper to yield to the policy of the day, and con- 
 sidered it a part of his duty as an Englishman to help on 
 the ' entente cordialej even at some cost to his personal 
 sympathies. Only fancy a man of Sir John Davenne's 
 importance going through Paris without visiting the chief of 
 the State ! One's hair stands on end to think of the con- 
 sequences. 
 
 But her Paris dissipations were rest and peace compared 
 to the vortex of visits, breakfasts, dinners, fetes, and balls 
 in which Lucy found herself whirling as soon as she set 
 foot in England. Not one of the most distant, in point of 
 situation or connection, of her numerous relations, or of the 
 numerous circle of friends and acquaintances of the family, 
 but insisted on a day at least from the fair traveller. Sir 
 John, on his part, once at Davenne, made up for lost time 
 by filling his splendid mansion to the very unknown garrets, 
 and with Lucy — the cynosure of all eyes — doing the 
 honours, had open days, and gave entertainment after 
 entertainment to half the county. For weeks and months 
 Lucy had not a spare moment to herself; dressing and 
 visiting, visiting and dressing, those two great duties and 
 occupations of a young lady of high station everywhere, and 
 more especially in England, was the order of the day. 
 Unable to resist the current that bore her down, what 
 could she do but let herself drift along, half-pleased, half- 
 worried ? 
 
 Antonio, in the meantime, do what he would, could think 
 of nothing but Lucy. The bright star that had for a 
 moment shone above his horizon had long set for ever, 
 while still his eyes gazed on, riveted on the halo of light it 
 had left behind. It was all the same whether he remained 
 brooding in his own dwelling, seated on that very easy 
 chair he had contrived for his cherished patient, or whether 
 he went abroad on his usual avocations, there was the dear 
 face looking at him out of every corner, haunting him at 
 
ABSENCE 321 
 
 every turn. The little library out of which he had lent her 
 books still warm with the touch of her hand, the flute and 
 guitar he had so willingly played for her amusement, the map 
 of Sicily he had taken to her when her interest in his country 
 was first awakened, the flowers she had given him reli- 
 giously preserved, — all around him jwas full of her. All 
 seemed to ask, ' Where is she ? ' If tired of poring over a 
 volume, on which he had uselessly tried to fix his attention, 
 Antonio got up and looked out of the window, the first 
 thing his eye met was the Count's Casino, to which he had 
 accompanied her many and many a time — there the rich 
 Italian pine expanded its green canopy under which she had 
 sat, when she tried the sketch of the coast towards France ; 
 there, glancing in the sun, was the large yellow stone, 
 from under which, to Lucy's great terror, they had seen 
 creep out a snake as big as her little finger ; further on, at 
 that turning, she had stooped to pick up a stray, tiny, white 
 shell, and given it to him. 
 
 It was worse still when his profession called him to the 
 other side of the promontory. What a crowd of memories 
 rose at the sight of the old weather-beaten, dingy-red 
 Osteria, with its cumbrous balcony, the little garden, and 
 the pebbly shore ! Not a foot of ground but was hallowed 
 by some recollection of her. There, past that sharp descent 
 of the road, he had seen her for the first time, pale as death, 
 but so lovely in her paleness that he wondered how such a 
 peerless creature could exist on earth. There she had 
 smiled on him so sweetly, when he had ordered the litter to 
 be turned round ; there, on the first fold of the hill behind 
 the house, one day, at dusk, she had discovered the first fire- 
 flies of the season, and screamed with delight. Not a path 
 but they had trodden it together, not a flower but they had 
 examined it together, not one of Nature's mysterious sounds 
 — from the voice of the ocean to the chirp of a grass- 
 hopper — that they had not listened to together, not one of 
 x 
 
322 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 the thousand hues of sea, or earth, or sky that they had 
 not admired together ! Then everybody spoke of her ; 
 Rosa, Speranza, Battista, the Count, the drawing-master, 
 Prospero, his mother, knew of no other topic. His very 
 patients would inquire of him whether the ' bella Sigmrma ' 
 was ever likely to come back again. Even the urchins 
 playing in the streets would stop in their game to ask him 
 where the * lnghsina ' was. It seemed so strange, so un- 
 natural, so impossible that she should have passed away 
 from a place so full of her, that Antonio would sit for hours 
 in sight of the Osteria, expecting to see her white dress flut- 
 tering in the balcony, or to hear her birdlike voice singing 
 one of the Sicilian airs he had taught her. At times he got 
 almost angry with himself, and determined to shake off this 
 sort of continual obsession ; he tried long expeditions on foot 
 under a scorching sun, but to little purpose. The song of the 
 nightingale in the valley, the scent of thyme on a mountain 
 pass, the white outline of some distant village, the tolling of 
 a far-away church bell, awoke old associations, and out of 
 them stole the fairy form, and kept alongside of him. Do 
 what he would, struggle as manfully as he might, there 
 was no way of ridding himself of it. Antonio was sick at 
 heart. 
 
 Sir John's acknowledgment of the Doctor's services was 
 at once delicate and munificent. On the day after the 
 departure of the English family, Prospero, according to the 
 previous instructions he had received, presented himself at 
 Antonio's dwelling with a letter and Euffy. The Baronet, 
 in a few lines, full of feeling, begged Antonio to accept of 
 the cob as a remembrance from one he had laid under many 
 an obligation, and not to forget, if ever he made up his mind 
 to go to England, that he had there an old friend, who 
 relied on a visit from him, and on being allowed to do the 
 honours of his country to the Doctor. The letter contained 
 a small packet of English banknotes to the amount of a 
 
ABSENCE 323 
 
 hundred pounds, but to these the writer made no allusion. 
 Dr. Antonio took from the sum what he considered a hand- 
 some fee for his services — ten pounds — and handed over the 
 rest to the mayor as a gift to the parish from Sir John, to be 
 applied as the town council might deem proper. The mayor 
 convoked the town council at once, who instantly passed a 
 vote of thanks to the Baronet, and delegated to the mayor the 
 business of penning and sending to the generous donor an 
 address expressive of the grateful feelings of both parish 
 and council, with a copy of the minutes of the meeting 
 annexed. To this address and minute Antonio joined a 
 letter of thanks from himself for the present of the cob. 
 Two months after there came to the mayor a note in answer, 
 of most Spartan laconism. Sir John stated most dis- 
 tinctly, that, as he had left no funds for the purposes indi- 
 cated in the mayor's letter, he could accept of no thanks, 
 but that, as he was anxious to deserve the good opinion 
 expressed, he begged to enclose a draft for a hundred 
 pounds, to be devoted to the benefit of the parish. This 
 note, curiously enough, brought a wasp's nest about our 
 friend's ears. The town council met in a hurry, and sum- 
 moned Antonio to their presence to explain the matter. 
 This the Doctor did with the ready straightforwardness 
 that was his characteristic. He said, that on receiving from 
 Sir John Davenne a sum ten times larger than what he 
 considered a sufficient remuneration for his attendance on 
 that gentleman's daughter, without any direction or hint 
 as to what was to be done with the surplus, the only inter- 
 pretation left him, and one, too, which he believed in keep- 
 ing with the generous nature of the sender, was that the 
 balance had been intended to be used by Doctor Antonio 
 for the benefit of the parish, and he himself had judged 
 that through the town council he would be most sure of 
 obtaining that end. 
 This explanation was not considered satisfactory, and 
 
324 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 loud complaints were made against the Doctor for having 
 compromised the dignity of the council. Then followed a 
 long and stormy deliberation as to what was to be done. 
 Three members, known as the creatures of the Cure, and 
 evidently instigated by him, urged a vote of censure against 
 Antonio, which motion, however, was negatived. A fourth 
 moved that Antonio should be compelled to explain and 
 apologise to the English gentleman, which Antonio flatly 
 refused to do. A fifth proposed that the money should be 
 sent back to Sir John, but this proposal was unsupported by 
 any one. At last, upon the motion of some one more 
 reasonable than the rest, it was unanimously agreed upon 
 that the question should be put off till that day six months 
 — a decent manner of burying it for ever. From that day a 
 party — headed by the Cure's three friends above alluded to 
 — was formed against Antonio ; in course of time it was 
 joined by the majority of the priests in the town, and by 
 many of the pious women among their penitents. The ani- 
 mosity went so far that, a little after, the Cure falling ill of 
 an indigestion, sent for the Doctor of Ventimiglia, and 
 placed himself under his care. But not all this display of 
 hostility, not all the underhand propaganda of the Church 
 party, and the charge of imposture laid against Antonio, 
 had power to shake his popularity among the peasantry, 
 who, in spite of all the efforts made to entangle the 
 question, held fast in their homely good sense to the one plain 
 fact that for their benefit Doctor Antonio had given up a 
 good round sum of money, which he might, without blame 
 from any one, have quietly kept in his pocket. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 EIGHT YEARS AFTER. 
 
 WE beg at this place to use our privilege of novelist, 
 and to leap over a period of no less than eight years 
 at once. If the gentle reader will but take into consideration 
 the amount of matter, bearing or not upon the subject, with 
 which we might have filled up this gap, and the saving of 
 time and patience attendant on our expeditious way of get- 
 ting over the ground, we trust he will not grudge us the 
 effort of imagination we impose upon him, and even give us 
 some credit for discretion. Henceforth no sweet allure- 
 ments will delay us on our road. Farewell cool shades and 
 bright hills ! Farewell quiet paths strewn with flowers, 
 clear rivulets gurgling merrily by the wayside ! The sunny 
 portion of our course is past, and lurid clouds darken 
 that which remains. Let us hurry over it as fast as we 
 can. 
 
 The time is the middle of March 1848, the scene that 
 same road on which, eight years ago, we first met Lucy 
 and her father, and, as then, the principal object on it a 
 travelling carriage, wending its way from the heights of 
 Turbia to the sea-girt Mentone far below. An overcast sky, 
 a sea of a leaden colour a narrow grey horizon bounded both 
 on land and water by a hazy sheet of falling rain,— such is 
 for the time being the dull aspect of the country through 
 
326 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 which this equipage is passing. The olive plantations 
 of hill and valley shiver and shudder under the keen gusts 
 of wind that sweep over them, changing in quick succession 
 from white to dark, from dark to white, according as the 
 swaying breeze turns up the silvery or the deep green side 
 of their leaves. Well may the middle-aged English man- 
 servant in the rumble — his nationality is unmistakably 
 written in his florid complexion, and in the elaborate curve 
 of his grey-reddish whiskers towards the point of his nose, — 
 well may he button up his greatcoat and wink half- 
 maliciously, half good-humouredly, at the starched female 
 colleague seated by his side, as much as to say, ' This, then, 
 is the fine country you told me such wonders about ? ' 
 
 Certainly the poor beautiful Riviera looked sadly unlike 
 itself in this ungenial day; and a lover of fine scenery 
 would have had nothing better to do than shut his eyes and 
 go to sleep. Yet a traveller, alive to other phenomena than 
 those arising from combinations of form and colour, might 
 have discovered, even through this murky atmosphere, 
 something to win his interest and rouse his sympathies 
 into active play. More than once had the carriage come 
 up with groups of soldiers gaily plodding through mud and 
 mire/' and singing songs such as the surrounding moun- 
 tains had rarely echoed. The once proscribed name of 
 Italy resounded in the choruses, coupled with another — 
 one for a moment so full of bright promises, and then so 
 pregnant with long disappointment to Italian ears and 
 hearts — the name of Pius the Ninth. An unusual air of 
 animation prevailed throughout the many small towns and 
 villages scattered along the road, or perched above it. In 
 the main streets stood knots of citizens of all classes, 
 warmly discussing, in spite of wind and rain, the topics of 
 the day ; streamers of every dimension waved over roofs, 
 or floated from windows, all alike displaying the Italian 
 colours — white, red, and green ; improvised national guards, 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 327 
 
 with nothing of the soldier but the musket, mounted guard 
 before the flag-decorated town-halls. No doubt of it, the 
 thrice-sweet goddess Liberty had breathed over this land, 
 and, with her warm breath, stirred up to life the long-dor- 
 mant populations of the Riviera. 
 
 None of these signs of altered times were lost upon the 
 lady inside the carriage, who watched them with an eager- 
 ness that heightened the hectic spot on each pale cheek, 
 and added to the ominous lustre of her sunken eyes. With 
 every step of the fast-going horses, her interest in everything 
 seemed to increase, and, as the carriage drove past Ven- 
 timiglia, and the first of a series of promontories, projecting 
 in a crescent-shaped cerulean line into the sea, began to 
 loom out of the rainy mist, the fair -traveller was so over- 
 come by her feelings, that, laying her hand on her side, as 
 if striving to repress the bounding of her heart, she fell back 
 on the seat and gasped for breath. The reader has scarcely 
 needed this last, circumstance to guess who the lady was. 
 Who but our sweet heroine would betray such emotion at 
 the sight of Bordighera ? It was indeed Lucy, sadly altered, 
 but still beautiful — her rich auburn hair hanging as pro- 
 fusely as ever over a forehead as pure and smooth as eight 
 years ago. But what sorrow or care, gentle daughter of 
 Albion, has worked that net of small horizontal lines 
 between thy temples and eyes ? What invidious hand has 
 cut those two deep lines that form an angle with each of the 
 corners of thy mouth ? 
 
 Lucy had done what nine hundred and ninety-nine young 
 ladies out of a thousand would have done in her case. She 
 had married. When Sir John, half in joke, half in earnest, 
 had first mooted the question as to who, among the numerous 
 retinue of suitors thronging round the rich young beauty, 
 had found grace in her eyes, Lucy, colouring deeply, had 
 declared that she had never thought of any such thing, and 
 that her only wish was to continue to live as she had done, 
 
328 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 with dear papa. On hearing which, dear papa had laugh- 
 ingly retorted that what she said was sheer nonsense ; 
 young ladies were born to marry and be married. Aubrey, 
 who happened to be present at this conversation, made no 
 remark at the time, but a day or so after took an oppor- 
 tunity of asking his sister what objection she could possibly 
 have to Lord Cleverton. She had no particular objection 
 to the Viscount, or anybody else, only she was not inclined 
 to marry. But he, Aubrey, was strongly inclined that she 
 should do so, and, if within two months from that day she 
 had not made a choice — well, it was for him to guess where 
 the obstacle lay, and to take good care to remove it. This 
 was said with the gentleness of speech and manner peculiar 
 to Lucy's brother — that is, with flashing eyes and stamping 
 feet. Lucy was not, as the reader knows, of that coria- 
 ceous stuff of which heroines are made, who beard their 
 tyrants and shake their fetters at them, in books or on the 
 stage. She was a poor, weakly, nervous creature, with 
 more in her nature of the reed that bends, than of the 
 oak which makes head bravely against the blast. Besides, 
 Captain Davenne's threat was two-edged. Women, when 
 they fear for others, are soon disarmed ; so Miss Davenne 
 made her choice within the allotted time, and four months 
 afterwards was married — married without love, but with- 
 out repugnance ; on the contrary, with a degree of 
 sympathy, which, properly nurtured and^cultivated, might, 
 and ought to have ripened into a steady and lasting affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Lord Cleverton was a man whose attentions and prefer- 
 ence couM not but flatter a girl of Lucy's warm feelings, 
 even had Ire not been what he professed to be, an en- 
 thusiastic admirer of Italy. It was, in fact, in Italy that 
 the Honourable Mr. Tyrrel, a wild young attache, at 
 Florence, had made his dibut in life, and, if fame reported 
 truly, had sown then and there a plentiful crop of wild 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 329 
 
 oats. In the midst of a career of thoughtless extravagance, 
 unexpectedly called upon, by his father's death, to assume 
 the paternal title and a seat in the Upper House, the 
 dashing attache, like another Prince Hal, had turned aside 
 from his follies, and astonished the world by his steady 
 application and uncommon aptitude for business. Hand- 
 some still and young-looking, though fully five-and-twenty 
 years older than his bride, and quoted as a model of 
 elegance and good taste, Lord Cleverton united to all the 
 brilliant accomplishments of the man of the world the 
 more solid attainments of the statesman. No one could 
 utter with a better grace those amiable nothings which 
 are the current coin of drawing-rooms ; no one, with 
 more cogent logic, attack the ministry amid the enthusi- 
 astic cheering of the opposition benches on which he sat. 
 Unfortunately, the qualities that command success in 
 fashionable coteries, or oratorical triumphs in political 
 assemblies, do not always secure domestic happiness — 
 not, at least, as our Lucy understood it. She was some 
 little time before she found this out, but she did find it out 
 at last. 
 
 What did the young Viscountess want or miss? She 
 was like a little queen in her new household, her husband 
 her first subject; wherever she went both old and young 
 did her homage ; grave statesmen put aside their specula- 
 tions to entertain her with those lighter topics proper to 
 interest her age and sex ; celebrated poets sang her 
 beauty, and first-rate painters disputed the honour of por- 
 traying her lovely features on canvas ; and yet she was 
 not happy ! What did she care for having her womanly 
 vanity fed to satiety, while her heart had cravings which 
 remained unsatisfied ? 
 
 Lord Cleverton was one of those men whose existence 
 lies principally in the head. Ambition was the great 
 passion of his nature ; deep, exclusive, all-engrossing 
 
330 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 attachments, if such things were, he regarded in the light of 
 bars to the attainment of power — according to him, the 
 only noble, the only legitimate, the only aim worthy of 
 being pursued by man. His respect for his young wife was 
 really unbounded, as was his deference to her every wish 
 that did not interfere with his ruling passion. He looked 
 on her always with infinite complacency, and when he saw 
 her doing the honours of his house to a crowd of distin- 
 guished guests, with that grace and dignified ease of 
 manner which won her all hearts, gratified pride was his 
 predominant feeling. But no warmer sentiment animated 
 his admiration. His great interest in life lay elsewhere. 
 Politics occupied most of his time. What with schemes, 
 meetings, deputations, acting as president to societies of 
 every denomination, besides attending the House, he was so 
 taken up that Lady Cleverton scarcely saw him for weeks 
 together, and then only in company. The world stood for 
 ever between him and her. No possible privacy with such 
 a man, none of those sweet outpourings of the heart, none 
 of those refreshing causeries by the fireside, which rouse 
 sympathy into affection, and are to affection like the fresh 
 dew of the morning to flowers. His cares were not her 
 cares. In vain, at the beginning, had she repeatedly 
 sought, on noticing a cloud on his brow, to know what 
 caused it, that she might try to dispel it. All her attempts 
 to win his confidence had been gently, and with much 
 kindness, but not the less pertinaciously, frustrated. His 
 motive for this was, he said, his unwillingness to disturb 
 the serenity of her life. This reason, she thought, might 
 have held good with a stranger ; but was she not his wife, 
 and as such entitled to her share of his joys and sorrows? 
 And so it came about that poor Lucy's heart shrank and 
 withered, and felt more lonely every day. This was not the 
 work of a few days, or weeks, or months — the drop must 
 fall long ere it wears a hole. Nor was the dissolving 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 331 
 
 process continuous. No ; there were ups and downs, halts, 
 hopings against hope. But the day came at last, and a sad 
 day it was, when the Viscountess realised her situation, 
 when she saw her dream of love and happiness vanish like 
 a brilliant soap-bubble, and cold ennui began to coil itself, 
 like a snake, round her heart. 
 
 Had the joys of maternity been granted to Lucy — had 
 she possessed a dear infant, on whom to bestow the over- 
 flowing riches of her soul, all had been well with her. But 
 Providence willed it otherwise. Lord Cleverton had longed 
 for an heir with all the ardour of the chief of a new dynasty, 
 but he was too well-bred and generous not to conceal, as 
 well as he could, the bitter disappointment under which he 
 smarted. Her ladyship's acuteness, however, soon led her 
 to perceive that something besides political preoccupations 
 weighed upon her husband's mind ; and by dint of search- 
 ing for the cause she found it. It is inconceivable how 
 quick we are to guess at that which will pain us. This 
 discovery completed Lucy's misery, and few were the nights 
 that she did not moisten her pillow with bitter tears. How 
 many of the great, with rank and riches — envy of the vulgar 
 who look up to them as suns and stars shining overhead, — 
 how many show, when brought close to the eye, some 
 mysterious canker, some unsightly excrescence, that renders 
 them objects of pity ! Just like that beautiful rose so 
 eagerly plucked, and which lets drop its gorgeous corolla, 
 giving to view a hideous worm in its calix. Lord Cleverton 
 came to remark his wife's altered looks and frequent fits of 
 absence not only with pain, but with displeasure. That 
 admirable grace, that rich flow of conversation so natural 
 and animated, which had drawn around her the wisest and 
 gayest of society, leaders in politics as well as leaders of 
 fashion, were gradually being replaced by mere formal 
 monotonous courtesy. Lord Cleverton, who liked to hear 
 his house talked of as one of the most agreeable in London, 
 
332 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 — for he looked on such a reputation as one of the aids of 
 his ambition, — watched with a growing discontent, legible 
 enough in his countenance, his wife's alternations of gaiety 
 and gloom. Lucy, aware that his scrutinising eye was on 
 her, strove to mask, by perpetual smiles, the real dejection 
 that preyed on her. Constraint arose on both sides ; time, 
 as usual, widened the breach, and the husband and wife 
 became every day more estranged from each other. We do 
 not pretend to develop, we only indicate the situation. 
 
 Meanwhile, as Lady Cleverton's health and spirits drooped, 
 so did her duties, as mistress of one of the most splendid 
 and hospitable mansions of the metropolis, become more 
 burdensome, and never more so than in the spring of 1847. 
 The Administration in esse was tottering, and a new 
 Ministry spoken of, in which public opinion assigned to 
 Lord Cleverton an important post. Ambitions, high and 
 low, were up at an incandescent point, and none was 
 higher than that of Lucy's husband. One more desperate 
 push, one more defeat of the Cabinet, and power, that long- 
 desired goal, would be reached. Lord Cleverton's house 
 became the head-quarters of his party, where, amidst the 
 glare of the ballroom, and the din of Italian and German 
 singers, wavering voices were secured, places assigned, and 
 the plan of a new campaign determined on. Now was the 
 time when the young Viscountess's fascination of manner, 
 and the persuasive charm of her conversation, was to 
 accomplish all that which Lord Cleverton had counted on 
 when he first thought of her as a wife. He required of her 
 to be assiduous at Court, to accept all invitations, no 
 matter whether from his Grace or Excellency, or only from 
 some of the Manchester school. She must show herself 
 everywhere, where fashion commands ladies of high degree 
 to be, and, in order to triumph, look at all times as if 
 triumph were already secured. All this Lady Cleverton 
 did, unostentatiously, calmly. Her husband admired and 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 333 
 
 wondered, then felt grateful to her. The way in which she 
 conformed to all his wishes, and adopted his views, caused 
 a doubt, even in the heat of the chase, to enter his mind, 
 as to whether he had been all he ought to have been to this 
 fair creature ; and he resolved that, once the present crisis 
 was over, the future should make amends for the past. 
 But it was too late. Lord Cleverton, in the midst of his 
 worldly plots and plans, took a fever, and died in a few 
 days. He died with sad misgivings of having mistaken his 
 road to happiness, and blessing the angel who tended, 
 nursed, and consoled him unremittingly and tenderly to the 
 last. 
 
 The young widow, sadly shattered in health and spirits, 
 repaired to Davenne, where growing age and severe fits of 
 gout had kept Sir John a prisoner for the last two years. 
 The tender father was frightened at the altered looks of his 
 child, and was still more alarmed at the state of profound 
 discouragement in which he saw her plunged. Lucy, in 
 fact, felt as if she were dying, and nothing could shake her 
 firm conviction that her days were numbered. Sir John 
 did his best to reason her out of this gloomy fancy all in 
 vain, until the idea of her going abroad suggested itself to 
 him. ' Why should not what had succeeded once do so 
 again ? She only required fresh air, change of scene, and 
 quiet. Why not go for a little while to Bordighera, and 
 consult Doctor Antonio? She was certainly far more deli- 
 cate when they were there eight years ago than now, and 
 how soon he had set her to rights. Probably the Count 
 would let them his Casino, or they might induce the Doctor 
 to go with them to Rome. He, Sir John, was sure that 
 Doctor Antonio would do anything for her.' The worthy 
 Baronet had struck the right chord, and, perceiving his 
 advantage, he reiterated his arguments. And now Doctor 
 Antonio and Bordighera, Bordighera and Doctor Antonio, 
 and the old Osteria, and Speranza, and Battista — those 
 
334 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 long unspoken names — became the daily themes of conversa- 
 tion at Davenne Hall. Buried recollections rose again to 
 life, old associations asserted their power, refreshing and 
 vivifying Lucy's heart. A dawn of hope gleamed on her 
 downcast spirit. Yes, if anything could save her, it was 
 the attendance of that kind Doctor of hers — it was the soft- 
 perfumed air of the sweet Riviera. It came to be settled 
 accordingly that as soon as her first year of mourning was 
 over, Lucy and her father should set out for the Riviera. 
 Lucy waited with a sort of nostalgia, longing for the arrival 
 of that moment, which, when it came at last, found poor 
 Sir John nailed fast by a fit of the gout, severer than usual. 
 He would not, however, consent to any delay on Lucy's 
 part, and was peremptory as to her going, for friends and 
 doctors had long agreed that the Viscountess must leave 
 England before the March winds began to blow. Sir John 
 would join her at Bordighera, at Rome, at Naples, any- 
 where, but go she must, and at once. Lucy, not liking to 
 go so far from home with only servants, engaged a middle- 
 aged lady to travel with her as a companion ; and thus 
 chaperoned, she set out for Paris in the middle of February 
 1848. Too anxious to reach Italy to find any temptations 
 for delay in the French capital, Lady Cleverton resumed 
 her journey, luckily, previous to the appearance of the Re- 
 publican barricades on the Boulevards. Once at Nice, her 
 impatience knew no bounds. She would not even allow 
 herself a few days to recover from her fatigues ; but her 
 sensitive nature shrinking from the idea of exposing to a 
 stranger the emotions she knew must be roused by the scenes 
 she was about to revisit, she left her companion at the 
 hotel, and, attended only by the faithful Hutchins and a 
 manservant, went on to Bordighera with the feverish 
 eagerness of one whose life is staked on the throw of a die. 
 She wished to live now ; and no doctor, save Doctor An- 
 tonio, could make her live. Lucy had a sort of superstition 
 on this point. 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 335 
 
 At last the carriage passed the promontory of Bordi- 
 ghera, and the little valley beneath opened to view. Lucy 
 strained her eager eyes to take in at one gaze all the details 
 of the once familiar scene, and her heart sank within her. 
 What was it that gave the poor Osteria, the garden, the 
 very seaside, such a desolate, deserted look? In the 
 growing flutter of her spirits she could see nothing distinctly; 
 still she discerned enough to feel that, whatever the cause, 
 a change had come over the spot. She stops the carriage, 
 hurries with trembling limbs down the lane. The little 
 gate hangs from one rusty hinge, as if no human being had 
 passed through it for ages ; the garden is a perfect wilder- 
 ness of weeds and brambles ; the once luxuriant grove of 
 lemon and orange trees has dwindled into a scanty as- 
 semblage of shivered, scattered, skeleton-looking trunks — 
 the few dry reddish leaves, still hanging on the branches, 
 look as if they had been scorched by lightning ; the house, 
 all cracks, splits, and holes, is fast tumbling and crumbling 
 to pieces. The only part entire is the massive flight of 
 stairs. Such of the shutters as are not swinging to the 
 wind, or lying on the ground, are hermetically closed. 
 Everything around bears the marks of utter neglect, decay, 
 and desolation. 
 
 While knocking at the glass door, which is fastened from 
 within, and calling Speranza arid Battista, Lucy is startled 
 by a voice at the foot of the stone steps. It is a young 
 villager, who informs her that there is no one in the house 
 to answer her knocks or calls ; the house is uninhabited, 
 and has been so ever since the death of the last proprietor. 
 
 * What ! Speranza dead ?— Battista dead ? ' 
 
 'No, no; Speranza and Battista are both alive, thank 
 God, and in good health. They keep the post-house at 
 Mentone. They had sold the Osteria to an old man, who 
 had since died.' 
 
 Lucy breathes more freely. 
 
336 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' And— the parish doctor of Bordighera,' she falters. 
 'What of him?' 
 
 1 Doctor Gabriele, you mean ? He is very well, thank 
 you.' 
 
 ' Not Doctor Gabriele — I mean Doctor Antonio — a tall 
 gentleman with a long beard — a Sicilian.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! I know now who you mean. I beg your 
 pardon, but I do not belong to this place. The Doctor 
 you speak of went away long ago ; at least so I have 
 heard.' 
 
 Lucy leant against the balustrade — her knees were giving 
 way. 
 
 'And you don't know of course,' said she, trembling 
 from head to foot, ' where he is ? ' 
 
 ' No, I do not, and I fear that nobody hereabouts knows.' 
 
 The young peasant had all this time been examining his 
 fair questioner with much curiosity and interest. ' Perhaps,' 
 added he, with some hesitation, — ' perhaps you are the 
 Signora Inglese who lived long in this house, and did so 
 much good to the country ? ' 
 
 It was a cordial to Lucy to find how well she was remem- 
 bered. The interest felt for her by those left behind had 
 not then died out. The young man's words somewhat 
 soothed the smart of this bitter disappointment. 
 
 ' You have guessed right,' she answered. ' I am that 
 Inglese. Take this for the sake of one who loves Bordi- 
 ghera well ; ' and, hurrying to the carriage, she bid the 
 servant order the postilion back to the Post Inn at Men- 
 tone. 
 
 The rain had been dropping fast during Lucy's halt, and 
 she was now wet and shivering. Hutchins suggested the 
 expediency of her stopping somewhere to have her clothes 
 dried, and to get something warm to drink ; but Lucy 
 would not hear of stopping before she reached Mentone. 
 The promise of a fabulous pourboire inspiring the postilion 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 337 
 
 with fresh courage, he whirled his long whip round his 
 head with such violent smacks, as set his horses off into a 
 gallop, and away they went, plashing furiously through mud 
 and mire. The day was on the wane as the bespattered 
 carriage stopped in front of the Inn of the Post. 
 
 The sky had partially cleared to the west, and the rosy 
 tints of the sun setting amidst a mass of huge black clouds, 
 streamed down on a group at the side of the inn-door — one 
 of those homely domestic pictures of which Teniers or 
 Mieris would have made a little wonder. On a wooden 
 bench sat a black-eyed, black -haired, handsome young 
 woman, and, a little way from her, a dark-complexioned, 
 dark -whiskered man of thirty, with a pipe in his mouth, 
 was squatting on his heels, with arms outstretched towards 
 a rosy, curly-headed cherub — both parents encouraging, by 
 act and word, the little fellow's first attempts at walking, 
 while he, with screams of infantine delight, tottered from 
 the one to the other. Lucy gazed earnestly on the trio. 
 Speranza turns and catches sight of the sweet face. ' Ma- 
 donna Santa ! Mother, mother, it is la Signora. ' In an 
 instant she is on her feet, and thrusting the infant into the 
 crouching Battista's arms, with an impetuosity that lays her 
 husband flat on his back, with the child sprawling over 
 him, she springs up the carriage steps, and falls on Lucy's 
 neck. * Oh, my dear lady ! my dear lady ! ' is all Sper- 
 anza can say. Rosa rushes out, with but one thought of 
 course, that of some mortal injury having happened to the 
 screaming hope of the family. Battista scrambles to his 
 legs, and a general recognition takes place amid such 
 blessings, blubberings, clapping of hands, and invocations 
 of the Virgin, as would be highly comical were it not very 
 touching. 
 
 i Bless me, how cold your hands are, Signora ! How 
 wearied you look ! If only Doctor Antonio was here.' 
 Speranza bites her tongue; Lucy is rather carried than 
 Y 
 
338 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 shown upstairs to the best room of the house. A bright 
 fire soon crackles on the hearth, a sofa is wheeled forward, 
 and Lucy, her wet shawl and dress taken off, is comfortably 
 wrapped up and laid upon it to warm and rest herself. 
 Speranza leans fondly over her lovely charge, strokes and 
 kisses by turns her cold hands and feet, dries and smooths 
 and kisses the fair, damp curls, smiling all the while, and 
 chatting and blessing the day and the hour, and the Ma- 
 donna, yet, even in her excitement, forgetting nothing that 
 can in the least minister to the comfort of her cava cara 
 padrona, as she calls Lucy ; least of all, the toast and the 
 hot tea — not the every-day tea, but that kept in the green 
 canister for extraordinary occasions. Miss Hutchins is 
 completely set aside for the time being, and takes it good- 
 humouredly. Speranza will yield to no one, not even to 
 her mother, the right to place the little feet in warm 
 slippers, or to put the ' monk ' to air the bed, or to do the 
 slightest service for this adored padrona of hers. 
 
 Lucy felt herself revived in this genial atmosphere of 
 devotion, and as she sat sipping her tea, which seemed like 
 nectar to her, a glow of comfort spread itself over her weary 
 frame and heart. It was long indeed since she had enjoyed 
 such a banquet ; for eight long years she had been famish- 
 ing. Not all the prestige of station and fortune, not all 
 the pleasures of gratified vanity, had given her an hour like 
 this. Of all the homage that had been pressed on her, of 
 all the smiles that had beamed on the noble lady, be it even 
 those from royal lips, none had so gladdened, none had so 
 flattered, her, as the smile of this peasant woman, as the 
 homage of these simple folks. There are blessings, thank 
 God, that rank does not command nor riches buy. 
 
 Lucy told Speranza of her visit to Bordighera, and of the 
 shock she had received on seeing the altered state of things 
 there, and of her disappointment at finding Doctor Antonio 
 gone. 'We will speak of all that to-morrow, dear lady,' 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 339 
 
 said Speranza, who had remarked Lucy's dropping eyelids, 
 'and after you have had the good night's rest I expect you 
 to have. I will only just tell you that Doctor Antonio went 
 back to his own country, and is there still, at least was 
 there two months ago. Signora Eleonora has had a letter 
 from him, and she can tell you everything about our dear 
 friend. We heard there was a great revolution in Sicily, 
 and that he fought like a lion. There has been a famous 
 revolution in Sardinia too, and one here at Mentone, and 
 at Roccabruna. Battista was at the head of it — upon my 
 word he was ! — and he is to be an officer in the National 
 Guard. The Commandant of San Remo has run away, 
 and there are to be no more commandants, at least so they 
 say ; and the carabineers are to count as nothing more 
 than other people. Has there been a revolution in your 
 country also ? ' asked Speranza, with very much the air of a 
 person who takes for granted the thing inquired about. 
 
 * No, thank God ! ' said Lucy, smiling. 
 
 ' No revolution,' repeated Speranza, rather disappointed. 
 ' But then you have no commandants in your country,' 
 she added, as if that settled the matter. Thus, while 
 addressing Lucy, Speranza, notwithstanding her wise 
 resolution to put off all conversation till the morrow, told 
 what was most interesting to her hearer. It was something 
 to know that all trace of the Doctor was not lost ; so, after 
 receiving Speranza's blessing, Lucy fell asleep, and dreamed 
 all night of blue seas, perfumed orange-trees, and that she 
 was walking in the little garden of the Osteria with Doctor 
 Antonio. 
 
 Early in the morning Speranza brought her children to 
 Lucy — two healthy, beautiful girls, as dark as night — 
 Lucia Maria, and Rosa Lucia, and the little curly-headed 
 Lucio. ' Did you know before that there was such a name 
 as Lucio ? ' asked the proud young mother. 
 
 ' I believe I did,' replied Lucy. 
 
340 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' Well, I am sure, for my part, I did not,' said Speranza ; 
 * and I was sorely puzzled, as he was a boy, how to name 
 the little one after you, for I was determined to do so, even 
 if I had had to make a name on purpose. Battista wanted 
 me to call him John, after your father, but that would not 
 have done half so well ; and so what do you think I did ? 
 I took an Almanac and looked through all the Saints, 
 and at last I found a Lucio — bless him ' ; and Speranza 
 showed all her white teeth in the delight of relating her 
 discovery. 
 
 Lucy Mary and Rose Lucy being dismissed in good time, 
 and Lucio given over to his grandmother's spoiling care, 
 Speranza turned to Lucy and said, ' Ah ! dear lady, you 
 can never know how we felt when you were carried away 
 from us so suddenly. Do not be angry with me for saying 
 so, but it was downright cruel of your brother to come here 
 just to take you from a place where you were so well and 
 happy, and where every one, old and young, doted on 
 you. I shall never forget the feeling I had when I lost 
 sight of the carriage. We were all as miserable as could 
 be, and did not know what to do. Mother pined and sighed 
 all day long, and every day ; Battista was like a fish out of 
 water, and grew quite cross ; and as for the poor Doctor ' 
 (here Speranza shook her head ominously), 'how he 
 wandered up and down, here and there, like a soul in 
 purgatory, finding no peace nor rest go where he would ! 
 It made one's heart ache to watch him sitting for hours 
 together where he could get a sight of the Osteria. Who 
 would ever have thought matters were to end so when we 
 used to see you and him walking side by side, both so young 
 and handsome, and so pleased to be together, that it seemed 
 as if God had made you on purpose for one another. But 
 what is the use of repining now?' continued Speranza, 
 noticing Lucy's changing cheek. 'No doubt it was the 
 will of God that things should go wrong in the way they 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 341 
 
 did, only the poor Doctor never recovered the shock of your 
 going away ; he was never like the same man again. I do 
 not mean to say that he was not as good, and kind, and 
 charitable as before — it would be a lie to say he was not 
 all that ; but he had grown grave, and never had anything 
 droll to say to make a poor body laugh. The priests, too, 
 with the cure at their head, had taken a dislike to him ; — 
 and then there was always the same story of the communion- 
 ticket at Easter. Can you believe that the cure one day 
 asked from the pulpit what business foreigners had amongst 
 us ? as if foreigners were not Christians ! Altogether Doctor 
 Antonio had a sorry life of it, and he had a great mind to 
 go away. Well, one day — it was in the year 1842 — he re- 
 ceived a letter from his home with the news of his mother's 
 death. The kind good soul took it so much to heart that he 
 fell ill, and if it had not.been for that fat little English doctor 
 from Nice— you remember, Signora— who came and nursed 
 him like a brother, I do believe Doctor Antonio would have 
 died. He did recover at last, but, oh dear me ! he looked 
 like the shadow of himself. The English doctor took him 
 away to Nice, and soon after Doctor Antonio sent to tell 
 the town council that he gave up his appointment as parish 
 doctor, and from that time we never saw him again. Once 
 when the English doctor stopped here a night, he told us 
 that Doctor Antonio's mother had managed some way — I 
 did not rightly understand how, but she had done something 
 which prevented the Government in her country from taking 
 away the fortune she had bequeathed to her son ; and then 
 we heard by chance that our good friend had left Nice, and 
 was away travelling, no one knew where. 
 
 ' Your going had made Bordighera sad enough and dull 
 enough to us, but now that Doctor Antonio was gone too 
 we began to hate it, and we made up our minds that we 
 would go also as soon as we could. Everything had 
 thriven well with us, and we had saved a good sum of 
 
342 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 money. A blessing was on all you had done for us. 
 People came from far and near to look at the old Osteria, 
 where the great English Milor and his beautiful daughter 
 had stayed so long. Almost all the travellers on this road 
 from your country stopped at our house, and liked to hear 
 us talk of you and all you did ; and they paid us hand- 
 somely for what they had, and would often stay over the 
 night, because, they said, we had learnt from you how to 
 make English people comfortable. We liked them all for 
 your sake, Signora, though none of them seemed to know 
 you. So we were as well off as heart could wish. The 
 landlord of the Post Inn at Mentone wanted to retire from 
 business, and had offered to sell us the whole concern, but 
 we were afraid to say yes before we had found a purchaser 
 for the Osteria. We had good luck in that also. An old 
 sailor, whom every one had given up for lost, all of a sudden 
 returned to Bordighera, after having been away for forty 
 years. He was a man who liked to live alone, and as he 
 found all his people dead, it made him more unwilling to 
 stay in the town. He took a fancy to the Osteria, because, 
 he said, it was out of the way, and he should not be 
 troubled with seeing many faces. So we made the two 
 bargains at the same time, and then we came here, where 
 we have been for six years, with only one wish — that the 
 day might come when we should see again the Heaven-sent 
 angel, to whom, after God, we owe everything we possess, 
 and that we are as we are '; and grateful Speranza took 
 within her own hard hands Lucy's soft small ones and 
 covered them with hearty kisses. 
 
 '. But how has the poor Osteria come to be such a ruin ? ' 
 asked Lucy. 
 
 'It was the earthquake of 1844— a tremendous one — 
 that did that ; it nearly threw it quite down,' returned 
 Speranza. ' Almost all the houses in or round Bordighera 
 suffered more or less, but none so severely as the poor old 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 343 
 
 Osteria del Mattone. Some persons say it was because 
 the foundations were bad. As to the garden, there has 
 been no one to look after it for years, so no wonder it has 
 run all to waste. The old sailor died the year after the 
 earthquake, and as he left no will, and seemed to have no 
 relations, the house was shu t up, and it and the garden left 
 to take care of one another. Battista says he saw in the 
 Gazette, the other day, that notice was given that if no 
 relations of the late owner came forward to claim the 
 property by such a time it was to go to the king.' 
 
 Lucy spent that day and the following night at the Inn 
 of the Post, determining to go the morning after to Taggia, 
 to ascertain from Signora Eleonora, if possible, where 
 Doctor Antonio was likely to be found. She made no 
 attempt to conceal from her humble friend her earnest desire 
 to place herself under his medical care, nor her superstitious 
 feeling that no one but Doctor Antonio could restore her 
 shattered health. The affectionate Speranza, who had not 
 failed to notice Lucy's emaciated appearance and her 
 frequent fits of coughing, but had given no other sign of the 
 anxiety she felt than by clinging more fondly than ever to 
 her benefactress, — Speranza gave her hearty approval to 
 this plan, convinced, like the lady, of Antonio's powers ; 
 nor, for anything that Lucy could say to the contrary, was 
 Speranza to be dissuaded from going to Taggia with her. 
 1 Mother and Battista can take care of the children and 
 mind the business,' said Speranza; 'now that I have you 
 once more, let me make the most of the Godsend.' 
 
 Signora Eleonora was not at Taggia; she had just left for 
 Genoa, with her two sons, both of whom had returned 
 from banishment. Lucy was delighted at this news, and 
 only longed the more to see and congratulate her old 
 acquaintance. Speranza pleaded a similar wish so earnestly 
 that she got leave to accompany her English friend to 
 Genoa, The little journey was charming, the sky cloudless, 
 
344 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 the sun bright and warm, the sea deep blue ; and Lucy 
 felt rekindle within her that passion for the beautiful which 
 had shaped so many of her pleasures in past days ; she 
 inhaled with delight the genial air, and at the sight of 
 that privileged Nature went over in her mind all her 
 former sensations and emotions, with a keenness of enjoy- 
 ment only to be compared to that of a miser who tells over 
 and over again all the coins of a long-lost, newly-regained 
 treasure. 
 
 On reaching Genoa Lady Cleverton found no difficulty 
 in tracing out Signora Eleonora ; the good old lady held 
 out her arms to her unexpected visitor without any words 
 of articulate welcome. What a myriad of thoughts rushed 
 through the mind of each as they held one another in a 
 close embrace ! Lucy was the first to speak. ' Did not I 
 tell you that, one day or other, you would receive back 
 your dear ones ? ■ 
 
 f God bless your kind heart ! ' returned the Italian lady ; 
 'the Almighty has indeed listened to our prayers, and 
 made me one of the proudest and happiest of mothers.' 
 
 Speranza came in for no small share of the Signora's 
 caresses and kindness ; and if angels ever weep for tender- 
 ness, we take it for granted that they did so as they watched 
 this meeting. 
 
 Signora Eleonora had little to add to the information 
 about Doctor Antonio, already given by Speranza, and 
 that little was ill suited to raise Lucy's spirits. Only once 
 had the kind old lady heard from her Sicilian friend since 
 his return to his own country. She showed the letter to 
 Lucy ; it was dated Palermo, the 1st Febuary 1848, and 
 gave a short account of the struggle that had just taken 
 place between the king's troops and the popular party. 
 The Doctor had evidently written in the first moments of 
 excitement, after a dearly bought victory. The letter had 
 this postscript : ' I have, God be thanked ! been so 
 fortunate as to shed some of my blood in my country's 
 
EIGHT YEARS AFTER 345 
 
 cause. A half-spent Neapolitan ball wounded me in the 
 right shoulder ; it is a mere scratch, and does not prevent my 
 using my arm, as you see. I only tell you of it lest you 
 might see my name among the casualties and be uneasy. 
 I will write again soon.' 
 
 'And you have not heard from him since?' exclaimed 
 Lucy, turning cold. Signora Eleonora shook her head. 
 1 His wound, then, must have proved more serious than he 
 thought, otherwise he would have kept his promise. He 
 
 must be ill, I am afraid, that ' and her fancy getting the 
 
 upper hand of reason, she at once pictured to herself this 
 dear friend alone, sick, helpless, perhaps even dying. Lucy 
 made up her mind on the instant she would go to Naples, 
 cross to Palermo, and, codte qui cofite t find him. She ac- 
 cordingly wrote, by that same day's post, to her father to 
 come and join her at Naples, adding that if by chance she 
 were not there on his arrival, he would at all events find 
 further directions as to her movements at the British 
 Embassy. She wrote also to her companion, who was still 
 waiting at Nice, to come post-haste to Genoa ; and three 
 days after, our delicate, fragile Lucy was on board a 
 steamer bound for Naples. 
 
 Signora Eleonora and Speranza saw her on board, and 
 remained with her to the last, uttering words of hope and 
 comfort. The parting was a sad affair, particularly with 
 Speranza, who would not let go her hold of her dear 
 padrona's dress till she forced a promise from her that if, at 
 any time, Lucy wanted her she would send for her. ' I know 
 that I am only a poor, ignorant, peasant woman, and you a 
 high-bom, rich lady,' said the poor creature, the tears run- 
 ning down her cheeks, ' still they say a mouse once helped 
 a lion ; so, pray, my dear, dear mistress, never forget that I 
 am all yours, and if the poor peasant can be of any service, 
 call her to you. Oh ! promise me you will, and I will 
 abide by you and serve you to my last day ! I will ! in- 
 deed I will, so help me, the Madonna ! ' 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 THE tide of national feeling, which, ever since the 
 accession of Pius the Ninth, and the first reforms 
 granted by him, had been swelling slowly but uninter- 
 ruptedly throughout Italy, had nowhere risen higher than 
 in Naples and Sicily. But while the daily increasing de- 
 mands for reform met with no hostility from the ruling 
 powers in Rome, Tuscany, or Piedmont, nay, were in some 
 degree yielded to, the case was very different in Naples and 
 in Sicily. There, on the contrary, a determined opposition 
 to all progress was arrayed in panoply of battle, and more 
 than once had the loyal cries of ' Long live Pius the Ninth ! 
 — Long live Ferdinand the Second, and Reform ! ' been 
 responded to by volleys of musketry, and been followed by 
 severe incarcerations. Sicily, her patience worn out, her 
 moderation, her long-suffering, her fidelity, all alike dis- 
 regarded, at last resolved to snatch by main force what her 
 petitions and remonstrances had hitherto failed in obtaining. 
 Chivalrous in her misery, she named a day to her King, 
 until when she would wait the issue of her last prayer for 
 redress. If it were overlooked, she would then take to the 
 ultima ratio of peoples as well as of kings. As might be 
 anticipated, this appeal was treated with the usual cruel 
 indifference, and Sicily, true to her word, rose in arms. 
 
 346 
 
NAPLES 347 
 
 Palermo took the lead, and, on the appointed day, was in 
 full insurrection. 
 
 The news set all Naples in a blaze. It was like a lighted 
 match thrown into a smouldering fire. Thousands poured 
 into Via Toledo, thousands crowded the square before the 
 Royal Palace. They were, it is true, unarmed, and their 
 cries were the pacific ones of 'Viva il Re, Viva la Con- 
 stituzione,' but the attitude was that of menace. If we may 
 judge from all appearances, the King was well inclined to 
 look on this effervescence of popular feeling as a personal 
 challenge, which he was nothing loath to accept. A huge 
 red flag, never hoisted but as a signal of war, was seen to 
 float from the towers of the Castle of St. Elmo. The 
 multitude kept the position they had taken up, in no way 
 scared by the ugly emblem whose sanguinary appearance 
 they answered by cries, the sound of which was becoming 
 fiercer. Tricolour cockades seemed to spring from the 
 pavement below their feet, and, eagerly distributed, soon 
 decorated every hat and coat. 
 
 There comes a moment in which bayonet and cannon are 
 powerless against what appears unarmed, defenceless num- 
 bers. Once the blood of the people is up, hands and arms 
 of flesh tear down stone-walls and mock at artillery. 
 Modern history, from the destruction of the Bastile down- 
 wards, is full of examples. Such a crisis was now at hand ; 
 that it passed without bloodshed may be attributed to the 
 courageous refusal of General Roberti, the brave and honest 
 commandant of the Castle, to bombard the town. Rather 
 than do so, he tendered his resignation. All this occurred 
 on the damp and gloomy morning of the 27th January 
 1848. 
 
 The King, finding himself in an awkward dilemma, called 
 around him most of the eminent men in whom he had con- 
 fidence. Count Statella, commander-in-chief of Naples, 
 and General Filangieri, were among the number. With 
 
348 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 one voice they answered Ferdinand by advising him to 
 change his Ministers without delay, and to grant the Con- 
 stitution. The Cabinet was accordingly dissolved, and its 
 moving spirit, the hero of Bosco and Catania, Del Carretto, 
 unceremoniously put on board a Government steamer. The 
 disgraced minister, followed by the curses of his country- 
 men, and met by the execrations of Genoa and Leghorn, 
 where the vessel had to stop, made the best of his way to 
 Marseilles. The banishment of Del Carretto was an act of 
 tardy justice, and mild, too, when compared to his crimes, 
 but it was not the less an act of black ingratitude on the 
 part of the King. The moment Ferdinand began to fear 
 for himself, he behaved like any common villain, sacrificing, 
 without hesitation, one whom he ought to have supported 
 as his active, unscrupulous accomplice and faithful servant. 
 
 The universal prayer of the people was at last to be 
 listened to, a Constitution was promised, and a few days 
 after publicly proclaimed. The King used the following 
 words in its solemn preamble : — ' Concurring in the unani- 
 mous desire of our most beloved subjects, we have promised, 
 of our own full,, free, and spontaneous will, to establish in 
 this kingdom a Constitution, and, in the awful name of the 
 Most Holy and Almighty God, the Trinity in Unity, to 
 whom alone it appertains to read the depths of the heart, 
 and whom we loudly invoke as the Judge of the simplicity 
 of our intentions, and of the unreserved sincerity with which 
 we have determined to enter upon the paths of the new 
 political order, we have decided upon proclaiming, and we 
 do proclaim, as irrevocably ratified by us, the following 
 Constitution.' 
 
 On the 24th of February, with every pomp and circum- 
 stance of solemnity, this Constitution was sworn to by the 
 King, the Princes of the Royal Family, the new Ministers, 
 the chief officers of the army, the magistracy, and all the 
 other high functionaries of the kingdom. A few days after 
 
NAPLES 349 
 
 the Electoral law was promulgated, and the convocation of 
 Parliament fixed for the 1st May. 
 
 It is in the nature of things that those who are at the 
 head of affairs, in any time of great excitement, should give 
 little satisfaction to any party. What has been is over- 
 thrown ; what is to be is yet unsubstantial hope. Expecta- 
 tion is strained to such a pitch that no wonder the men at 
 the helm fail in coming up to it — indeed, necessarily fall 
 far short. Nor were the new Ministers any exception to 
 the rule. Fault was found with them on every side for not 
 at once discovering a solution for the Sicilian question, the 
 Gordian knot of the situation ; for not giving to their 
 politics a more decided Italian character ; for not adopting 
 the three national colours, and so on. In short, the Cabinet 
 could do nothing right, and became so avowedly unpopular 
 that its only course was to resign. The accession to power 
 of the new Administration — called, from the date of its 
 formation, the Ministry of the 6th March — was hailed by 
 an unbounded and general cry of joy. This was the state 
 of things when Lucy, towards the end of the month of 
 March, reached Naples. 
 
 The great bustle and animation of the city, the demon- 
 strative joy of all classes, especially that of the lower order 
 (the very lazzaroni were adorers of liberty at that moment, 
 and all that can be argued from after events is, that Machia- 
 vellian arts can pervert man's most natural feelings), would 
 have afforded our heroine ample scope for observation and 
 interest, had not other thoughts and other cares exclusively 
 absorbed her. The people of the hotel in Via Toledo, where 
 Lady Cleverton stopped, opened their eyes, and pursed up 
 their lips, when told to have the noble lady's passport, and 
 that of her suite, vised for Palermo. * Perhaps miladi did 
 not know that Palermo was in open rebellion, and all 
 Sicily in an uproar.' Miladi knew it perfectly well, but 
 miladi was determined on going, and they must do as they 
 
35o DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 were desired. Presently, in hot haste, came Mr. X , a 
 
 young attache from the British Embassy, where the pass- 
 ports had been presented for signature. This gentleman 
 was a cousin of Lord Cleverton, to whom he owed his 
 diplomatic post, and waited on her ladyship to dissuade her 
 from attempting what he styled a mad expedition. The 
 two countries were positively at open war ; the sea was 
 not safe ; Neapolitan cruisers were out expressly to prevent 
 any strangers from landing on the island ; without any 
 actual danger, Lady Cleverton might be placed in some 
 very unpleasant predicament. Lady Cleverton looked very 
 obstinate. 'Her Britannic Majesty's ambassador,' con- 
 tinued the attache, 'was unwilling to authorise her lady- 
 ship's running such risks. There was a talk of Lord Minto's 
 being the bearer of terms to the Sicilians in a few days. If 
 Lady Cleverton really persisted in her present determina- 
 tion, a passage might be obtained for her at the same time 
 in the royal steamer.' Lucy was not to be persuaded that 
 all these precautions were necessary for an English lady 
 travelling for her health. His Excellency came himself in 
 the evening to talk to his refractory countrywoman, and so 
 seriously urged her adoption of the plan he had proposed, 
 that there was nothing else for it than to yield, particularly 
 as she dared not be explicit as to why she so preferred the 
 air of Palermo to that of Naples ; not indeed that she felt in 
 the least ashamed of what she was doing, for never had 
 Sister of Charity been actuated by purer motives, but Lucy 
 had now sufficient experience of the world to know that it 
 rarely puts the best construction on actions susceptible of 
 two interpretations, and so out of self-respect she kept her 
 own secret. 
 Our Viscountess found the days that followed dreadfully 
 
 long. Nothing more difficult than to wait. Mr. X , 
 
 the attache, who, in virtue of his cousinship, claimed the 
 right of amusing her, was most assiduous in his attentions, 
 
NAPLES 351 
 
 proposing all the usual excursions and sight -seeing. Lucy 
 would accept of no amusement ; she could not bear to have 
 her thoughts disturbed, though her gentle, grateful nature 
 prevented her telling her visitor that his efforts rather in- 
 creased than allayed the fever of her impatience. 
 
 One day the young diplomatist came in a greater bustle 
 than usual. He always appeared, even in his idleness, as 
 if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Well, 
 this day he was full of the news that on the ensuing even- 
 ing there was to be a great recepl'on at Court, the first 
 since the establishing of a Constitutional Government. It 
 would be worth going to, if only for the fun of the thing. 
 
 * What do you mean ? ' asked Lady Cleverton. 
 
 ' Per San Gennaro, as they say here,' returned the 
 attache, laughing ; ■ we are to have all the veterans of Car- 
 bonarism, all the celebrities of the Progress party. A batch 
 of musty avvocati and doctors are to play first fiddles at 
 Court now. Lord, how Ferdinand will mystify them ! ' 
 
 ' I do not understand why you, who, being an English 
 man, ought to know better, should ridicule the learned pro- 
 fessions,' remarked Lady Cleverton dryly. 
 
 * But who on earth, my sweet lady cousin, ever thinks of 
 putting Neapolitan doctors and lawyers on the same footing 
 as English ones ? ' 
 
 ' And why not ? ' asked the lady, in the same dry voice. 
 
 * Don't look so fierce,' answered the fine gentleman, 
 laughing, but not pleased, 'for really I only echo the 
 opinion of every one. I know none of the gentry you seem 
 so interested in save by sight. His Excellency has luckily 
 put your name on the list of strangers to be presented to- 
 morrow. You had better go and judge for yourself.' 
 
 1 1 think I shall,' returned Lady Cleverton; 'it will be worth 
 while to see men whose name will figure in a page of history.' 
 
 The attache was regularly puzzled by the widow of his 
 illustrious relative. 'After all,' thought he, 'the best of 
 
352 ; DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 her sex will say no to Pompeii, Vesuvius, and the San 
 Carlo, on the plea of health and want of spirits, but she '11 
 go to Court though she were dying.' 
 
 The knowing attache's prognostications were not to be 
 verified. When Lady Cleverton joined the royal circle, she 
 found every one and everything looking much as they 
 generally look on such distinguished occasions ; it was even 
 impossible to tell that there was any want of blazonry in the 
 assembly. Perhaps, owing to the new elements introduced, 
 there was more animation, certainly less dulness, than 
 usual. If there were any deviations from Court etiquette, 
 the example was set by the king himself, who went from 
 group to group, shaking hands and speaking courteously to 
 everybody, acting the citizen-king to the life. He was 
 simply dressed in black, and, but for the Grand Cross of 
 San Gennaro, the ribbon of which he wore saltire-wise, and 
 the deference shown him, might have been taken for one of 
 the guests, and not one of the best-looking either. Tall, 
 long-legged, small-headed, grey-haired, and short-sighted, 
 with little of the prepossessing or commanding about him, 
 save what he owed to his erect carriage and deliberate gait, 
 Ferdinand the Second had rather the appearance of an 
 elderly cavalry officer on half-pay than of a king eight-and- 
 thirty years of age. 
 
 But Lady Cleverton gazed at him with unmixed admira- 
 tion. All that she had heard from Doctor Antonio of 
 Ferdinand himself, or of his race, was at that moment for- 
 gotten, and the shades cast on his brow by untoward 
 precedents disappeared in the aureole of popularity which 
 encircled, in her eyes, the Prince of reform ; the Prince, 
 who, like a philosopher, had yielded to the voice of public 
 opinion ; the Prince who, like a father, had granted the 
 prayers of his people. Did not he, who had diffused 
 happiness throughout a whole kingdom, deserve blessing 
 and affection ? 
 
NAPLES 353 
 
 But the young attache, who was resolved on being her 
 cicerone, would not leave her to her reflections. * Look at 
 those two gentlemen,' said he, ' between whom his Majesty 
 is walking ; the one on the King's left is Bozzelli, minister 
 of the interior, a refugee of yesterday ; and the other, big- 
 headed, shaggy-haired, and middle-sized, is Carlo Poerio, 
 minister of public instruction. All that one knows about 
 them is that they are both advocates, with lots to say for 
 themselves, and have often been imprisoned on political 
 charges, which, however, could never be proved against 
 them. And now, you see, for all that, here they are, quite 
 the rage in Naples, and looked upon as the two great 
 pillars of the Cabinet.' 
 
 The gentleman the attache called Poerio forcibly 
 attracted Lucy's attention. His was the vast powerful 
 forehead which she had so admired in Doctor Antonio ; 
 his the clear unsparkling, hazel eye, and thin, firmly-set lip, 
 which bore evidence to an unconquerable will. 
 
 * That thin, fair-haired, meditative-looking young man, 
 continued the attache, who, so that he might talk, did not 
 care much whether he was listened to or not, • is Professor 
 Settembrini, editor of a leading paper, an out-and-out 
 Utopist. He was to have had a place in the ministry, but 
 some one, I believe, objected to him on account of his look- 
 ing so young. However, you may be sure he is booked to 
 be one of the future legislators of this country. And so is 
 that tall old fellow in gold spectacles, passing close to us — 
 some mushroom magistrate ; I forget his name. Paron — 
 something. Ah ! Pironti, that is it ; an intriguant of the 
 first water ; they are, every one of them, people of yesterday, 
 Heaven only knows where they spring from ! The tall 
 portly gentleman in the embrasure of that window opposite,' 
 said the Englishman, lowering his voice to a respectful 
 whisper, ' is the King's own brother, his Royal Highness 
 the Count of Syracuse, formerly Viceroy of Sicily. I 
 z 
 
354 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 wonder who he is speaking to ? It is a face I don't know — 
 some other parvenu^ I suppose.' 
 
 Lucy could not help giving a great start ; the blood 
 rushed to her face, and thick drops of moisture rose on her 
 brow. 'What is the matter?' cried the unfledged diplo- 
 matist. ' Are you ill ? ' 
 
 * It is nothing — a sudden giddiness.' 
 
 * Would you like to go away ? — it must be from the heat 
 of the room.' 
 
 1 Very likely,' answered Lucy, in an unsteady voice. 
 
 Fortunately for her the English ambassador himself 
 came up to her, and the attache made his bow without 
 further comment. His Excellency was very sorry, but he 
 had reason to believe that Lord Minto's mission to Sicily 
 would be put off for another fortnight at least. New com- 
 plications had arisen. The Viscountess received this piece 
 of news very coolly. She did not mind a little delay; it 
 was just possible she might give up her plan altogether. 
 His Excellency was too well-bred to do more than raise his 
 eyelids at this unexpected announcement ; he, who had 
 really been taking no little trouble in the matter, was thrown 
 overboard without so much as 'thank you.' After a 
 little desultory talk the ambassador went to make his 
 usual round of bows, and Lucy was at length left to her- 
 self. 
 
 The companion of the Count of Syracuse was a tall, 
 black-haired, black-eyed man, who, at first sight, looked 
 scarcely past thirty ; his countenance was thoughtful, but 
 serene, his smile most winning, his carriage noble and erect ; 
 the countenance, the smile, the figure, in one word, of 
 Doctor Antonio. Instead of his long beard he had now a 
 thick moustache on his upper lip. Save this slight differ- 
 ence, and a shade of pallor, greater perhaps than of old, 
 there was nothing changed about him ; he looked as young 
 and handsome in his way as he had done eight years ago. 
 
NAPLES 355 
 
 The King coming near them, the Count and Antonio 
 left the window and approached his Majesty, who, stop- 
 ping to exchange a few words with his brother, suddenly 
 took the Doctor's arm, and, drawing it through his own, 
 continued his walk. Lucy had not lost one of the details 
 of this "little scene, least of all had she missed the sudden 
 flash of those well-known black eyes as they met hers, or 
 the colour that set the pale countenance all in a glow. 
 What was the feeling that made the Viscountess turn her 
 head away, and try to get behind some ladies? Was it 
 fear of an august presence, or was it a misgiving that she 
 was sadly changed from what she had been ? Lucy scarcely 
 knew. The motion had been instantaneous, mechanical, 
 irresistible, and she was in far too great a flutter of spirits 
 to scan or analyse the secret springs of the action. 
 
 Half an hour passed, in the course of which Lucy's eyes 
 turned more than once in the direction of the door, through 
 which she had seen the King and Doctor Antonio disappear. 
 More than once had the advent of some score of tall, black- 
 haired, and moustached gentlemen through that door 
 made her heart beat loud and fast. Here he comes at last 
 — not in a hurry, but with his usual long quiet strides, as 
 gentle and unpretending amid his changed fortunes as when, 
 a poor village doctor, he went his rounds among his humble 
 patients of Bordighera. Here he comes, and, with beaming 
 eyes, makes straight for her. 
 
 ' You here ! ' he exclaimed, as she placed her hand in his. 
 4 What an unlooked-for happiness ! Who would ever have 
 dreamt, eight years ago, of our meeting at Naples, and, of 
 all places in the world, at Court?' 
 
 1 Who, indeed ! ' was all that Lucy could say. Her soul 
 was % entranced by the sweet magic of his voice falling once 
 more on her ear. 
 
 * How are you, and how is my good friend Sir John ? ' 
 asked Antonio, after a short pause. 
 
356 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' Papa, when I left England, was laid up with a fit of the 
 gout. He is soon to join me here. By-the-by, he gave 
 me a letter for you, thinking I should find you at Bordi- 
 ghera. You shall have it the first thing to-morrow morn- 
 ing.' 
 
 1 Thank you,' said the Doctor. ' How glad I shall be to 
 shake hands again with kind Sir John ! ' 
 
 * How do you happen to be in Naples ? ' inquired Lucy. 
 ' I thought you were at Palermo, and badly wounded too. ' 
 
 ' How do you know anything about my wound ? ' said 
 Antonio briskly. 
 
 'I saw Signora Eleonora at Genoa, and she told me. She 
 is so happy now — both her sons are with her. She let me 
 read your letter to her. She was very uneasy about you, 
 and so was I.' 
 
 ' Were you 1 Bless her kind heart ! ' said Antonio. 
 ' What have I done to deserve two such friends ? Two 
 such form an oasis for me in this vile wilderness of a 
 world.' 
 
 ' I won't hear you speak ill of the world,' returned Lucy, 
 with something of her old childlike manner. 
 
 ' Very well, I will not — now,' said Antonio. 
 
 ' Tell me about your wound ; how is it ? ' 
 
 • Perfectly healed. It was a mere scratch.' 
 
 ' And what made you delay so long writing to Signora 
 Eleonora ? What excuse have you for leaving your friends 
 in anxiety ? ' 
 
 ' Constant occupation and worries of every kind. It was 
 very wrong of me nevertheless. To-morrow I promise I 
 will send a letter to Genoa,' said the Doctor. 
 
 ' Mind you don't forget, and give the dear old lady my 
 best love. Now, then, tell me all about yourself since, we 
 parted — about the Revolution, and Sicily, and everything. 
 You have not forgotten, have you, my old love for asking 
 questions ? ' added she, smiling. 
 
NAPLES 357 
 
 * It is as welcome as of old,' he replied. * You shall 
 hear everything about myself and Sicily, but first I must 
 know everything about you and your health, fair lady,' 
 continued Antonio, who had been eyeing his long-lost friend 
 with some anxiety. Lucy told him at once all about her 
 health, just as she used to do ; and he listened to her with 
 that same interest and attention with which he had been 
 wont to listen to her in the wretched Osteria del Mattone. 
 
 * We will put all that to rights again, with God's help,' 
 said Antonio cheerfully, when she had finished. ' Fresh 
 air, quiet habits and method — you know of old my love of 
 method — and a proper obedience toyour doctor's directions ' 
 (he smiled, and Lucy's eyes assured him there should be no 
 want of this desideratum) ' will do wonders for you, as 
 they did at Bordighera.' 
 
 It was now Antonio's turn to give an account of himself, 
 which he did very succinctly. We shall follow the good 
 example, only taking up the subject a little further back, 
 and touching upon one or two points he omitted, just as 
 much as is indispensable for the clear understanding of 
 our story. 
 
 When awakened from his fond dream of an hour at 
 Bordighera, Antonio, as we have said, had sworn rn his 
 heart to have no other mistress than his country, and to 
 devote to her, and her alone, all the energies of his soul 
 and mind ; and when we say his country, we mean of course 
 Italy, for Antonio's patriotism was not confined to the isle 
 in which he was born, but embraced the whole of the 
 motherland. In pursuance of this idea, he had not delayed 
 putting himself in communication with the leading men of 
 the Italian emigration, less with the intention of becoming 
 a propagandist, and winning over new elements to the 
 Liberal cause, than of combining those already existing, 
 and giving them that unity of purpose and direction which 
 could alone secure success in the day of trial. The fortune 
 
358 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 he had inherited from his mother gave our doctor a modest 
 independence, and consequently the means of pursuing more 
 uninterruptedly, and furthering more efficiently, the object 
 he had set before himself. A pedestrian tour in Switzer- 
 land, undertaken for his health in the spring of 1843, 
 afforded him an opportunity of knowing, and being known, 
 to a good many of the influential Italian exiles ; and as 
 their views and hopes were identical with his, it was a very 
 easy matter to establish an understanding with them. 
 Antonio spent most of his time, from 1843 to 1847, at 
 Turin, where, by his gratuitous attendance on the poor, he 
 earned a well-deserved reputation for charity and skill, and 
 by several medical pamphlets the name of a profound and 
 elegant writer. About that time, we mean the spring of 
 1847, the news of Sicily began to be of serious importance. 
 The Neapolitan Government, as before remarked, far from 
 yielding any satisfaction to the popular feeling, roused to 
 the highest pitch by the reforms granted at Turin, Florence, 
 and Rome, was combating against it in the most brutal 
 manner. An outbreak was imminent at Palermo, so said 
 private letters. Antonio, with a few friends, embarked for 
 Malta, and from thence, in the beginning of January 1848, 
 crossed to Palermo, where he and his companions remained 
 concealed till the 12th of January, when, a tricolour-flag in 
 hand, they made their appearance on the Piazza of the 
 Fieravecchia. The cry of * alP armi ' was responded to 
 from all parts, and the rising began in earnest. The 
 struggle was long and obstinate, lasting from the 12th to the 
 29th of January ; but in spite of a reinforcement of fresh 
 troops, landed by the Neapolitan fleet on the 15th, and a 
 brisk bombardment of the city by the fortress of Castella- 
 mare, the popular impetus proved irresistible. Stronghold 
 after stronghold was carried as if by enchantment, the forti- 
 fied royal palace was attacked with such spirit (it was 
 there that Antonio was wounded) that its garrison aban- 
 
NAPLES 359 
 
 doned it on the 25th, and the troops, driven out of the 
 town on every side, were hotly and triumphantly pursued. 
 
 The fire of insurrection spread all over the face of the 
 island ; Girgenti, Catania, Messina, Caltanisetta, Trapani, 
 Syracuse, one and all in rapid succession, followed the 
 example set by Palermo. Some garrisons laid down arms, 
 some were utterly defeated, others retreated into the forts, 
 as did that of Messina, which, from the citadel, where it 
 was intrenched, kept firing against the city. The last 
 town of any importance which joined the movement was 
 Noto. Her adhesion took place on the 4th of February, 
 and on the same day the tricoloured flag waved from the 
 ramparts of the fortress of Castellamare. It was then 
 that the General Committee of Palermo, which had been 
 constituted to organise and give proper direction to the 
 insurrection, assumed the powers and title of Provisional 
 Government of Sicily, with the venerable Ruggero Settimo 
 as its president. 
 
 In the meantime, as we have before stated, a new politi- 
 cal order of things had been inaugurated at Naples, a cir- 
 cumstance which gave fair hopes of a speedy arrangement 
 between the two countries. In fact, shortly after nego- 
 tiations were entered into — under the auspices of Lord 
 Minto — between the Neapolitan Government and that of 
 Sicily ; about which it is only necessary to remark here 
 that they were far from being handled and conducted, on 
 the part of Naples, in that spirit of straightforwardness and 
 conciliation which could alone, if not entirely dispel, at least 
 diminish the distrust deplorable precedents had deeply rooted 
 in the minds of the Sicilians. The justice of this assertion 
 will be clear to any one who will take the trouble of going 
 over Lord Minto's official correspondence at that time with 
 Viscount Palmerston. ' I begin,' writes Lord Minto to 
 Lord Mount Edgecumbe at Palermo,—' I begin very seriously 
 to believe that there is no intention here (Naples) to come 
 
360 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 to a friendly understanding, and that all that has been 
 done, or is doing, has no other object than to gain time 
 to prepare for hostility, or to secure foreign aid. ' Such is 
 the sense of his lordship's letter dated February 22d. 
 
 Tired at being kept at bay to no purpose, and aware of 
 the expediency of relieving the country and themselves from 
 the dangers of their provisional position, the General Com- 
 mittee of Palermo published at last a declaration, in which 
 was distinctly set forth that it would not continue to treat 
 as to terms of peace unless the sine qua non condition that 
 none but a Sicilian army should garrison the island, was 
 agreed to. At the same time, the Electoral Colleges were 
 convoked for the 15th of March, and the 25th fixed for the 
 opening of Parliament. 
 
 The Neapolitan ministry, on their side, in utter despair of 
 being able to surmount the difficulties of the situation, re- 
 signed, and were succeeded by the administration of the 
 6th March. The accession to power of such men as Carlo 
 Poerio, Saliceti, and Savarese, bid fair to bring the arduous 
 Sicilian question to a final settlement. A cabinet council 
 was held on the 7th of March, the King present — Lord 
 Minto was there also by invitation — and a series of measures 
 was concocted, and a number of decrees signed, which 
 were thought likely to give satisfaction to the Sicilians. 
 The Convocation of Parliament, already fixed by the Com- 
 mittee of Palermo, was legalised by an act of Convocation 
 emanating from the King for the same day ; the Neapolitan 
 Government granted to Sicily its separate Parliament, its 
 own separate ministers, with the exception of the minister 
 for foreign affairs ; and the most popular man of his day, 
 the incarnation, as it were, of the Sicilian revolution, 
 Ruggero Settimo, was nominated Lieutenant-Governor of 
 the island, in the name of Ferdinand the Second. The 
 office of a special minister for Sicily, who was to reside at 
 Naples, and be a medium of communication between the 
 
NAPLES 361 
 
 island Government and the King, was created, and Com- 
 mendator Scovazzo, a Sicilian, appointed to this dignity. 
 But the ticklish and most important point, of none but a 
 Sicilian army being quartered in Sicily without the consent 
 of the Sicilian Parliament, was completely overlooked. 
 Truly, it does seem strange that Lord Minto, in whose pre- 
 sence all these measures were decided upon, should not 
 have broached this vital question, he who, but a few days 
 before, on the 1st of March, had written to Lord Palmerston : 
 1 The Sicilians in seeking to place their liberties under 
 the safeguard of their fellow-countrymen, are justified by 
 their experience, and, indeed there is nothing in the char- 
 acter or conduct of the existing Government (Naples) that 
 merits their confidence.' 
 
 This unaccountable silence about the army, the great 
 point at issue, was considered by the mass of Sicilians to be 
 full of dark augury, and obliterated all the good effects the 
 above-named concessions might have produced. Such, 
 indeed, was the prevalent distrust of the Neapolitan Govern- 
 ment and the fear of its treachery, that the only chance of 
 tranquilising the irritated minds was the removal of an army 
 which had for thirty-three years held Sicily enslaved, and 
 against which Messina was still fighting. Popular feeling 
 declared itself so strongly averse to the conditions of the 
 7th March, that the General Committee pronounced them 
 ' unacceptable, on the ground that they were contrary to the 
 Constitution of 1812.' Lord Minto then insisted on the 
 Committee proposing their own terms, which they did, but 
 the Government of Naples pleaded the impossibility of dis- 
 cussing the conditions proposed, without the concurrence of 
 the Neapolitan Parliament, which had not yet met. On 
 the day previous to the assembling of the Sicilian Legislature 
 there came a protest from the King, charging the Sicilians 
 with ' endangering the resurrection of Italy, and risking the 
 independence and glorious destinies of the common country.' 
 
362 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 This protest declared null and void beforehand all acts 
 that might be accomplished in Sicily. There was nothing 
 left for the two countries but to try the fortune of 
 arms. 
 
 The direful prospect of a fratricidal war filled many a 
 noble heart on both sides of the Faro with horror and 
 dismay. ■ What ! ' cried our friend the Doctor, ' while 
 the ancient rallying cry of Fuori il barbaro is ringing 
 throughout the Peninsula —while war with Austria is 
 rendered inevitable by the heroic insurrection of Milan — 
 is it possible that there are here two noble Italian States 
 bent, not on exerting their utmost energies against the 
 common foe, but against each other?' And, as he said 
 this, Antonio buried his hand in his hair. Was there no 
 means of averting this most hideous of calamities ? Perhaps 
 there was. It would not do to sit down and despair. 
 Could the Neapolitan Government be prevailed upon to 
 accede to the one condition, that no army but a Sicilian one 
 should garrison the island, no doubt that the terms of 
 the 7th March would be accepted, and peace restored 
 between the two countries. Such was at least the firm 
 belief of Antonio, and of many of his friends of the Moder- 
 ate party, with whom he was debating the point. They 
 determined accordingly to make a strenuous effort to bring 
 about this most desirable result. Antonio drew up a 
 memorial, in which he exposed, with great stringency of 
 logic, the reasons which ought to persuade the Neapolitan 
 Government to yield on the army question, and expatiated 
 at full length on the benefits certain to accrue to that common 
 cause, invoked by the King himself in his protest, from a 
 renewed understanding between Naples and Sicily. This 
 memorial he read to his friends, with whose complete 
 approbation he sent it to Naples. It was placed in the 
 hands of one of the Ministers, between whom and Antonio 
 a mutual esteem and good-will existed — the fruit of a former 
 
NAPLES 363 
 
 long and important correspondence. A few days after 
 there came a brief note in answer, the purport of which was 
 as follows : * Could the writer of the memorial come to 
 Naples, and urge viva voce the arguments he had scLadmir- 
 ably expressed on paper, ten to one but he would suc- 
 ceed. Never was his Majesty better disposed to make 
 concessions than at the present moment. Not a day to be 
 lost ! ' 
 
 And Antonio did not lose a day, but went to Naples. 
 He knew very well to what this step laid him open. He 
 knew very well that his intentions would be misconstrued by 
 party spirit ; that his name would be torn to pieces ; that 
 he would be branded as a runaway, a renegade, a traitor, 
 but he did not care. So long as he had a hope of doing 
 good to his country he was not the man to be deterred 
 by personal considerations. So to Naples he went, saw 
 the Ministers, saw His Majesty, and warmly pleaded the 
 cause he had taken up — if to some or no purpose we shall 
 see hereafter. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE 15TH OF MAY 1 848. 
 
 THE next day, at the same hour at which he used to pay 
 his morning visit at the Osteria, Doctor Antonio 
 made his appearance in Lucy's drawing-room. We must 
 not forget to say that by this time he knew everything 
 about Lucy's marriage and widowhood— knew it from Sir 
 John's letter, which Lady Cleverton, true to her word, had 
 sent him early in the morning. He greeted his fair friend 
 as cordially as ever, and, with the freedom of old times, 
 began at once to find fault with her quarters. ' A magnifi- 
 cent and stately suite of rooms,' observes the Doctor ; ' but 
 they will not do for you. You must have fresh air to breathe, 
 and something better to look at in beautiful Naples than fine 
 houses. There is an hotel not far off, at Santa Lucia, that 
 will suit you exactly ; not so fashionable, to be sure,' adds 
 our Doctor slyly, ' as Toledo or Chiaja, but less noisy, and 
 that is no slight advantage. I know the master of the hotel 
 which I am recommending to you. He is a most obliging 
 and respectable person.' Lucy was ready to make the 
 change. ' Come and judge for yourself,' says the Doctor ; 
 and away they went. The lady was delighted with the 
 situation, commanding, as it did, a view of the Bay and 
 Mount Vesuvius, and went into raptures about a wide pro- 
 jecting marble balcony into which the rooms opened. * We 
 
 364 
 
THE \$TH OF MA Y 1848 365 
 
 shall fancy we are at Bordighera again/ she said, flushing 
 and looking at Antonio. 'To be sure,' he answered. 
 1 Suppose we go, while your people are bringing your things 
 here, and lay in a stock of plants and flowers to make some- 
 thing of a garden for you ? ' And when the carriage was so 
 stuffed with roses, magnolias, and dwarf orange-trees, that 
 our hero and heroine did not know where to find a place 
 for their feet, the dilemma made Lucy laugh as she had not 
 laughed for many a day. Antonio, just as mindful as ever 
 about her, proposed going to buy paper, pencils, and 
 colours — she would soon long to be sketching from her 
 window. * And a piano ? ' asked he as they drove past a 
 shop where there were some. ' Ah ! to be sure, ' was the 
 ready answer. ' You must teach me more Sicilian songs. ' 
 The piano and the drawing materials ordered, they went 
 back to the new hotel. 
 
 Plenty of work now for the busy Doctor. The plants 
 and flowers to dispose of to their best advantage in the 
 balcony ; the paint-box and pencils to arrange, so that she 
 may find everything she wants under her hand; the best 
 light and spot to choose for the easel ; the best place for 
 the piano, just coming in, — all of which things he did with 
 that quietness, method, and taste, which made Lucy think 
 of her arrival at the Osteria. And as she now sat at the 
 piano following his every movement with her eyes, and let- 
 ting her fingers strike the keys, how busy the while her 
 thoughts with old days ! how vividly memory was painting 
 that first evening, when he put up the curtains and pasted 
 the paper, to her father's horror, over the crevice in the 
 door ! How full of gratitude to overflowing her heart ! 
 Was it the mysterious power of association that taught the 
 listless fingers to find the notes of that Sicilian air he had 
 first sung to her, and which, from her wedding-day, she 
 had never played ? 
 
 The days of Bordighera are come back again. The same 
 
366 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 flowers, the same sky, the same wondrous nature, even to 
 the sweet scents in the air, — all that she had admired and 
 enjoyed there were hers once more. Better, too, and 
 dearer, was the return to that wholesome alternation of 
 occupation and repose, to the same sweet converse, the 
 same quiet eveniugs on the balcony ; but best and dearest 
 of all, was that same vigilant, unremitting care, she felt as 
 much hers now as then, the proof, if she wanted any, that 
 Antonio, like her, cherished the past. It seemed as though 
 her youthful bloom and gentle gaiety would blossom anew. 
 Happiness was a better physician than even Doctor An- 
 tonio. The events of the past eight years faded from Lucy's 
 memory as if they had not been. She could almost have 
 fancied she had fallen asleep on that dreary day when she 
 left Bordighera, to wake again at Naples after a long, pain- 
 ful dream, and find nothing changed about her. 
 
 Antonio prescribed nothing for his patient, but he 
 arranged her life for her hour by hour ; so much for 
 walking, driving, reading, drawing, and music — very little 
 pianoforte playing, however, for it fatigued and heated 
 her — fresh air, short walks, beside the daily drive into the 
 country, no theatres, no crowded places, no heated rooms, 
 and if to Court she must go, let it be as seldom as possible. 
 And yet, with all these restraints and prohibitions, time did 
 not hang heavy on Lucy's hands, nor did she ever complain 
 of the monotony of her life ; on the contrary, all her letters 
 to her father had this burden, that she was happy and 
 comfortable, and Doctor Antonio the kindest and cleverest 
 of doctors, and that Sir John was not to fret at not being 
 able to join her so soon as they could both have wished. 
 
 Antonio, just as he used to do invariably, came to see 
 Lucy twice in the day, once in the morning — the physician's 
 visit, as she laughingly called it ; and the other in the 
 evening — the friend's visit. His thoughts seemed con- 
 tinually occupied about her, and his anxiety to comfort 
 
THE \$TH OF MAY 1848 367 
 
 and amuse her was unceasing. He brought her views, 
 engravings, his own sketches of the beautiful environs 
 which they were to visit together some day, new books, 
 both Italian and English, the novels most in vogue, and 
 the pamphlets on the interesting topics of the day. Of 
 subjects to arouse the curiosity and fix the attention of one 
 so interested in Italy as Lucy, there was certainly no lack 
 at that time. The late insurrection of Milan and Venice, 
 the entry of the Piedmontese army into Lombardy, the 
 chances of the war, the internal state of the country and of 
 the different parties, Pius the Ninth, Carlo Alberto, and 
 the other leading men of the day, the Court of Naples, the 
 King, and his Ministers, all and each, in turn, afforded 
 scop"e for Antonio's quick observation, ingenious views, 
 and graphic powers. Lucy had long ago learned to value 
 his even flow of spirits, his earnest feeling, that happy 
 combination of reason, sensibility, and humour, which 
 made his conversation so original, his society so cheering ; 
 but now he was laying bare to her all the treasures of his 
 heart, initiating her into all the mysteries of his ardent 
 soul, making her the depositary of his hopes, fears, and 
 disappointments. 
 
 He told her how, at the very moment he had fancied all 
 difficulties to the attainment of the object of his self- 
 imposed mission removed, a split took place in the Cabinet, 
 and the identical person on whom he depended left office ; 
 and the ground Antonio believed gained had to be re- 
 conquered. Discouraged, but persevering still, he had 
 renewed his efforts, when the news arrived that the Sicilian 
 Parliament had deposed the King and set aside all of his 
 race. Antonio would then have returned to his country 
 to share her fate had not the King himself urged him to 
 remain ; his Majesty professing, in spite of all that was 
 actually taking place, the most liberal and conciliatory 
 intentions towards the Sicilians. He would send them, 
 
368 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 some day, such terms as they themselves would be 
 astonished at, and Antonio should be the bearer. But 
 that day had never come. ' I believe he wants to bribe 
 me,' remarked Antonio, ' for he has more than once hinted 
 at his wish of having a physician of my merit permanently 
 attached to his person. However, he cannot throw dust 
 in my eyes. There is something crooked about him — a 
 squint in his looks and dealings ; he has a sleepy way of 
 his own, with an occasional twinkle in his eye, that always 
 reminds me of a cat lying in wait for a mouse. I am 
 greatly mistaken if this man does not have all of us hanged 
 one of these days.' 
 
 Lucy would not listen to such predictions, and shut the 
 Doctor's mouth very effectually, by laying her hand on his 
 lips ; she was ashamed to see how he gave way to such 
 prejudices. 'Well, well,' he would smilingly answer ; for 
 more than once did Antonio recur to the subject — ' vedremo.' 
 If free in his remarks upon the King, Antonio never spared 
 his own party whenever he saw cause for blame. The 
 Liberals of Naples he sometimes likened to the dog in the 
 fable, who lost the meat by running after its shadow. 
 'For instance,' said he, ' the Constitution is not come into 
 action, and they are already loud in requiring its enlarge- 
 ment ; a Parliament has no existence as yet but on paper, 
 and they are in full cry against the House of Peers. They 
 call on the King to send an army into Lombardy, to co- 
 operate with the Piedmontese, and they hint in all their 
 papers that he is at heart an Austrian. Who doubts that 
 he is so ? but where is the use of saying it ? Is the up- 
 braiding him with being an Austrian likely to make him an 
 Italian patriot ? ' - 
 
 It was to this very point — that of inducing Ferdinand to 
 take an active part in the War of Independence — that the 
 new Ministry directed all their efforts. It was in the hope 
 of contributing also in some measure to this desirable 
 
THE isTH OF MAY 1848. 369 
 
 result that Antonio still remained in Naples. Besides the 
 furthering the cause of Italian independence, so dear to the 
 Doctor's heart, another and not less precious advantage 
 would be obtained by the step — that of rendering for the 
 present hostilities impossible between Naples and Sicily. 
 Time, that great peacemaker, would heal many wounds, 
 soften many excited feelings, and pave the way to some 
 future honourable compromise. The reluctance of the King 
 to part with even a minimum of the army was extreme. 
 Nevertheless the feeling on the subject was so strong in 
 the capital, the Ministers so earnestly averred the im- 
 possibility of carrying on any government without some 
 gratification of this feeling, that the King submitted at 
 length to the measure. A corps of troops, fourteen 
 thousand strong, was sent off to the seat of war, and a 
 part of the fleet ordered to the Adriatic, to act in concert 
 with the Sardinian and Venetian naval forces. 
 
 There was nothing after this to detain Antonio at Naples, 
 nothing but the sweet spell he was under, unless we add 
 — Destiny. The meeting of the Neapolitan Parliament 
 was at hand. Might he not as well stay to be present 
 at its opening, and judge for himself of its prevailing 
 spirit, and of what it portended for the future ? And he 
 stayed. 
 
 The legislative bodies were to assemble on the 15th May, 
 previous to that the Cabinet published a programme of the 
 ceremony which was to take place on that day. One of 
 the articles of this programme said that the Deputies were 
 to swear allegiance to the King and Constitution; but 
 there was no mention of a clause inserted in the Manifesto 
 of the 3d April — the declaration of the political principles 
 of the Cabinet of that date — which conferred on the 
 Electoral Chamber the right of modifying and enlarging 
 the Constitution. This omission appeared fraught with 
 danger to many of the Deputies, who assembled in the 
 
 2 A 
 
37o DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 town-hall of Monte Oliveto, there to deliberate on the 
 matter. We regret to have to note so flagrant an illegality, 
 so gross a usurpation of power. The Chamber of Deputies 
 not being yet legally constituted, the members had no 
 right to assume the character or authority of a deliberative 
 assembly. Well, the Deputies then met ; the oath, as 
 inserted in the official programme, was rejected, and 
 negotiations were set on foot with the Ministry for the 
 purpose of finding a formula satisfactory to both parties. 
 Deputations kept going up and down from the Chamber to 
 the Ministry, from the Ministry to the Chamber. This 
 happened on the 14th of May. The news of this conflict 
 spread like wildfire over the city, and created a good deal 
 of excitement. Suspicion and alarm were predominant in 
 people's minds. Some attempts at an open outbreak had 
 even to be lamented. These ominous signs made both 
 parties sensible of the urgency of a conciliation, and after 
 many a negotiation and effort, an agreement was entered 
 into that Parliament should be opened without any oath 
 being asked or taken. 
 
 It was with a heavy step and downcast heart that, early 
 in the morning of the following day, the 15th of May, 
 Antonio bent his way to Lucy's lodgings. Lucy had 
 expressly wished him to call betimes, and report to her 
 about the state of affairs. She knew nothing of the happy 
 settling of the difficulties, it having only taken place far in 
 the night. The streets through which our Doctor had to 
 pass were crowded to an extent very unusual at that early 
 hour, and the looks and bearing of the crowd were anything 
 but agreeable. Knots of persons were forming here and 
 there— an infallible symptom of impending trouble — and 
 the Doctor noticed individuals passing from group to group 
 and addressing them in whispers. It was clear that 
 agitators (instigated by whom ?) were busily at work. In 
 spite of the sad foreboding which filled his heart, Antonio 
 
THE i$Tff OF MAY.1S4& 371 
 
 approached Lucy with his usual serene composure, and, in 
 reply to her eager inquiries, gave her the assurance that 
 any cause for alarm had disappeared, and that all was 
 going on as well as could be wished. 
 
 'And now,' said Antonio, smiling, 'we will let politics 
 alone ; I am thoroughly weary of the subject Let us talk 
 of old times — of our peaceful, verdant Bordighera. I wish 
 I was there still, I was so happy there. ' 
 
 'And so was I,' replied Lucy, with a deep blush. 'I 
 must tell you,' she went on, after a little hesitation, 'that 
 I have never given up the idea of building myself a pretty 
 cottage in one of its quiet nooks, and going to live there. 
 The woman can now realise the whim of the girl. What 
 do you say to the plan ? ' 
 
 ' A very good idea,' said Antonio ; ' but are you sure 
 that you will not get tired of a life of retirement ; that you 
 will not some day regret your fine acquaintances, the 
 advantages of rank and wealth, the attractions of London, 
 the Court ' 
 
 ' I don't care for rank and Court,' interrupted Lucy, ' so 
 long as papa and — you are with me.' Antonio began 
 stroking an imaginary beard, and then suddenly got up 
 and took some strides up and down the room. 
 
 ' We will speak of this presently,' said he, returning and 
 calmly resuming his seat by her side. ' Do you remember 
 this day eight years ago ? ' 
 
 ' Do I not ? I recollect it as if it were only yesterday. 
 I could even draw you at that moment, when you said to 
 me, "Now, Miss Davenne, suppose you were to try and 
 walk ; " ' and she tried to imitate his way of speaking. 
 ' The very tone of your voice still rings in my ears.' 
 
 ' Dear noble friend ! ' exclaimed Antonio ; ' never — no 
 never was the least show of kindness on my part lost on 
 you. I confess I was dreadfully afraid at that moment, 
 and then in proportion happy.' 
 
372 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 'Yes, afraid of my being lame,' said Lucy, 'and happy 
 that I was not so. ' Antonio looked at her with surprise. 
 
 'Now, say it was not so, if you dare,' insisted Lucy 
 playfully. 
 
 ' I am not going to deny it, indeed ; so far I must render 
 justice to your penetration. ' 
 
 'Young ladies,' pursued Lucy, in the same sportive tone, 
 1 are not always either so blind or so silly as they choose to 
 appear. I never was taken in with " nothing but a sprained 
 ankle " ; papa was, but not his daughter. I knew from the 
 first that my leg was broken..' 
 
 Antonio opened his eyes as wide as they would open. 
 
 ' What depths of dissimulation I discover in you,' he said 
 at last, laughing. 'It seems now you took me in. You 
 positively knew your leg was broken, and said nothing 
 about it, even to me.' 
 
 ' No,' returned Lucy ; ' I was resolved you should have 
 the full benefit of your kind deception. I allowed you to 
 cheat me as much as you pleased.' 
 
 Antonio answered nothing, but took the small white 
 hand that was hanging over the arm of her chair, took it 
 in his, and slowly and deliberately raised it to his lips. 
 
 The sharp distinct report of a volley of musketry rent 
 the still air, and made every window and door rattle. 
 
 Antonio was on his feet in a moment, as pale as if every 
 one of the bullets fired had gone through his heart. 
 
 ' What can that be ? ' asked Lucy, in mortal alarm. 
 
 'Nothing of consequence,' said Antonio, with a mighty 
 effort to look unconcerned. ' Probably only some Govern- 
 ment powder expended in saluting the opening of Parlia- 
 ment. By-the-by, I must not be too late.' 
 
 As he took his hat another discharge was heard, almost 
 instantly followed by a brisk running fire. 
 
 ' There is fighting going on, I am sure of it,' cried Lucy, 
 terrified, and shaking all over. ' Do not go, for mercy's 
 
THE 15TH OF MA Y 1848 373 
 
 sake ! What is the use of your going? What can one man 
 do, and alone ? ' 
 
 ' Satisfy his own conscience that he has done all in his 
 power to prevent civil war,' replied Antonio, with tranquil 
 determination. ' Let me go, I beseech you.' 
 
 1 You shall not,' cried Lucy, now quite beside herself with 
 terror, and interposing her slight form between him and the 
 door. Antonio looked at her. 
 
 * I must go,' he said. It was as if Fate had spoken. 
 Lucy felt at once unequal to struggle with that iron will. 
 She joined her hands like a child about to pray, looked up 
 in his face, and said, ' O Antonio ! ' There was a world of 
 things in this simple appeal. 
 
 The Italian drew her to him, pressed her closely to his 
 bosom. 'Lucy,' said he solemnly, 'this is no moment for 
 many words.' (The firing never slackened while he spoke. ) 
 * Lucy, I love you — I have loved you dearly all these long 
 eight years — I shall love you to my grave. But my country 
 has claims on me prior to yours. These claims I vowed 
 more solemnly than ever to respect on that day when pre- 
 judice, armed with a pedigree, stood between you and me. 
 On that day I pledged myself anew to my country. Let 
 me redeem that pledge— let me do my duty— help me to do 
 it, Lucy ! Lucy, my noble friend, help me to be worthy of 
 you and myself. In the name of all that is holy let'me 
 depart without a painful struggle ! ' 
 
 The heroic spirit that dictated his self-immolation in the 
 sweetest moment of his life shone out in his face and thrilled 
 in his voice. He stood transfigured to more than man in 
 Lucy's eyes. Her more feeble nature raised itself, in this 
 supreme instant, to a height at which every sacrifice of self 
 is. possible. 
 
 'Noble heart!' she said, with a burst of enthusiasm. 
 ' Go ! and God be with you and preserve you. I will try 
 to be worthy of you ; ' and she loosened her hold of him. 
 
374 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 ' And God bless you for these words ! ' cried Antonio, 
 almost unmanned, clasping her hands and holding them to 
 his heart. ' God bless you ! your love shall be my 
 buckler ! ' So saying he laid her on a sofa, and whispsred, 
 ' You shall soon see me again, or hear from me. ' He stood 
 for a second to look on the now dejected prostrate form be- 
 fore him, passed his hand over his eyes, and went without 
 another word. 
 
 In the anteroom he found Miss Hutchins in her usual 
 place. He asked her for some ink and paper, and wrote a 
 few lines, which he handed to her. ' Go now at once to 
 your lady,' he said ; ' she is not well. Should she feel 
 worse, send for the physician whose name and address I 
 have just given you.' 
 
 ' Are you going away, sir ? ' asked Hutchins, in right of 
 her calling, at once understanding the reason of her lady- 
 ship's illness. 
 
 ' No, not going away exactly ; but I may be prevented 
 from coming here for some time. See after Lady Cleverton. 
 Good-bye, Hutchins ? ' and Antonio held out his hand to the 
 faithful waiting-woman. Hutchins' face began to twitch 
 nervously, but, in obedience to his orders, she went to her 
 mistress. Then Antonio, seating himself at the little work- 
 table, hastily wrote a short letter, sealed and addressed it, 
 and, without venturing a glance at the closed door, he put 
 on his hat, and was gone. 
 
 During this time, hundreds of people, in a state of dis- 
 traction, were running through the streets, detachments of 
 soldiers ' were marching in every direction, the city was 
 covered, as if by magic, with barricades, fighting was going 
 on at many of them ; in short, civil war, with all its horrors, 
 was raging in beautiful Naples. Whose sacrilegious hand 
 had kindled the torch of discord ? Which side had fired 
 the first shot? The Republican, obstinately bent on de- 
 stroying the monarchy, as afterwards affirmed by the Court 
 
THE i$TH OF MAY 1848 375 
 
 party? or the Court party, which, as pleaded by the 
 Liberals, had in cold blood laid the train, trusting to a 
 chance spark igniting it, and scattering to the four winds 
 of heaven the liberties just snatched from despotism's iron 
 grasp ? No one knew then, and to this day it remains a 
 secret. 
 
 Contemporaneous events are scarcely ever traceable to 
 their sources, obscured as they are by contemporaneous 
 passions. That the Republicans should deliberately have 
 challenged the Government seems scarcely credible in the 
 teeth of a fact, allowed by all impartial writers, and 
 avouched for by eye-witnesses, viz. the insignificance of 
 the Republican party, if, indeed, any such were to be found 
 in Naples in 1848. The cry of ' Republic ' never passed the 
 lips of the combatants, and no acknowledged Republican 
 character ever figured among the many prisoners afterwards 
 brought to trial on political charges. If the adage, I He did 
 who gained by it,' proved always true, it would go far to 
 back the accusation against the executive power, that of 
 having courted a collision of which it took such advantage 
 and made such profit. But it is not our intention to urge 
 any conjectural evidence, and we will give the executive 
 the full benefit of the absence of direct, substantial, irre- 
 futable proof. We would fain be just even to King Fer- 
 dinand the Second of Naples. There were reasons enough 
 for the catastrophe of the 15th May without its being neces- 
 sary to assume that it was prepared or premeditated on 
 either side. 
 
 A political paper of the day styled it, as justly as com- 
 prehensively, the loss of equilibrium between two fears {to 
 squilibrio di due paure), and this was literally the case. 
 Ever since the 29th January the supporters of divine right 
 and the partisans of constitutional freedom had eyed each 
 other with undisguised feelings of hatred and distrust. 
 The people had not forgotten that shots and thrusts of the 
 
376 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 bayonet had more than once answered their cries of ' Viva 
 Pio Nono I Viva la Rifor?na ! ' The King had as little for- 
 gotten that the Constitution had been wrested from him by 
 force ; he, for ever on the qui vive for his menaced prero- 
 gatives, they equally on the alert for their liberties in jeo- 
 pardy. The ill-timed encyclical letter of the 29th April, 
 the fatal act by which Pius the Ninth inaugurated his seces- 
 sion from the national movement, was a powerful wedge in 
 widening the breach. The one party hailed it with elation 
 and revived hope, the other openly manifested their resent- 
 ment at the letter itself, and at the hopes it encouraged. 
 Things were at this pass when there occurred the unlucky 
 misunderstanding between the Executive and the Deputies 
 as to the form of oath. Here, then, we have the spark 
 that fell on the combustible materials so long gathering. 
 The attitude taken by the Deputies seemed to the Execu- 
 tive the harbinger of revolutions ; the demeanour of the 
 Executive appeared to the Deputies to denote an impending 
 coup d'etat. Without taking into account the lawless pas- 
 sions, always abounding in large communities, and which 
 float on the surface in times 'that are out of joint,' there 
 was no lack of ardent spirits on either side to fan the 
 smouldering fire into a blaze. The conflagration spread 
 far and wide until the whole city was one flame. 
 
 1 What is the matter ? ' asked Antonio, when he reached 
 the street, of a priest who was hurrying past. 
 
 * The King is arrested — the Heir-apparent shut up in a 
 convent — the Chamber of Deputies has declared itself in 
 permanence.' 
 
 A young man now came rushing along with frantic 
 gesticulations. Antonio stopped him also with the same 
 query. 
 
 ¥ All the Deputies assembled have been massacred 
 — those on their way to the House are being hunted 
 down like wild beasts — martial law is proclaimed. Oh 
 
THE 15TH OF MAY 1848 377 
 
 that I could but find a musket ! ' cried the maddened 
 youth. 
 
 Our Doctor believed neither statement, but dreaded the 
 worst from both. He crossed the Piazza Reale, where he 
 found an imposing force of infantry, cavalry, and artillery 
 drawn up in front of the palace, and hastened on in the 
 direction of the firing; but he had not gone a hundred 
 steps in Via Toledo when his progress was impeded by a 
 barricade, which was erecting. He did not stop to ask 
 questions, but forced his way over the obstruction, and ran 
 as fast as he could to another barricade that he had de- 
 scried from a distance, and from whence came the con- 
 tinuous sound of firing. The majority of its defendants 
 evidently belonged to the educated class ; they were mostly 
 very young men, many scarcely beyond boyhood, and alto- 
 gether not more than forty in number. The assailants, 
 owing to the height of the barricade, could not be seen from* 
 where Antonio stood, but the well-kept up regular fire 
 showed that it proceeded from a disciplined body of con- 
 siderable strength. 
 
 Antonio hesitated for one second as to the possibility of 
 any words of his being listened to, but seeing the utter 
 hopelessness, under the circumstances, of any attempt at 
 conciliation, he looked around in search of a musket. The 
 sight of a man lying at his feet, seriously wounded, instan. 
 taneously changed the current of his thoughts. There 
 were other and more sacred duties for him to perform than 
 killing or being killed. He knelt down by the side of what 
 was a mere lad, drew out his case of instruments, and set 
 about examining and dressing the wound. Another and 
 another of the combatants rolled on the ground, some past 
 all earthly help. Antonio was now in his element. He 
 stripped off his coat, tore it into bandages, and, entirely 
 absorbed by his attendance on the wounded and dying, 
 forgot there were such things as bullets hailing round him. 
 
378 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 A loud shout from the defenders of the barricade caused 
 him to look up at last ; there they stood facing him, waving 
 their hands and gesticulating. He turned his head to see 
 what they were pointing at. A thrust from a bayonet sent 
 him over weltering in his blood. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 TIDINGS. 
 
 LUCY'S distraction during the fatal affray, the sicken- 
 ing alternations of hope and despair through which 
 she had to pass during each day of the seemingly endless 
 week that followed the catastrophe, the gradual sinking 
 of her heart at failure after failure of every fresh attempt to 
 ascertain Antonio's fate, — all this we must leave to the 
 reader's imagination. To describe such a state would be a 
 too heartrending task, and one to no purpose. Who can 
 paint to the life agonies of suspense and terror such as 
 hers ? Words — any words — must fall short of the sad reality. 
 While there was anything to do, while there were fresh 
 channels of information to be sought after, while there 
 was any call for exertion, Lucy's body and spirit kept up 
 wonderfully. But when all sources within her reach were 
 dried up, when every inquiry, and every possible research, 
 had been made, when nothing remained for her ' but to 
 cross her hands over her bosom, and say to herself, ' An- 
 tonio is dead, else had I seen or heard of him,' then the 
 fragile frame and enthusiastic spirit alike gave way. Even 
 in this crisis the lost Antonio's care and love were around 
 Lucy's sickbed. Hutchins, left to her own responsibility, 
 at once sent for the physician whose address Antonio had 
 left with her, and whose assiduity and skill proved him 
 
 worthy of Antonio's confidence. 
 
 379 
 
380 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 For ten whole days Lucy's life and reason hung on a 
 thread. Then there came an almost imperceptible amelio- 
 ration, and with it some intervals of consciousness, during 
 which Lucy fancied she saw a. form moving noiselessly 
 about the room strangely resembling Speranza. Of course 
 it was not she. How could it be Speranza ? It must be 
 fancy. Lucy had seen so many strange things and persons 
 during these last days. Still this vision did not leave 
 her as the others had done — it haunted her with a per- 
 tinacity that made her heart beat very fast. She said 
 nothing, but watched it with evident pleasure. She came 
 to see it without any wondering. Perhaps she imagined 
 she was still at the Osteria with her father, or at the Post- 
 house at Mentone. The occasional faint murmur of 
 names on the pale lips indicated some delusion of the 
 kind. Poor Lucy ! her head was so confused and her sight 
 so dim. 
 
 Late one night she awoke after some hours of refreshing 
 sleep, with her ideas unusually clear, and, meeting two 
 large black eyes watching her fondly, as in days of yore, she 
 suddenly asked in a whisper, ' Is that you, Speranza ? ' 
 
 * God bless you, my dear, dear mistress, it is your own 
 Speranza,' and down went the loving creature on her knees, 
 pressing her lips on the emaciated hand held out to her ; 
 'here I am, and here I stay, never again to leave you. 
 But you must not talk, not even one word more,' and, 
 arranging the pillows, the kind creature gently turned the 
 pale face away from herself. Lucy silently complied with 
 the injunction ; she did not want any explanation ; she was 
 soothed and calmed by having her humble Italian friend by 
 her side. O glorious power of affection, blessing and 
 blessed ! 
 
 But by what mysterious agency had Speranza come to be 
 by Lucy's sickbed just when she was most needed ? By a 
 most simple and natural one. Speranza was the last legacy 
 
TIDINGS 381 
 
 of kindness Antonio had it in his power to leave Lucy. So 
 thoroughly did he understand her, that he instinctively 
 knew what would best comfort her should any evil befall 
 him. In such an event, would it not be Lucy's consolation 
 to have some one to whom she could talk of him and be 
 sure of sympathy? So he wrote those hasty lines to 
 Battista's wife, in which he told her, that unless she heard 
 from him again within the course of a week after receiving 
 his letter, she was to embark immediately for Naples, and 
 go to the hotel he named in his date, where she would find 
 Lady Cleverton. Speranza acted up literally to the instruc- 
 tions received, and reached Naples just in time to take her 
 place, as a tender and affectionate nurse, by the bedside of 
 her unconscious mistress. Those who sow in kindness reap 
 also in kindness. 
 
 Lucy's convalescence was long and difficult. It was full 
 three weeks before she could sit up in bed, and a month 
 more went by ere she was able to rise for an hour ; and 
 double that time was required to gain strength enough to 
 bear a drive in the open air. The first going out had 
 almost produced a relapse : the sight of the streets, of the 
 military, of smiling women leaning on the arms of friends 
 or husbands, while she felt so desolate and bereaved, was 
 a trial very hard to bear. Many remarked that ghastly face 
 peering so eagerly into every passing coach. What foolish 
 hope could hers be ? Now, indeed, it became evident how 
 well Antonio had done in summoning Speranza to Naples. 
 Who else could have understood or soothed Lucy at this 
 time ? Starting out of long fits of silence, Lucy would 
 sometimes talk by the hour of Antonio. Speranza knew, 
 if no one else did, how good, how kind, how noble he had 
 been. Speranza could understand what a friend Lucy had 
 lost. Struggle against her grief! Why should she? 
 Where should she ever find his like again ? Who had ever 
 been to her what he had been ? She had a right, and ought 
 
382 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 to mourn for him. Had he not saved her life ? Had he 
 not thought of her and her comfort to the last ? At other 
 times she would go back to her accident, and begin relating 
 all that passed at the Osteria, at Lampedusa, at Taggia, 
 laughing as she talked — a laugh more painful than weeping 
 — and seeming to have quite forgotten the awful 15th of May, 
 until some chance word silenced her, and made the large 
 tears spring from her eyes. They were not like common 
 tears, swelling and overflowing ; Lucy's really started from 
 out of the eyelid. 
 
 Lucy always spoke of Antonio as of one who was no 
 more, occasionally alluding, but faintly and vaguely, as if 
 she could not articulate the necessary words, to finding 
 where he had been buried. But Speranza would in no way 
 agree to considering Antonio's death as certain. No Doctor 
 of Laws could have argued the case more dexterously than 
 this uneducated woman. Her tact, her acuteness, were 
 admirable in themselves, but they were adorable when one 
 knew that all this intelligence was the offspring of a grateful 
 heart. 
 
 Taking the worst for granted, would Speranza say, and 
 that Doctor Antonio had not made his escape, as such a 
 clever man would be sure to do, why was he not as likely 
 to be a prisoner as dead? Had not ' her cava, cava paa 'rona' 
 read in the newspaper that hundreds of persons had been 
 arrested on and after that dreadful 15th May ; and where 
 was the wonder if, among such numbers of persons, the 
 name of one should not yet have been found ? It was all 
 for the best ; for, if he was not mentioned, the greater the 
 chance of his getting out of prison without being tried. 
 Some day or other ' the padrona ' would see that Speranza 
 was right. Doctor Antonio was not the sort of man to 
 be lost in that ridiculous way. The Signora knew very 
 well that he was one of the King's friends, and some 
 day the King would ask what had become of him, and 
 
TIDINGS 383 
 
 then all the prisons would be searched, and he would be 
 found. 
 
 ' If he were alive, he would have contrived some way of 
 letting me know,' persisted Lucy. 
 
 * But, Signora, how can he find messengers if he is in 
 prison, with chains on his hands and feet ? But give him 
 time,' concluded Speranza, with a most competent air; 
 'and oh, caret, cara Signora Padrona, don't you believe 
 that the Holy Virgin will take care of such a good, good 
 man? We must have faith.' And Speranza's hint was 
 taken by Lucy. She prayed, poor soul, and tried hard to 
 bear up. 
 
 . Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. It 
 does more : it often acquaints him with unexpected friends. 
 Lady Cleverton had bethought her that through Mr. 
 
 X , the young attache, she had some slight chance of 
 
 getting at information as to any newly-made political 
 prisoners, or some return of the killed — and with small 
 expectation of any good result, for she looked with 
 unfavourable eyes on her soi-disant cousin, she sent for him 
 
 on the morning of the 17th of May. Mr. X was 
 
 shocked at the havoc in her appearance; and the kindly 
 tone of his voice in addressing her, led her, instead of mak- 
 ing a ceremonious request, to rush into confidence. She 
 told him of the obligations she was under personally to 
 Doctor Antonio, of how much Sir John also esteemed him. 
 She drew a beautiful little picture of his life as parish 
 doctor of Bordighera, and of how she had met him again at 
 Court, with the King leaning on his arm. She related, 
 with simple pathos, how he had left her on the 15th, not in 
 the fury of party spirit, but to risk his life in striving to 
 prevent brother slaying brother, and, without knowing it, 
 betrayed that she thought this Italian the best, and wisest, 
 
 and noblest of men. She had requested Mr. X to come 
 
 to her, that she might ask his assistance in tracing out 
 
384 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Antonio's fate. She had no other friend in Naples on 
 whom to rely. Would he help her ? 
 
 It is a fact honourable to human nature that this appeal 
 sufficed to make the foppish young man espouse Doctor 
 Antonio's cause as warmly as though it had been that of his 
 own brother, and that he proved to our heroine, through- 
 out this sad period of her history, the most disinterested, 
 discreet, and serviceable of friends. There was in the 
 young gentleman's heart, amidst much conventional alloy 
 surrounding it, a golden mine, which only needed a chance 
 
 touch to give to view its rich ore. Mr. X had worked 
 
 hard, but vainly, to get some clue to Antonio's fate. He 
 had used every official and extra official means which his 
 position afforded him, or the kind hints of his chief pointed 
 out; he had forced all his high and low Neapolitan 
 acquaintances to contribute, knowingly or unknowingly, to 
 his purpose ; he had made friends with army officers, police 
 officers, employes of every station and colour, and one and all 
 with a cleverness, perseverance, and prudence that was 
 never once at fault. He had also, during Lucy's long illness, 
 kept up an almost daily correspondence with Sir John with 
 much diplomatic skill, in order to tranquillise the old man, 
 whose journey to Naples was, by his doctor's orders, 
 indefinitely postponed. 
 
 Late events had much conquered the young gentleman's 
 antipathy for those he had once sneeringly called the 'Avvo- 
 catiy and, more wonderful still, transferred a great portion 
 of it to the party which had formerly engrossed the whole 
 of his sympathy. As chance would have it, the outbreak 
 of the 15th May had caught and forcibly detained Mr. 
 
 X at a house close to the barricade of St. Ferdinand, 
 
 the spot at which the most desperate struggle of the day 
 had occurred. Here he had witnessed the savage acts com- 
 mitted by the soldiery ; he had seen men who had laid 
 down their arms, and were crying for quarter, shot by the 
 
TIDINGS 385 
 
 score ; he had seen fathers, mothers, wives, and children, 
 on their knees, pitilessly butchered ; he had seen brutal 
 cruelty that made his hair stand on end. All of generous 
 and manly in his nature rose up in arms at the spectacle, 
 and nothing but the certainty that such execrable conduct 
 would meet with exemplary punishment kept his indigna- 
 tion within bounds. But when he saw, by the official 
 Gazette, the perpetrators of these horrors praised and re- 
 warded, when he had it from unimpeachable authority, that 
 the King in person, from the lobby of the Royal Palace, 
 had never ceased, by word and gesture, to instigate the 
 troops to the slaughter, urging the artillery below, whom 
 humane and excellent officers were seeking to restrain, to 
 use their field-pieces — when he heard and saw all this, his 
 whole soul revolted from the party who had so lately mono- 
 polised his partiality. A cause thus defended was not the 
 cause he had upheld. 
 
 Six months had elapsed, and poor Speranza was at her 
 wit's end how to inspire with new hopes (hopes, alas ! that 
 she no longer felt herself) her unhappy mistress, whose 
 gloom deepened more and more, when a few lines in an 
 unknown hand suddenly changed this gloom into un- 
 speakable joy. A letter had been left at Lady Cleverton's 
 door, the contents of which were as follows :— ' Your friend 
 is alive, but a prisoner. If you have any person, of whose 
 fidelity you are sure — mind I say sure — send him to me for 
 further particulars. He will find me, the day after to- 
 morrow, at dusk, at the entrance from Rome by the barrier 
 Capo di Chino. Let him hold a white handkerchief in his 
 hand. Not even the air you breathe must suspect that there 
 is any communication between you and me. It is only by 
 strictly observing this precaution that you have a chance of 
 being of any use to your friend in the future. My every 
 step and act is watched by the police. ' 
 
 He was alive ! Oh, God be thanked, he was alive ! 
 2 B 
 
386 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 What mattered it that he was a prisoner ? — he was alive ! 
 She would force open his prison doors ; she had interest and 
 influence ; she would write to England — the ministers there 
 would do something for Lord Cleverton's widow ; she would 
 so pray and entreat, no one would have the heart to refuse 
 her ; her father, too, had powerful friends — he would get 
 the English Government to interfere. Yes, she would find 
 a way to wrench Antonio from the tyrant's grasp. Alas ! 
 poor warm-hearted Lucy ! 
 
 Her faithful ally, the attache, went, at her request, to the 
 place of rendezvous, and found an elderly gentleman waiting 
 there, who began by telling him what we already know, 
 that a party of soldiers had surprised from behind, and 
 placed between two fires, the barricade where Antonio was 
 attending to the wounded. The gentleman went on to say 
 how the soldiers gave no quarter, and how Antonio, felled 
 by a thrust of the bayonet, owed his life to the presence of 
 mind with which he had counterfeited death. The corpses, 
 and among them the Doctor, had been thrown in a heap 
 into a cart, and then conveyed to a guard-house close by, to 
 be kept there till evening. So infuriated were the soldiery 
 that Antonio had no choice but to continue his feint of 
 death, and it was only when, late in the night, he was being 
 carried with the dead to the burial-ground, that he had no 
 other alternative but to show some signs of life. Part of 
 the escort were for qualifying him at once for the destination 
 of the other bodies, but there were some more humane 
 present, whose opinion prevailed, and, accordingly, our 
 wounded hero was lodged in the prison of Santa Maria 
 Apparente, which, luckily for him, was on the road of the 
 lugubrious convoy. He was left for a week in the company 
 of common felons, and then transferred to the Castello dell' 
 Uovo, and put au secret. While in his first place of con- 
 finement, Antonio had never ceased moaning and complain- 
 ing of his wound — fortunately a slight one — begging, for 
 
TIDINGS 387 
 
 God's sake, that he might have a surgeon to dress it, if 
 only once ; but he spoke to the winds. Nor were his 
 piteous appeals to his new jailer in the castle more successful; 
 he might as well, indeed, have addressed the stone walls of 
 his dungeon. One day he asked, in a faltering voice, for a 
 confessor, declaring that he felt as if he were dying, and the 
 turnkey gave him for answer that he was quite at liberty to 
 do so, when and how he pleased, but no confessor should he 
 have. The explanation of all these groans, lamentations, 
 and prayers was Antonio's all-absorbing thought of how to 
 let Lucy know that he was still alive. He hoped to find in 
 the surgeon or confessor one Christian enough to take a 
 message to her, apprehension and anxiety for whom 
 swallowed up all fear for self. 
 
 The strict severance from all human intercourse, except 
 that of the jailer, inflicted on the political prisoners, was 
 not merely for the security of their persons, but with the 
 aim and intention, successful in many cases, of impairing 
 their mental faculties, and weakening their powers of re- 
 sistance. But Antonio's equanimity never failed him ; and 
 his wound, with no other medicament than cold water, 
 healed fast. Six weeks after his removal to the castle the 
 prisoner was taken before a Judge Inquisitor for examina- 
 tion. Here, as always, preoccupied by the recollection of 
 Lucy, he had recourse to the expedient of firmly declining 
 to answer any question unless previously allowed to com- 
 municate with a legal adviser. Remanded and re-remanded, 
 threatened or cajoled, still Antonio persisted in his silence. 
 The struggle between judge and prisoner lasted four full 
 months, but at last Antonio carried his point. A counsel 
 was assigned to him, one and the same with the writer of 
 the anonymous letter to Lady Cleverton, and the person 
 now giving these details to the attache. Antonio had been 
 fortunate, for this lawyer, though timid by nature, and 
 rendered more so by the difficulty of the times and the 
 
388 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 pressure of a large family, was yet an honest, liberal man, 
 and with a sense of his professional duty high enough to 
 postpone to the interest and safety of a client all personal 
 considerations. 
 
 The attache, as it had been agreed upon between him and 
 Lady Cleverton, alluded to a possibility of obtaining foreign 
 diplomatic interference, and hinted also that no sum of 
 money would be thought too great if an escape could be 
 brought about. ' Beware of trying anything of the sort,' 
 whispered the barrister, in great alarm. 'An attempt at 
 flight would infallibly fail, and only serve to aggravate the 
 situation of your friend, dangerous enough already, I assure 
 you. You would easily find jailers or understrappers of the 
 prison to accept your bribe, who, within half an hour, 
 would have denounced the briber to the police. No such 
 thing, for God's sake ! You have no idea of the corruption 
 which prevails in this unhappy country. The noisome, 
 filthy dens that serve for prisons are infected by a set of 
 fiends in human shape, the outscourings of jails, who pride 
 themselves in being spies and traitors. As for diplomatic 
 interference, unless backed by broadsides from your ships, 
 worse than useless, as it would only heighten animosity, by 
 making the prisoner a disputed prey. We have but one 
 safe auxiliary — time. Time will mature events, and these 
 may force a change in the policy of this country. Much 
 depends on the issue of the new campaign said to be at hand 
 between Sardinia and Austria — much on the attitude of 
 England and France. A considerable period will elapse 
 before the trial of your friend and his co-accused can take 
 place. The Istruzione, by which I mean the preliminary 
 proceedings on the affair of the 15th of May, is scarcely 
 begun, and bids fair not to be soon terminated. In the 
 meantime we have the chances of life for us ; what is upper- 
 most to-day may not be so to-morrow, and something may 
 occur to put an end to all state prosecutions. At all events, 
 
TIDINGS 389 
 
 by patience we shall gain one point, that passions which, 
 at this moment, are boiling, will be cooled down. My best 
 advice to you and Lady Cleverton, and to all who wish well 
 to Doctor Antonio, is to keep quiet, and to wear a mask of 
 indifference. I hear that many of the English have left off 
 going to the Court since the fatal 15th of May. You must 
 not do the same. Let none suspect your disapprobation of 
 the Government. Go to Court, frequent all official circles, 
 hear the prisoners abused and calumniated without so much 
 as wincing. See and listen to all that is going on. You 
 may thus be able to give me some useful information. This 
 is the only way in which, at present, you can serve your 
 friend. On my part nothing shall be wanting, and I shall 
 let you hear of any circumstance worthy your attention.' 
 
 The account brought back by the attache* of this inter- 
 view was a great damp to Lucy's elation. The dictates of 
 prudence and experience jarred too much with her feverish 
 impatience to have Antonio free, and the man who could 
 preach about time and patience, while a dear friend was in 
 prison under a capital charge, could not but be taxed with 
 lukewarmness. She took the advice, however, about 
 appearing at Court and mixing in society. When thus en- 
 abled to judge for herself of the general tone of feeling 
 towards the unhappy prisoners ; when she daily heard men 
 of honour and education reviled as assassins ; when she 
 daily heard it more than hinted that it was high time to 
 have done, once for all, with such canaille*, when the 
 representative of a great power, sounded on the subject, 
 answered, that, having no influence whatever on the resolu- 
 tions of the Neapolitan Cabinet, he could not make a 
 demand, which, in all probability, would be unheeded, — 
 when Lucy became aware of all this, then, and then alone, 
 she was willing to admit the wisdom of the man who had 
 recommended patience and reliance on the action of time. 
 
 Not long after there came new tidings to the attache*, the 
 
39o DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 essence of which was this : — A paper in Antonio's hand- 
 writing had been seized at the house of a co-accused — the 
 memorial we saw him write at Palermo — and in which he 
 had said * that the hour had come for all the honest friends 
 of liberty and independence to unite and form a holy 
 phalanx.' The Doctor had been accordingly examined, 
 and, from the tenor of the queries put to him, it seemed but 
 too probable that an accusation would be levelled at him, 
 as being one of the founders of that secret sect whose pre- 
 paratory process was in actual progress. 
 
 The next communication received from Antonio's counsel, 
 and the last which we think necessary to record, was merely 
 to confirm the preceding supposition. Antonio was to be 
 prosecuted as one of the originators of the Secret Society ot 
 the Italian Unity. The epoch of the trial would depend 
 much on the turn of political affairs in Italy and abroad. 
 
 Time went on, and did mature events — none, alas ! 
 calculated to better the prospects of political prisoners any- 
 where. The defeat of the Piedmontese at Novara, the 
 subjugation of Sicily, effected by a Neapolitan army, the 
 restoration of Pius the Ninth to despotism and the Vatican 
 by French bayonets, the occupation of the Roman Lega- 
 tions and Tuscany by the Austrians, and, lastly, the fall of 
 heroic Venice, are the salient points of the Iliad of evils 
 which the space of a few months had heaped on the unfor- 
 tunate Peninsula. Reaction rode rampant everywhere but in 
 Piedmont. That country was, indeed, a bright exception ; 
 there the loyalty and good sense of the young sovereign, 
 and the loyalty and good sense of the people, had suc- 
 ceeded in maintaining public liberty and private security. 
 For Naples we have the reverse of the medal. There the 
 hour had come for the Government to reap the harvest of 
 the bloody seed sown on the 15th of May. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 VM VICTIS. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL Parthenope looks coquettishly at herself 
 in her lovely bay, pure as crystal. The sun pours 
 down on the city luminous torrents that carry light and 
 heat into the remotest recesses ; an unceasing human tide 
 rolls over the sunny quays and lava-paved streets in hot 
 pursuit of business, amusement, and pleasure. Everything 
 is bright, everybody smiling, as though Liberty had not 
 been bled to death but yesterday — as though the Constitu- 
 tional Parliament had not been sent to hold its sittings in 
 State prisons — as though, at that very moment, Procu- 
 rator-General Angelillo was not asking for two-and-forty 
 heads ! 
 
 Only forty-two to begin with ! The rest will come in 
 course of time. The scales of Neapolitan Themis run no 
 danger of becoming rusty for lack of use. No one need be 
 uneasy on that score. The number of the imprisoned, for 
 political offences, in the happy kingdom of the Two Sicilies, 
 in this year of grace 1850, is said, on good authority, 1 to 
 be somewhere between fifteen and thirty thousand. Assum- 
 ing the lowest number as the one nearest to probability — 
 assuming, that out of these fifteen thousand, two-thirds 
 will be disposed of in a summary paternal way {economico, 
 
 1 Gladstone. Two Letters, etc. 
 
 391 
 
392 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 they style it most elegantly) — that is, without any form of 
 trial whatever, there remains a balance of five thousand 
 human beings amenable to justice ; enough, it must be 
 allowed, to afford occupation and sport to all the High 
 Courts and lower Courts of the kingdom, and to the habitual 
 frequenters of all those Courts, for some years to come. 
 There are, among others, from four to five hundred indi- 
 viduals imprisoned for the affair of the 15th of May alone, 
 which promises a monster batch. 
 
 The one with which we have at present to do is more re- 
 markable for the great variety of the social elements of 
 which it is composed than for its number. All stations, 
 from the loftiest to the humblest calling, have contributed 
 their contingent to the formation of this group. We count 
 among the accused an ex -Secretary for the Home Depart- 
 ment, an ex-Magistrate, an ex-Chief of Division in the 
 Ministry of Public Instruction, — all three of them Deputies ; 
 two former Captains in the army, the representative of a 
 ducal family, two private gentlemen of education and 
 fortune, one of whom has declined a diplomatic post ; several 
 barristers and physicians, four priests, an arch-priest, and 
 sundry small tradesmen, shopkeepers, and artisans ; a 
 former gendarme, a porter, and a domestic servant. They 
 all stand charged with belonging to an anarchical secret 
 society, some of them subsidiarily with having 'fought at the 
 barricades in May 1848 — an excellent precaution for de- 
 taining them for another trial, in case of their being acquitted 
 in this one. A particular charge is brought against a few of 
 having attempted to destroy the existing Ministers, and 
 other persons, by means of terrible explosive agents — a 
 single bottle, which had exploded in the breast-pocket of one 
 of the accused, without injury to himself or any one else. 
 A blacker set of villains never disgraced the dock of a 
 Court, if we are to believe Procurator Angelillo. A more 
 wronged, more ill-used party of honourable citizens never 
 
VM VICTIS 393 
 
 cried to Heaven for vengeance, if precedents and presump- 
 tive evidence go for anything in this world. Is it among 
 men of such public and private character as Carlo Poerio, 
 Settembrini, and Pironti, among such historical names as 
 that of Carafa, or among such gentlemen of education and 
 fortune as Nisco, Gualtieri, Braico, etc. ; such dignitaries 
 of the Church as the arch-priest Miele, that anarchy recruits 
 its supporters, and crime its abettors? What would you 
 say, O English reader, to a charge of treason brought against 
 some of your most eminent and respected statesmen, leading 
 Members of your Houses of Parliament, — judges, nobles, 
 churchmen, and gentlemen ? Well, the men whose names 
 I have just written down, and whom you see introduced 
 into this gloomy hall of the Palace of the Vicaria, manacled 
 and escorted by gendarmes, these men- stand as high in the 
 social scale of their country, rank as high as to character 
 and position, as any of your English statesmen, Members of 
 Parliament, magistrates, nobles, and gentry. 
 
 This is the famous State prosecution of the sect of the 
 Italian Unity, which wrung from a noble-souled English 
 statesman a cry of indignation soon re-echoed by all Europe. 
 The Court that sits is the Grand Criminal Court of Justice, 
 the highest tribunal in the kingdom. It sits not as an 
 ordinary, but as a special Court, with a view to despatch — 
 by which is meant, that any of the forms, invaluable for the 
 defence, may be dispensed with at the pleasure of its 
 President, Navarro — 'the delicate, scrupulous, impartial, 
 and generous Navarro. ' x The lugubrious drama is about to 
 begin. The scanty space allotted to the public is crowded, 
 and so is the hemicycle, reserved for privileged spectators, 
 among whom we perceive a closely-veiled lady. The Judges 
 are in their seats ; in front of them, on a raised platform, sit 
 the accused. They look pale and worn. The place they 
 have been brought from, truth to say, is none of the 
 1 Gladstone. 
 
394 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 healthiest, especially at this time of the year, in Naples, the 
 month of June. No less than one thousand three hundred 
 and eighty human beings are cooped up, one upon another, 
 without air or light, amidst beastly filth, in the contiguous 
 prison of the Vicaria, where our forty-two are confined. 
 We must also take into account a previous detention, for 
 none less than ten months — for many much longer — which 
 they have already undergone. Nor must we forget the 
 proper degree of wholesome discipline applied to body and 
 mind, with which imprisonment on a political charge is in 
 variably seasoned at Naples — a double treatment, for the 
 praiseworthy purpose of eliciting truth, whereof we may 
 hear enough by and by for our edification. Evil-minded 
 people might call it 'torture,' but torture is abolished, we 
 know — at any rate the name is. No wonder, then, if the 
 accused look worn and sickly. But if the flesh be infirm, 
 the spirit that dwells within is full of strength and energy ; 
 at least the air of quiet determination about them — the 
 quiet determination of a garrison who are aware they have 
 no quarter to expect, and prepare to sell their lives dearly 
 — would seem to intimate as much. 
 
 On the names of the prisoners being called over, one of 
 them, Margherita (a custom-house officer), rises to retract 
 his former declaration, extorted, he says, through physical 
 and moral coercion, and suggested by the Judge Inquisitore 
 nimself. Another, Pittera (a writing-master), declares, 
 that when taken out of a criminale (an underground cell, 
 almost or wholly without light) to be examined in the 
 Castello (delP Uovo), he was in consequence of constant 
 privations and repeated menaces overcome by mental 
 stupor. A third, Antonietti (a custom-house agent), 
 follows, saying that, when interrogated, he was so exhausted 
 in mind and body he would willingly have signed his own 
 sentence of death. If any wish to know more distinctly 
 what kind of pressure it was that could thus unnerve and 
 
V& VICTIS 395 
 
 unman far from sensitive weakly persons, Pironti, and many 
 besides him, will tell us the particulars. Pironti, a late 
 deputy and magistrate, relates having been in solitary con- 
 finement in a dungeon where he had to lie on the naked 
 ground, amid every sort of vermin, for forty-two days. His 
 hair and beard, by special orders, were shaved by a galley- 
 slave. He then underwent an insidious examination from 
 the commandant of the castle, who tried first threats, then 
 wheedling, promising him the royal clemency, to induce 
 him to make revelations, i.e. turn king's evidence. De 
 Simone, a perfumer, was threatened with two hundred 
 blows of sticks, soaked in water. Faucitano (a contract- 
 builder, he of the explosive bottle) was dragged to the 
 Prefecture of Police by twenty Swiss guards, six police- 
 inspectors, and twelve sbirri, who beat him, spat on him, 
 tore his clothes, hair, and beard. He was kept for two 
 hours at the police-office bound with wet ropes, then con- 
 ducted to the castle, thrust down into a dark, damp 
 criminate, without even a handful of straw to lie on, and 
 detained there for nine days with no food but musty bread, 
 no drink but fetid water. His first deposition was forced 
 from him by the alternative of receiving two hundred blows. 
 Muro (a servant) was kept for five days in complete dark- 
 ness, and when on his way to be examined, a lieutenant in 
 the army, who knew him, told him, as if out of compassion, 
 that unless he put his name to whatever the Commissary 
 desired him to sign, he would be ruined for life. On being 
 asked how it happens that he now maintains that he does 
 not know Pironti, after having, when first confronted by 
 that gentleman, at first recognised his person, Muro replies 
 that the Commissary had told him beforehand to lay his 
 finger on the one of the four individuals standing in a row 
 who had no moustache ; and he had obeyed. Sersale, a 
 merchant, underwent such prolonged fasting that his health 
 is incurably undermined. (The voice of the prisoner is 
 
396 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 faint, and he can scarcely stand.) His wife was kept in 
 prison for five days on bread and water, in order to frighten 
 her into deposing to the truth of the charge against him. 
 Cocozza, a solicitor, signed his interrogatory without read- 
 ing it over — that being the condition of his release from a 
 horrible criminal?. The Commissary required him to 
 depose to Nisco (one of his co-accused) being the cashier of 
 the sect of the Italian Unity. Caprio, a carpenter, was 
 urged by the Commissary, in the presence of the head 
 jailer, and of the turnkey, Carmine Bisogni, to denounce 
 Nisco, and to declare on oath that he (Caprio) had received 
 from that gentleman six thousand ducats, for the purpose 
 of bribing the troops, and was promised his liberty if he did 
 so. Errichiello, the master of a cafe, had been offered an 
 employment worth twelve ducats a month, if he would 
 second the views of the Commissary. Dono, a chemist, 
 was not once examined during the ten months of his 
 incarceration. 
 
 Carafa, of the Dukes d'Andria, rises to tell a sad tale. 
 When first arrested, his mother was seriously ill. From 
 that time he had received no news of her. He had even 
 been given to understand that all his relations had re- 
 nounced him. Signor Beccheneda, a Cabinet Minister and 
 Director of Police, had come to visit him in prison, and 
 assured him that his matter could be easily arranged, if he 
 would only give testimony against his co-accused, Poerio, 
 on a certain point. On Carafa's refusal, the Minister had 
 taken leave of him with these words : ' Very well, sir, you 
 wish to destroy yourself— I leave you to your fate ! ' One 
 night the unfortunate young man had fainted away, and, in 
 falling to the ground, had injured his right eye. He called 
 for help, but no one came to his assistance. It was 
 whispered about that he was to be transferred to a criminale 
 full of most filthy vermin, and that his doom was irrevoc- 
 able. After a month's imprisonment, under the combined 
 
VM VICTIS 397 
 
 influence of moral torture and of feverish impatience to 
 hear of his mother, his heart failed him, and he wrote a 
 letter, wherein he deposed against some of his co-accused 
 — wrote it at the suggestion of the Judge Inquisitore in the 
 house of the commandant of the castle, under the eye of 
 the Commissary. He now retracts all he had written in 
 that letter ; nor does this public recantation suffice to set 
 his conscience at rest. He feels the desire and necessity of 
 making further amends for his fault. He wishes to ask for 
 forgiveness, which he now does, in the presence of the 
 Judges and the public, of his dear friends, pointing to the 
 other prisoners. His voice thrills with an emotion that 
 touches the heart of all present. 
 
 So much for the fair and humane treatment of prisoners, 
 accused of political offences, before their trial. Now for a 
 single illustration of the humane manner they are dealt with 
 during their trial. 
 
 The Court has resumed its sittings, which had been sus- 
 pended for a fortnight on account of the serious illness 
 of one of the accused, Leipnecher, late a captain in the 
 army. The President, Navarro, impatient to go on with 
 the cause, had early that morning, 17th June, summoned 
 the seven medical men attending Leipnecher, and made 
 known to them that the Government had come to the 
 determination that the trial should go on at any rate. All 
 he required of them was an answer to one single question : — 
 Could Leipnecher be brought into Court without danger of 
 immediate death ? After having timidly stammered some 
 observations, the doctors answered that Leipnecher had not 
 any fever, and though certainly suffering from nervous irrita- 
 tion, this need not prevent his being present at the sitting, 
 provided he was carried in a chair to the hall, and properly 
 taken care of when there. The President then assumes his 
 seat in Court, and, upon a sign from him, a sedan-chair, 
 surrounded by numerous gendarmes, is brought into the 
 
398 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 hall ; the prison attendants lift out of it a sick man who is 
 utterly unable to support himself; they carry him in their 
 arms like a child, and place him on a chair, arranging two 
 pillows to support his head. The names of the prisoners 
 are called over, Leipnecher's among the number, but he 
 does not answer. He cannot — he hears nothing. At last, 
 urged by his companions, who succeed in rousing him from 
 his torpor, he exclaims, wandering in his mind, ' The 
 physicians will not cure me ! ' Pretending that these words 
 are meant as an accusation against the medical men, the 
 President, Navarro, desires them to be written down in the 
 minutes, and decrees that Leipnecher shall be the first 
 called up for examination. During the reading over of the 
 notes of his previous answers before the Inquisitore and 
 the Grand Criminal Court the unfortunate man gives no 
 other sign of life than some mechanical motions. The read- 
 ing ended, the President asks the accused if he has anything 
 to add, retract, or modify. The prisoner utters no sound. 
 The President desires Leipnecher's counsel to answer for 
 his client. This the counsel declines to do, alleging the 
 character of the examination to be one entirely personal to 
 the accused. Navarro insists on the counsel going close 
 to his client, communicating the questions, and trans- 
 mitting to the Court whatever answers he may receive. 
 The counsel, evidently in great emotion, approaches 
 Leipnecher, and immediately perceives that it is impossible 
 to attempt any oral communication with him. The poor 
 creature's forehead is covered with a cold sweat, and the 
 panting of internal agony alone shows that he is not already 
 a corpse. The Procurator-General, coming to the assistance 
 of the puzzled President, observes that the physicians' re- 
 port having been made early in the morning, fever might 
 have come on since then, and suggests the expediency of 
 having the medical men sent for to give their opinion 
 again. In the meanwhile the cause can go on. After a 
 
V/E VICTIS 399 
 
 considerable delay, two out of the seven physicians of the 
 morning's report appear in the hall, accompanied by five 
 Strange medical practitioners. They are sworn, and after 
 examining the patient, answer, 'That he has fever, and 
 that it is on the increase.' The Procurator-General wishes 
 to know whether the sick man could not remain in Court 
 for another hour without positive danger. The reply is, 
 * That there would be no instant danger, but that the state 
 of the patient is such as not to allow of his remaining 
 longer where he is without serious injury.' Upon receiv- 
 ing this opinion, the President declares the sitting closed. 
 This took place on the 17 th of June 1850 ; on the 22d of 
 the same month Leipnecher was dead. 
 
 Let us now gather at random a few instances of the im- 
 partiality of the Court, and of its religious respect for the 
 liberty of defence. 
 
 The subsidiary charge against Poerio is, that he fought 
 furiously at the barricades on the 15th of May 1848. He 
 asked permission to prove, that during the whole of that 
 day he was detained by the duties oT office at the Council 
 of Ministers, whence he accompanied the actual Minister of 
 War, Brigadier Carascosa, to his (Carascosa's) house. He 
 proposed also to prove, by unexceptionable witnesses, and 
 by a document of certain date, viz. a report against himself, 
 all written in Iervolino's hand, that he, Poerio, knew 
 Iervolino to be a paid instigator at the time when he 
 (Poerio) was alleged to make Iervolino his political confi- 
 dant. The court refused both requests. 
 
 Pironti is charged with having received, towards the end 
 of October 1848, a letter full of high treason, at his own 
 residence, Vico Ecce Homo, No. 9. He demands to prove 
 that he had not returned to Naples from Santa Maria of 
 Capua before the 2d of November, and that it was not 
 before the 4th that he had taken up his residence in the 
 house, where, according to the accusation, the letter had 
 
400 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 been given to him towards the end of October. He is 
 ready to make good his assertion by the testimony of those 
 who moved his furniture, by that of his fellow-lodgers, and 
 by that of his landlord. The Court rejects the demand. 
 
 Bocchino, a grenadier in the Royal Guard, a witness for 
 the prosecution against Cocozza, is heard . Though he has 
 been decorated by the Pope, Bocchino's moral character is 
 none of the highest. It results from certificates, signed by 
 the colonel of his regiment, that the witness has suffered 
 punishment for various causes eleven times — for having left 
 his post, for thefts, for insubordination, and for attempted 
 rape ; he has been twice sentenced to be bastinadoed, once 
 to thirty, the second time to sixty, blows. This man 
 deposes to having taken a letter from Mazza to Cocozza — 
 both of them among the accused. He went to Cocozza, 
 gave the letter into his hands, heard nothing about revolu- 
 tions or sects, and remembers nothing more. The 
 President exhorts him to tell the whole truth, but Bocchino 
 persists in saying that he knows nothing more. Then the 
 President orders the witness's long and circumstantial 
 written declaration to be read. This Cocozza's counsel 
 opposes, and with great energy claims the observance of 
 the law. Navarro desires him not to interrupt the Court, 
 but to sit down. At this point Settembrini, boiling with 
 indignation, rises and asks to be reconducted to his prison. 
 Since even this mere sham defence is to be thwarted, he 
 will not, he says, legitimate by his presence such a continual 
 trampling under foot of all laws, both human and divine. 
 Navarro growls some inarticulate words, and, with the 
 snarl of a mastiff, orders Settembrini to hold his tongue. 
 Settembrini, however, replies with warmth. Navarro 
 repeats his threats of having him punished for his temerity. 
 All the accused rise to their feet with one accord. The 
 general emotion is at its height. 
 
 When calm is restored, Poerio gets up and says, that 
 
VM V1CTIS 401 
 
 public discussion is the crucible in which truth is tried ; 
 through it all the facts gathered in the preparatory written 
 process, whether incomplete, altered, or exaggerated,, are 
 re-integrated in their purity ; through it all the spurious 
 elements are eliminated. It is, therefore, logically indis- 
 pensable that any witness called into a public court should 
 himself relate and arrange the facts that are within his 
 cognisance, and when his oral declaration be not in the 
 whole conformable with his written deposition, it is an 
 absolute necessity that the witness's retractations, 
 variations, reticences, and hesitations — in a word, all 
 the circumstances capable of affording a criterion of his 
 sincerity, should be clearly registered. If witnesses were 
 only brought forward to give a dry confirmation of 
 their written declaration, then the end and aim of the law 
 would be missed, and public debates would amount to 
 nothing more than to a faint rehearsal of previous private 
 examinations. 
 
 Cocozza's counsel quotes Articles 248, 249, and 251 of 
 the Code of Penal Procedure, and submits to the Court that 
 a witness called into a public court must give* his oral testi- 
 mony without assistance from his written one, that every 
 addition, retractation, or modification of his former sayings 
 must be registered in the verbal process, and that only after 
 this being done the President may refer him — if the Presi- 
 dent judge it opportune so to do — to his written declaration. 
 The public prosecutor opposes these demands as unfounded. 
 The Grand Criminal Court retires, and after an hour returns 
 with a deliberation, which, admitting that all the additions, 
 retractations, and modifications of witnesses are to be 
 exactly set down, declares, at the same time, that the Presi- 
 dent alone is the best judge of the opportune application 
 of the rule. The Court, in consequence, rejects the 
 demands. Thereupon the examination of the witness 
 Bocchino is resumed, his written declaration is read over 
 2 c 
 
4 02 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 to him, and he repeats and confirms it, sentence by 
 sentence. 
 
 Malacarne — also a grenadier of the Guard — another 
 witness for the prosecution, deposes against two of the 
 accused, Cocozza and Brancaccio. Cocozza, rising, pro- 
 tests that he never saw the witness in his life, and desires 
 that the witness should look at him and say whether he 
 recognises him, Cocozza. President Navarro makes a sign 
 to the witness to turn round, and asks him whether the 
 one of the prisoners now standing be Cocozza or not. The 
 witness, turning round, and pointing to Cocozza, exclaims, 
 'That is ths man.' The other accused, Brancaccio, calls 
 upon the witness to identify him also, but uses the precau- 
 tion of remaining seated. Navarro, before allowing the 
 request to be complied with, orders Brancaccio to stand up. 
 Upon which the latter observes that if he stand up there 
 is not the least doubt as to the witness singling him 
 out from among his fellow-prisoners. Navarro replies 
 that no one can be permitted to keep their seat while 
 speaking in presence of the Court, and that, therefore, 
 he cannot admit the identification unless the prisoner 
 rises. 
 
 Colanero, another grenadier and witness for the prosecu- 
 tion, deposes to having spent a whole day with the accused 
 Colombo. Mazza, one of the prisoners, rises, and, in be- 
 half of Colombo, who remains seated, demands that the 
 witness should identify Colombo's person. Navarro remarks 
 to Mazza that he is not Colombo's mouthpiece, and that, if 
 Colombo has any request to put forward, he must stand up 
 himself. Mazza retorts that if Colombo, who is to be 
 identified, were to rise, how could any doubt exist as to the 
 identity of his person ? Colombo's counsel demands, on be- 
 half of his client, that the confrontation should take place 
 without his client's rising. The Procurator- General main- 
 tains that the witness having indicated the accused by his 
 
VM VICTIS 403 
 
 surname and Christian name, to wit, Salvatore Colombo, 
 the demand of the said prisoner's counsel could not be ad- 
 mitted, since, according to the law, the act of confrontation 
 was to take place only when the person was vaguely indi- 
 cated. Poerio remarks that the opposite system had been 
 acted upon on the preceding day — vide the case above 
 quoted — when a witness had designated Francesco Cocozza 
 by both his names, and yet the President had, nevertheless, 
 authorised his identification. The Grand Criminal Court 
 withdraws, and, after an hour's deliberation, rejects the 
 demand of Colombo's counsel. 
 
 Now for the morality of some of the most important wit- 
 nesses for the prosecution. 
 
 Among them stands conspicuous Mauro Colella, one of 
 the witnesses against Poerio. It results from the deposition 
 of a priest named Mingione, that this Mauro Colella, while 
 at dinner, last year, in Easter week, at deponent's house, 
 confided to him that a denunzia — a false charge — was being 
 concocted against Imbriani's brother-in-law, explaining that 
 he alluded to Carlo Poerio. Some time after that, Colella, 
 who lives opposite to deponent Mingione, called to him 
 from one of his windows, and putting one hand across the 
 top of the middle finger of the other — a significant gesture 
 — said to Mingione, ' The bird is limed ' {tamico c'e capi- 
 tatd). 'Who?' asked Mingione; and Colella answered, 
 'Poerio,' adding, 'I'll just come over and tell you all 
 about it.' In fact, he did go to Mingione's house, and after 
 relating Poerio's arrest, said that they had entangled that 
 gentleman in such a net that he would infallibly lose his 
 head. And on Mingione's asking what could have induced 
 him (Colella) to denounce Poerio on such false grounds, 
 Colella replied that it was because Poerio had been a deputy 
 and a defender of the nation («V), and would kill every- 
 body if not killed himself, and also because he, Colella, had 
 been promised for so doing a place in the police worth 
 
40 4 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 twelve ducats a month. These statements of Priest 
 Mingione, given on oath before the Great Criminal Court, 
 are confirmed and corroborated by the evidence of Mingione's 
 mother and sister. Colella, according .to his fede di per- 
 quisizione — a certificate referring to the judicial antecedents 
 of a person is thus called — has been prosecuted for thefts 
 committed in his convent while he was a friar, for per- 
 juries, cheating at play, blasphemy, and he is now in prison 
 under a charge for violent rape. 
 
 Francesco Paladino — since dead — witness for the prose- 
 cution against Nisco, is noted in his fede di perquisizione for 
 thirty-two offences — coining false money, forgery of bank- 
 notes, cheating at play, extortions of money on false pre- 
 tences, swindling, etc. 
 
 Gennaro Fiorentino, another witness for the prose- 
 cution, comes in for eight charges of thefts, perjuries, and 
 frauds. 
 
 Antonio Marotta, witness against Priest Nardi, is noted 
 in his fede di perquisizione for false testimony, and perjury 
 in a state prosecution against Canon Colamella, and is 
 actually under warrant of arrest from the Great Criminal' 
 Court of Potenza, in spite of which he remains free. 
 This man is the very Brutus of informers. To denounce 
 Priest Nardi, his cousin, was such a mere trifle for him, 
 that he had followed it up by the heroism of denouncing his 
 own two brothers. He glories in having done so, as it was 
 in the King's service. The fact is, that Marotta's two unfor- 
 tunate brothers, unable any longer to bear the disgrace 
 brought on an honourable family by his infamous conduct, 
 had turned him out of their house, and he, out of revenge, 
 had become the accuser of his own blood. 
 
 Remains Iervolino, the keystone of the accusation 
 against Poerio, Settembrini, and Nisco. We will devote 
 a separate chapter to the evidence of this consummate 
 rascal, and to the various incidents to which it gave rise. 
 
VJE V1CTIS 40S 
 
 They occupied the whole of the fourteenth sitting of the 
 Court, than which none gives a more comprehensive idea 
 of the whole proceedings, none brings out in stronger relief 
 the wickedness and groundlessness of the accusation, the 
 noble attitude of the defence, the cool predetermination to 
 condemn on the part of the judges.^ 
 
 1 The particulars contained in this and the following chapter are 
 abridged from a correspondence, published at the time by a moderate 
 and ably-conducted periodical of Turin, the Risorgimento, the only 
 newspaper, that we know of, which warmly took up the cause of con- 
 culcated innocence and humanity, and gave all the publicity at its die 
 posal to the prosecution against Poerio and consorts. The veracity of 
 the correspondent, a conscientious eye-witness, may be relied on. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CONTINUATION. 
 
 THE phoenix of informers, the spoiled child of the Pre- 
 fecture of Police, a smartly-attired, middle-sized, 
 pale-looking man, upwards of thirty, is introduced. A long 
 visage, slightly pitted with the small-pox, a pair of little 
 unexpressive eyes, that seem to look nowhere, a low narrow 
 forehead, make him anything but prepossessing. In he 
 comes with an air of assumed innocence and timidity, 
 highly creditable to his powers as an actor. Iervolino is 
 incontestably the one of all his worthy associates in infamy 
 and degradation, who best earns the meagre pittance of 
 twelve ducats, or about two pounds a month, allowed him 
 by the police. Unlike Gennaro or Marotta, who declaim 
 their calumnies, Iervolino lets his drop from his lips 
 modestly, hesitatingly, like one who recollects with difficulty ; 
 but once put on the right track by a frown or word from the 
 President, he goes on coolly and methodically, but with 
 decision and fluency. 
 
 He deposes that finding himself in great want and with- 
 out work, the goldsmith who usually employed him having 
 none to give him, he went to Baron Poerio, then a Minister 
 of the Crown, to procure from him what he calls un pane 
 sicuro — a certainty of bread. Seeing that, in spite of the 
 promises made him, there was no office forthcoming, he drew 
 406 
 
CONTINUATION 407 
 
 the conclusion that his failure must be owing to his not 
 belonging to any sect j whereupon he urged Poerio to enrol 
 him, the deponent, in the sect to which Poerio belonged. 
 The Minister received his overtures with pleasure, and sent 
 him with Attanasio, a friend of Poerio, to Nisco, who, in 
 his turn, sent him to Pacifico, at a cafe situated near Santa 
 Brigida. Pacifico introduced Iervolino to a person named 
 D'Ambrosio, who took him to his own house, and there 
 initiated him into the sect of the Italian Unity. But of the 
 oath and signs imparted to him then and there Iervolino 
 has no longer any recollection. In this way he became 
 intimate with Poerio, and knew all Poerio's familiar friends 
 — Nisco, Attanasio, the Reverend Father Grillo, Cassinensis. 
 and a jailer called the Cartonajo — all of them Sectarians. 
 Poerio made him acquainted with Settembrini also, but of 
 the latter's friends, he, deponent, knows nothing, as 
 Settembrini never spoke of them to him. Iervolino, more- 
 over, went frequently to Nisco's house, and saw those 
 intimate there. Poerio and Settembrini intrusted him with 
 several affairs, or commissions ; thus, Settembrini gave him, 
 for distribution, twenty printed copies of an invitation or 
 address to the public, not to smoke, or put into the lottery, 
 or pay the taxes ; and Poerio one day desired him to go and 
 verify whether the flag in front of the royal palace was white 
 or tricolour. Poerio told him also on another occasion 
 that the members of the Sect were to have medals whereby 
 to recognise one another, and that many of these were being 
 struck, and that he, Iervolino, should have a good number 
 to distribute among his proselytes. Settembrini also told 
 him that a movement was at hand; that Garibaldi was 
 expected, and asked him how many associates, and what 
 number of muskets, he could muster ; and, on hearing that 
 Iervolino had five or six muskets, and thirty associates on 
 whom he could depend, Settembrini showed great satis- 
 faction. This was of course mere boasting, and only said 
 
408 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 by way of winning the confidence of the Sectarians ; for 
 Iervolino, far from seeking to collect people to fight against 
 the King, had repented having ever figured among his 
 Majesty's enemies ; and used, for two months previous, to 
 make his report at the police-office, where he had also 
 deposited four incendiary proclamations, handed to him by 
 Settembrini some days before this latter's arrest. He recol- 
 lects nothing else. 
 
 The President bids him recall to mind his written deposi- 
 tion, and exhorts him to tell the whole truth. Iervolino 
 declares that he has said all he recollected, but that he is 
 ready to ratify all he has written, because it is the truth. 
 Iervolino's first declaration, subsequent ratification, dela- 
 tion (denunzia), and three secret reports, are then read. 
 He cannot say what was the tenor of the oath he took, 
 or what were the signs taught him, having forgotten 
 both. He recollects the signs being changed every now 
 and then. He always received them from Settembrini, 
 who was continually recommending him to mix among the 
 men of the people (popolani) belonging to the Sect. Who 
 these ' men of the people ' were he could not say ; no one 
 in particular was pointed out to him. To the question, 
 'What rank he held in the Sect?' he answers that he 
 was only a common member. But on being made to remark 
 that his reply is in contradiction with his statement on the 
 subject in his written declaration, he recollects that in fact 
 he was promoted by Nisco to the rank of Unitarian. Ques- 
 tioned again as to the oath he took, all he remembers, he 
 says, is that the oath was for the Constitution. Questioned 
 again if this was all, and if a change of the form of Govern- 
 ment was not implied by the oath, he replies, that at first 
 the oath was to support the Constitution, but that after- 
 wards, as he learned from other associates, it aimed at 
 the establishment of a Republic— (Here, as usual, when 
 that longed-for word is pronounced, the President shows 
 
CONTINUA TION 409 
 
 marked approbation and satisfaction.) — Iervolino does. not 
 recollect the signs of recognition first imparted to him, but, 
 among those communicated to him later by Settembrini, he 
 remembers the words, — 'We are all children, the mother 
 is Rome,' and a sign, which consisted in touching the nose 
 and the left eyelid with the index of the right hand. — (These 
 are the signs given in the printed indictment.) — He was 
 never present at any meeting of the Sect, nor does he know 
 whether there ever were such meetings. 
 
 Poerio's counsel demands the insertion in the minutes of 
 Iervolino's statement, that the oath required of him was for 
 the Constitution. Both the President and the public pro- 
 secutor oppose the demand. The counsel insists on the 
 point. Then the President asks Iervolino again about the 
 form of the oath, and Iervolino repeats that the Constitution 
 was sworn to, but he heard it said that later they must 
 come to a Republic ; and in these terms the answer is re- 
 gistered in the minutes. 
 
 The accused Poerio rises, and begs the President to ask 
 Iervolino whether all his secret reports to the police be in- 
 serted in the process. The query is put, and answered in 
 the affirmative by Iervolino. 
 
 * This man lies,' rejoins Poerio; 'fori here present to 
 the Court a report entirely written in his hand, and directed 
 to a functionary of the police named Gennaro — a report 
 full of the most disgusting calumnies against Settembrini 
 and myself. I call on the delator (denunziante) to say if 
 this report be his, and, in the case of his denying it, I de- 
 mand that the identity of his handwriting may be legally 
 ascertained.' 
 
 Navarro expresses his astonishment at hearing that a 
 written report against the accused Poerio should be in that 
 person's hands. To which Poerio answers, ' I am not bound 
 to say how I obtained this document. It is a secret con- 
 fided to my honour, and one that will remain buried in my 
 
410 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 bosom as long as I live. The document is of use for my 
 defence, and I here exhibit it on my own responsibility, and 
 in the exercise of a right bestowed on me by the law. This 
 must suffice for your watchful justice, Mr. President, as well 
 as to make you aware that, even in these most disastrous 
 times, oppressed virtue has more friends than the wicked 
 can believe. ' 
 
 Iervolino is desired to examine the document. He comes 
 forward with an unsteady step and blanched cheek, looks 
 at the paper, carefully scans the address, then says, * It 
 ought to be directed to DonGennaro Cioffi,' thus supplying 
 the missing family name on the address, the paper having 
 been torn away in that place. Iervolino reads, and turns 
 and re-turns it several times, then falters out that he does 
 not recollect having written it, but thinks it is his. At 
 last, after being pressed by question on question, he says, 
 * That paper is mine, but the address does not seem to me 
 in my handwriting.' The paper is read aloud by the 
 Secretary. 
 
 Poerio rises again and speaks. 'Among the grounds of 
 defence— posizioni a discarico— that I submitted to the Court, 
 there figured one, by which I propose to prove, that, so far 
 back as the month of May 1849, I was perfectly aware that 
 this man was a secret agent of that impious faction which 
 is set upon ruining me, let it cost what it will. I then 
 offered to show to the Court a report against me, written 
 and signed by this man, and I requested that two highly 
 honourable persons, and most excellent friends of mine, 
 to whom I had given that nauseous paper to read as soon 
 as it reached me, might be examined. But the Court 
 thought proper to reject this particular request, together 
 with the others I had made. When called up for examina- 
 tion I did not fail again most respectfully to urge the ad- 
 mission of my previously rejected grounds of defence, in 
 particular of this last one. I was again refused ; yet the 
 
CONTINUATION 411 
 
 Court, in its high wisdom and justice, reserved to me the 
 right of asking for the hearing of the two witnesses indi- 
 cated by me whenever the use or necessity of their being 
 heard should be made manifest in the course of the public 
 debates. I demand that this right be now made good. If 
 Divine justice has permitted me to be a target for the 
 arrows of calumny, it has also brought forth from the 
 womb of calumny itself the means of my justification. Ye, 
 high priests of human justice, ye cannot grudge me, ye 
 will not take from me, this benefit bestowed by Provi- 
 dence. ' 
 
 Poerio's counsel backs his client's demand with legal 
 arguments. The public prosecutor opposes it. Poerio, 
 rising, says, ' It is with a most grieved spirit* that I am 
 forced to remind the honourable magistrate, that when I 
 first produced this identical ground of defence the public 
 prosecutor opined for its admission. How, then, can the 
 public prosecutor now urge the rejection of that same 
 posizione a discarico which he admitted at a former period 
 — urge its rejection now that the document is proved 
 authentic ? ' 
 
 The President here sharply admonishes the speaker, and 
 reminds him that he is not entitled to censure the Court. 
 The Procurator- General was in the exercise of his right 
 when he admitted, as now when he rejects, an identical 
 ground of discharge, for his opinions are always conscien- 
 tious and conformable to law. 
 
 The accused answers, 'The Honourable Procurator- 
 General cannot belie me when I state a positive fact, an 
 undeniable fact, when I show him to be in flagrant contra- 
 diction with himself. This I do not assume to censure, for 
 I know my duty, but I may be allowed to deplore it, for I 
 know my right also, and how to exercise it, subject to and 
 under the control of your impartial justice.' 
 
 The Court reserves its deliberation on this point. 
 
412 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 The President asks Poerio if he has any remark to offer 
 touching Iervolino's declaration, and the accused answers 
 thus : — ' Most Honourable President, the dtnunzia (dela- 
 tion) is audaciously calumnious, and the very police judged 
 it to be so. This wretch, urged on by spite, by misery 
 and wickedness, elaborates a false charge, and presents it 
 on the 19th April 1849. It is read at the police office, and 
 no heed is taken of it. Iervolino renews his attack, and is 
 not listened to. Not before the 16th of May — that is, after 
 the lapse of nearly a month — is this informer called on to 
 ratify his affirmations. He is asked for corroborating wit- 
 nesses ; he has none. Commissary Maddaloni dismisses 
 him, begins no process, has no thought of arresting me ; 
 and this at the moment when the police unhesitatingly im- 
 prisoned not only the pretended chiefs, but even the simple 
 pretended members of the pretended Sect. When I was 
 arrested, two months after, it was not in consequence of 
 Iervolino's delation, but, as it appears from a certificate 
 inserted in the process, on the ground of some one at Arch 
 priest Miele's house having said he had heard that Baron 
 Poerio and Duke Proto were the chiefs of the Sect. But 
 even then Commissary Maddaloni did not institute any in- 
 vestigation relative to Iervolino's denunzia, for Nisco, who 
 had been eight months in prison, was not once examined 
 about the Sect, and all the persons named in that denunzia t 
 and put forward as my accomplices and Sectarians, At- 
 tanasio, D'Ambrosio, Pacifico, and Father Grillo, continued 
 to live unmolested in Naples. Nor does the police believe 
 in Iervolino's envenomed accusation at this moment, since 
 but lately it granted a free passport to one of the denounced 
 parties, the honourable Father Grillo, now at Rome. 
 Iervolino's calumnious charges were only disinterred at a 
 later season, to serve that evil inclination of police commis- 
 saries, who like to give themselves the airs of judges-inqui- 
 sitor, and to swell the processes with the secret information 
 
CONTINUA T10N 4 r 3 
 
 of their spies. But it is not my present purpose to confute 
 the falsehoods gathered together in that wretch's infamous 
 reports. I shall only, with your leave, most honourable 
 President, put some questions to him. Where had I first 
 the honour of making his precious acquaintance ? Was he 
 introduced to me by any friend ? Did he come alone or in 
 company ? ' 
 
 Iervolino replies that he sought Poerio, when he was 
 secretary for the home-department, at his private house, to 
 present a petition to him. He was neither introduced nor 
 recommended by any one. 
 
 Poerio again : — ' This man equivocates on one point. 
 He did not come to my house, but to my office ; however, 
 this matters little. He asserts that he urged me, while I 
 was a constitutional minister of the Crown, to enrol him 
 in a certain Sect. How did he know one of the King's 
 ministers to be a Sectarian ? How did he dare make a 
 request to a high functionary of the State which might cost 
 him dear ? ' 
 
 Iervolino answers, that it was a- fact publicly known that 
 Poerio was member of a Sect. He further recollects now 
 that his solicitations about entering the Sect did not take 
 place immediately after his introduction to Poerio, as per- 
 haps appears from his first relation, but at a later period, 
 and when Poerio was no longer minister ; certainly not be- 
 fore the 1 6th May 1848. 
 
 1 But how, then, could Poerio, if out of office, be of use 
 to the denunziante ? ' 
 
 Answer. — By recommending him to the other ministers. 
 
 Poerio. — 'The denunziante affirms that he was a daily 
 visitor at my house. Where did he wait ? At the street 
 door, in the hall, the antechamber, or in my own room ? ' 
 
 Answer. — In the beginning, sometimes at the street door, 
 or in the hall, or anteroom, but, as he became more inti- 
 mate, he used to sit in Poerio's bedroom. 
 
414 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Poerio. — 'Such being the case, the deponent will 
 certainly be able to name some among the deputies, peers, 
 magistrates, ministers, who honoured me with visits.' 
 
 Answer. — Iervolino took no trouble to know the name of 
 Poerio's visitors, excepting those of the four he wrote down 
 in his denunzia. 
 
 Poerio. — ' But if he was accustomed to spend all his 
 mornings in the hall he must have come to know some of 
 the heads of the different bureaux who called daily for my 
 signature. ' 
 
 Answer. — Iervolino saw numbers of persons, but never 
 made inquiries as to their names. 
 
 The President asks the accused Nisco if he has anything 
 to say. Nisco answers, ' I have to observe, in the first 
 place, that it seems strange, to say the very least, that I 
 should not once have been examined as to this pretended 
 Sect. I solemnly declared that I never was a Sectarian ; a 
 villain starts up and charges me, behind my back, with 
 being so ; of this heinous charge a mystery is made to me 
 during the whole of the preparatory process— that is, during 
 fourteen long months, and now I am suddenly required to 
 answer, in a public Court, the vile calumniator. ' 
 
 The President interrupts the accused, and warns him not 
 to insult the witness, who is entitled to respect. 
 
 Nisco rejoins, — ' This man is no witness, he is a denun- 
 ziante — a delator. If you will not allow me to call him a 
 calumniator, I shall call him by his name, and that will be 
 enough, nay, quite the same thing. I shall say he is an 
 Iervolino ; that name is the impersonation of all human 
 wickedness. Well, this Iervolino confesses himself a Sec- 
 tarian, confesses having taken the oath to a Sect, having, 
 during the course of a whole year, received and executed 
 commissions connected with that Sect. This man, then, is 
 amenable to justice, and cannot be heard as a witness. Let 
 Iervolino come up and take his place on these benches, let 
 
CONTINUA TION 415 
 
 him stake his own head, and then his wonderful revelations 
 may be, I will not say, credited, but listened to without 
 offence to the law.' Here Nisco enters at length into 
 details and statements in order *to prove that during 
 Poerio's administration — that is, from the 6th of March to 
 the 3d of April 1848 — he, Nisco, was never in Naples, and, 
 consequently, cannot, out of physical impossibility, have 
 held any communication with Iervolino, as asserted by the 
 latter, in a place where he, Nisco, was not. ■ I know very 
 well/ continues the accused, 'that Iervolino has retracted 
 his former saying in one respect, and assumed just now 
 that his solicitations to Poerio to be enrolled in a Sect were 
 made at a later period, and when Poerio was no longer in 
 office. But when did this informer change his tactics? 
 When the incredibility of his first affirmation stared him 
 and every one else in the face. But Iervolino's new 
 declaration surpasses in absurdity, if possible, the old one. 
 His object, he declares, was to be recommended by Poerio to 
 some of the new ministers. To the ministers, forsooth, of 
 the 1 6th May ! — that same administration to which Poerio, 
 as a deputy, never ceased to offer from the tribune a loyal, 
 conscientious, but unflinching opposition.' Nisco concludes 
 by demanding to prove, by unexceptionable witnesses, the 
 exactness of his allegations as to his alibi from Naples, at a 
 time when Iervolino alleges to have held personal inter- 
 course with him in the capital. 
 
 Settembrini, on being asked by the President if he has 
 anything to say, rises and answers, 'After the questions 
 put to the informer by my friend and co-accused Poerio, I 
 have nothing to ask him with regard to myself. All I can 
 say is that I never knew Iervolino before, and that I wish I 
 had not known him now. That man is in the pay of the 
 police ; he receives twelve ducats per month, besides per- 
 quisites, depending on the services he renders. See how 
 he has cleaned and furbished himself up ; he looks anything 
 
416 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 but poor now. He confided all this himself to his friends, 
 Nicola Rubinacci, Luigi Mazzola, Ferdinando Lanzetta, 
 and Giovanni Luigi Pellegrino ; these confidences he made 
 on an occasion when Rubinacci, complaining to him of the 
 hardness of the times, Iervolino exhorted him to do as he 
 did, and he would soon be out of want. I demand that 
 the persons I have named may be heard as witnesses, and I 
 hope the Court will grant me at least this request. I take 
 this opportunity of reminding the Court that I stand here 
 in a solitary and unprecedented position, namely, that I am 
 the only one in this cause whose grounds of defence have 
 been all rejected in a lump. If the necessity of hearing 
 some witness in my behalf does not arise from this man's 
 deposition, it will arise no more, for, with the exception of 
 this single denunziante, there is no other witness to the 
 charge against me in the public debates. ' 
 
 The Court prepares to withdraw. Poerio rises and re- 
 quests to speak. Navarro looks much annoyed, and shows 
 signs of impatience, but Poerio maintains his right, and 
 claims from the well-known 'justice of the President the 
 full exercise of the liberty of defence.' After some hesita- 
 tion, the President, who had already risen, sits down again, 
 and the accused speaks as follows : — 
 
 ' Gentlemen, — In the interest of my defence I feel called 
 upon to submit to you a few demands which naturally arise 
 from the declaration of the delator. Iervolino has acknow- 
 ledged as his own the infamous document I presented to the 
 Court, but, unable to divest himself entirely of the sad habit 
 of lying, has pretended to doubt whether the address was in 
 his own handwriting. This doubt ought to be removed, 
 and I therefore request the Court to appoint some persons 
 skilled in such matters, and to commit to them the care of 
 legally ascertaining whether or not the handwriting of that 
 paper be the same with that of the address on the cover. 
 Iervolino denies that, towards the end of May 1849 — the 
 
CONTINUA TION 4 17 
 
 time at which I learned that he was a paid spy and informer 
 — I ordered him out of my house ; he even asserts that he 
 continued to frequent it at a posterior date. I affirm, on 
 the contrary, that precisely at that same date I read the 
 nauseous paper I have exhibited here to two honourable 
 friends of mine, and that in their presence I forbade him 
 my house. It is the examination of these two witnesses I 
 now demand, the necessity of their testimony having arisen 
 from the public debates. I must also urge the admission of 
 two other demands, of which I leave you in your wisdom to 
 weigh the strict legality and high importance.' 
 
 The President interrupts the accused, reminds him that 
 Iervolino's deposition alone has already taken up six hours, 
 and desires him to be short, and leave out useless things. 
 
 Poerio answers, — 'It certainly is no fault of mine if Iervo- 
 lino's complicated falsehoods have lengthened this discus- 
 sion. As to the method of my defence, and the choice of 
 my arguments, I beg to be allowed to follow the dictates of 
 my judgment, and nevertheless to anticipate that benevolent 
 attention which your noble eagerness after truth, most 
 honourable President, and never-failing respect for the 
 liberty of defence (Navarro winces and fidgets on his seat) 
 secure beforehand to a man in my situation. When the 
 Court rejected my grounds of defence, it left me the right 
 of asking for the hearing of the witnesses produced in 
 support of those same rejected grounds, whensoever the 
 necessity or expediency of their being heard should arise in 
 the public trial. Of that right allow me now to make use. 
 When the Court rejected my special demand for the rein- 
 tegration in the process of a document relating to a pretended 
 letter of the Marquis Dragonetti, the Court reserved to me 
 the right of orally repeating the deductions contained in the 
 unproduced document. Let me now benefit by that reser- 
 vation to show you the pertinency of a last request of 
 mine.' 
 
 2D 
 
4 i8 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 Navarro observes to the accused, that these means have 
 been already amply developed in his printed defence, and 
 that their repetition will only cause a useless loss of time to 
 the Court. 
 
 Poerio. — ' The time you devote to the hearing of the 
 defence is time put to its noblest purpose ; nor will you 
 regret it, honourable President, if it serves to satisfy you of 
 my innocence, and of the wicked animosity of my enemies. 
 Gentlemen, in my grounds of defence I have appealed to 
 the testimony of eminent persons, Cardinals, Ambassadors, 
 Ministers, Generals, etc. I have called on them to depose, 
 both to my opinions and my acts as a public man. This 
 Iervolino, a man who has sold his soul to the faction bent 
 on my destruction — this type of all vice, dares, with the 
 most insensate and vilest calumnies, to sully five-and-forty 
 years of a modest but fearless and virtuous life. Can you, 
 after listening to him, deny me the means of justification ? 
 If the list of witnesses I have produced be too long, curtail 
 it in your wisdom, but do not reject them all on the plea of 
 their being many. Do not thus deprive me of the means o 
 vindicating that which is most vital to me — I mean my 
 honour. 
 
 1 And now I come to my last request. On the 24th 
 July 1849, six days after my arrest, I was summoned, for 
 the first time, to the presence of the Commissary Inquisitor, 
 and desired to open a sealed letter forwarded through the 
 post to my address, and which was attributed to the Marquis 
 Dragonetti. No sooner had I cast my eyes on it than I 
 perceived at once the vile imitation of Dragonetti's hand- 
 writing. There were among my sequestrated papers some 
 of Dragonetti's genuine letters which I produced. The 
 Commissary Inquisitor and his attendants compared them 
 with the one they had just given me, and, even to their eyes, 
 the forgery stood confessed. Nor did I rest contented with 
 this material proof of the calumny, but I went on to corro- 
 
C0NT1NUA TION 419 
 
 borate it by the demonstration of a moral impossibility. 
 How could Dragonetti, one of the purest and most elegant 
 writers in Italy, he whose letters were models of polished 
 style — how could he have penned a paper full of gross 
 blunders, not only of grammar, but of spelling? How 
 could a man in Dragonetti's affluent circumstances, with a 
 large circle of relations, friends, and acquaintances at his 
 service, be supposed to have employed the post in so 
 treasonable a matter — he who had always forwarded his 
 letters on the most indifferent subjects by a private hand ? 
 How could it be possible that a man of mature age, and 
 brought up in the school of misfortune, should ever dream 
 of writing openly in his own hand, without a shadow of 
 disguise, a letter which must send him to the scaffold, 
 authenticating it with his signature, and the title of Marquis 
 to boot ? 
 
 'These, and such like unanswerable arguments, as I 
 immediately set forth and indited, were entered on a minute, 
 which was drawn up at the time ; but this minute does not 
 figure among the documents of the present process, and has 
 been kept back from malignant motives. The forged letter 
 was to inform me that Mazzini, one of the triumvirs at 
 Rome, gave me a rendezvous at Malta ; it spoke of a 
 universal rising throughout Italy being at hand ; it alluded 
 to a correspondence of Lord Palmerston, engaging the 
 people of this country to proclaim a republic, and offering 
 assistance of every kind (all eyes here turn towards the re- 
 presentative of Great Britain, Sir William Temple, Lord 
 Palmerston's brother, who is present in the gallery with the 
 Princes Colonna) ; finally, that stupid paper announced the 
 imminent arrival of Garibaldi. I formally demand that the 
 missing minute be reinstated among the documents of the 
 cause ; and I have no doubt but that you will comply with 
 my demand, for the condemnation of the innocent is a 
 public calamity, and, to remove any such danger, you must 
 
420 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 concede to me the free use of all such means as tend to 
 establish my being the victim of dark and calumnious ma- 
 chinations. And please to remark, that the entry of 
 Garibaldi is spoken of in Iervolino's denunzia against me 
 of the 20th May 1849 ; that the entry of Garibaldi was men- 
 tioned by the witnesses of Pomigliano examined in the pre- 
 paratory process ; and that the entry of Garibaldi is touched 
 upon by the author of the forged letter, attributed to 
 Dragonetti. Here, then, you have the watchword of my 
 persecutors,— here, then, you have the thread to unravel 
 the web woven for my destruction. Gentlemen of the 
 Court, I adjure you to let light shine in upon you. Surely 
 you will not, by shutting your eyes, wilfully remain in 
 darkness. ' 
 
 The Grand Criminal Court withdraws to deliberate ; and 
 comes back two hours afterwards with a decision to the 
 following effect :— Of the demands of the accused Nisco, 
 the Court admits, by a majority of six votes to two, the 
 one relating to the proof of his sojourn at San Giorgio by 
 means of witnesses — rejects the proof, through witnesses, 
 of the precise epoch of his journey to and from Rome, 
 reserving to the accused the right of establishing the date 
 by the exhibition of his passport. 
 
 Settembrini's request to prove Iervolino to be a paid 
 agent of the police, by oral evidence, the Court rejects — 
 reserves the right to the accused of proving his assertion by 
 documents. 
 
 All Poerio's demands are rejected in a lump. 
 
 This trial lasted eight months, from June 1850 up to 
 January (inclusive) of 185 1. Procurator Angelillo's speech 
 in support of the accusation took up three days. The 
 advocates on the side of the defence fought like lions for 
 
CO NT I NU A TION 42 1 
 
 their clients, but with little success. Out of forty-two 
 accused, reduced to forty-one by the death of Leipnecher, 
 eight were acquitted, thirty-three condemned (we record 
 only the severe sentences) ; three, among whom Settem- 
 brini, to death ; two to the galleys ; three to thirty-five 
 years of irons ; one, Nisco, to thirty years of irons ; three, 
 Poerio, Pironti, and Romeo, to four-and-twenty years of 
 irons ; one to twenty years of irons ; eight to nineteen 
 years of irons. 
 
 As one of the names included in this last category fell 
 from the lips of the clerk of the Court, a shriek came from 
 the reserved gallery-seats, and a great bustle ensued. At 
 the same instant one of the prisoners, a tall, commanding 
 figure, ghastly pale, rose and stretched both hands towards 
 the gallery. It was whispered among the crowd that a lady, 
 the veiled lady who had not missed a single sitting of the 
 Court — some said the sister, some the wife of the prisoner 
 who had stood up — some an English lady, whose life he had 
 saved, had fainted, and been carried away by her friends. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ISCHIA. 
 
 <• 
 
 THIS last chapter finds all the prominent characters of 
 our story (excepting Sir John, who is still confined 
 by his gout at Davenne) in the Isle of Ischia. 
 
 Doctor Antonio, in the dress of a common felon, drags 
 his heavy chains in yonder frowning Castle. 
 
 Lady Cleverton, ever since last February, has been 
 residing in one of the best situated and most beautiful 
 villas of the island. Owing to ill health her habits are 
 extremely secluded, and she generally leaves it to her 
 cousin, the attache, and her companion, a lady of most 
 agreeable manners, to do the honours of her splendid 
 mansion to the distinguished visitors, who flock from 
 Naples and the adjacent islands to admire Lady Clever ton's 
 beautiful yacht. Her ladyship's physicians, it is said, have 
 advised her to live as much as possible at sea, and, to 
 enable her to conform to their advice, this paragon of 
 yachts has been sent from England. The Perseverante — 
 thus has Lady Cleverton christened her fairy vessel — is 
 better known for twenty miles around than any of his 
 Neapolitan Majesty's ships — goes in and out of the neigh- 
 bouring little bays at all hours of the day or night — is seen 
 tacking and cruising along the coast without ever disturbing 
 the siesta of custom-house officer or coastguard, — the 
 
 422 
 
ISCHIA 423 
 
 Perseverante, in short, is quite at home in these waters of 
 the lovely gulf of Naples. 
 
 Speranza, it is scarcely necessary to say, is by the side of 
 her dear mistress. 
 
 Battista has given up his inn and his epaulettes to come 
 and settle as a fisherman at Ischia, where he lives in a poor 
 quarter of the town close to the port. He brings, almost 
 daily, to Lady Cleverton's villa, large loads of fish, which 
 are always received by Speranza. As nobody in the house 
 understands Battista's patois but Speranza, it is she who 
 makes the bargains ; but in all other respects she treats 
 him like a perfect stranger, as indeed do Hutchins and the 
 English man-servant, the only members of the household 
 who have known him before. Battista's custom in the 
 town is not large. Save now and then some chance 
 purchaser, it appears limited to a thin elderly man in a 
 shabby suit of black, undoubtedly an inmate of the Castle, 
 as he is invariably seen to pass the bridge that joins the 
 Castle to the island, when he comes, which he regularly 
 does every second day, to buy his provision of fish at 
 Battista's house. Battista shows great attention to his 
 single customer, terms him ' his dear Doctor' — a diploma 
 of Battista's own conferring — has a glass of lachryma 
 Christi always ready for him — loads him with fish, and 
 with mysterious little bundles into the bargain, which last 
 the visitor twists, with the utmost care, round his body 
 under his clothes. These bundles are skeins of strong 
 silk, carefully prepared by Lady Cleverton and Speranza. 
 One hour would be sufficient to loop hundreds of these 
 skeins into one another, and make them into a solid rope 
 or chain, by which a person might descend from any height. 
 
 Well, we are in the month of May — that fatal month of 
 May ! The night is as dark as lovers and smugglers could 
 wish, and the black outlines of yonder towering Castle are 
 scarcely discernible on the gloomy background of an over- 
 
424 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 cast sky. A boat, in which are the attache and Battista,- 
 advances cautiously with muffled oars to the foot of the 
 huge pile, and takes up its station just where the rock 
 plunges perpendicularly into the sea. A short mile off the 
 little harbour of Ischia the Perseverante lies at anchor. In 
 a cabin on the deck are Lady Cleverton and Speranza, 
 mute as shadows. Their anxiety is too great for utter- 
 ance. Speranza on her knees by the side of her beloved 
 mistress bathes her temples. Lucy's life hangs on the 
 issue of this hour. 
 
 Every clock of the town strikes twelve — the two women 
 in the yacht strain their eyes in the direction of the fortress 
 — the two men in the boat strain their eyes upwards — not a 
 stir— not a sound. Another hour — an age — is gone, and 
 the same dead stillness prevails. What can this delay 
 portend ? Midnight was the hour appointed ; the filing 
 of the prisoner's chains, and the iron-bars of the window, 
 through which he must make his escape, was only to 
 occupy twenty minutes. Could it be that a discovery had 
 taken place? But if so, some alarm would have been 
 given, muskets fired, voices heard — at least lights would 
 have been seen — and everything remains as still and dark 
 as death. Or could it be that, at the decisive moment, 
 face to face with the abyss below, the captive's courage 
 had failed him? Three years of physical and mental 
 torture, as practised in Neapolitan jails, had been known 
 to unman hearts as noble and fearless as Antonio's. 
 
 While on board the yacht, and in the boat, such con- 
 jectures were being discussed in thrilling whispers, the 
 vast mass of the Castle was becoming every moment more 
 distinct against the gradually whitening horizon. Another 
 ten minutes, and it would be too late for the boat to with- 
 draw without arousing suspicion, so the attache and Battista 
 took once more to their oars, and, cautiously leaving their 
 perilous situation, made for the yacht ; and in a little more 
 
ISCHIA 425 
 
 than an hour afterwards, a sedan-chair deposited Lady 
 Cleverton in the hall of her villa. Battista by this time 
 was pacing up and down his poor dwelling, near the port, 
 waiting, with the keenest impatience, for the hour that 
 shouid bring his mysterious customer from the Castle, and 
 with him the solution of last night's riddle. 
 
 He came at last, and with such intelligence as sent his 
 eager listener reeling back like a drunken man. Battista 
 flew to the villa, and was immediately ushered by the 
 terrified Speranza into Lady Cleverton's presence. * He 
 won't come out ! ' groaned the poor fellow, tearing his 
 hair and biting his hands ; ' he won't come out ! ' Such 
 was the fact. Antonio had refused to escape, and last 
 night's failure was his own doing. 
 
 ' This is downright madness ! ' exclaimed the attache. 
 The glance that passed at these words between Lucy and 
 Speranza was full of a new terror. At this instant Battista 
 handed to Lady Cleverton a dirty scrap of paper. O joy ! 
 it was from him, though it could scarcely be said to be in 
 his handwriting. The letters were formed by little holes 
 pierced in the paper. These few words, traced in complete 
 darkness, had cost the writer a whole night's labour. The 
 contents were as follows : — 
 
 'There are five here besides myself, all noble fellows, 
 the least of them worth ten of me. I cannot desert them. 
 You cannot save us all ; leave me to my fate. Providence 
 has assigned me my place among the sufferers. Perhaps 
 our trials will be reckoned to our country. Pray that it 
 may be so. Pray for Italy. God bless you ! Your own 
 A .' 
 
 Lucy buried her face in her hands, and hot tears trickled 
 through her fingers. The other three were scarcely less 
 moved. 
 
 'We will save them all,' cried she suddenly, raising her 
 head with the look of one inspired. 
 
426 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 * We will, so help us God !' said the attache and Speranza. 
 Battista said nothing, but lifted up his hand in solemn 
 attestation. 
 
 In the afternoon Baron Mitraglia called on Lady Ckver- 
 ton. She had met him at the Court assemblies. Far too 
 important a personage was this baron, general, chamber- 
 lain — 'three great men rolled into one,' far too high in 
 the king's favour was this grand-cross of innumerable 
 orders to be denied admittance. The conversation could 
 not be otherwise than desultory, the Court, the weather, 
 the fine prospect, Lady Cleverton's beautiful yacht which 
 the baron had admired at a distance. Would he like to go 
 on board ? -The baron regretted very much he could not 
 avail himself at this moment of her ladyship's kind invita- 
 tion ; the fact was he had come to Ischia on official 
 business, and must return at once to Naples. He had 
 not come, hopes Lady Cleverton, with a forced laugh, to 
 put Ischia in a state of siege ? The ' official business ' had 
 rather startled her. 
 
 'I could almost wish I had,' retorted the baron, with a 
 chuckle, ' were it only to make sure that you do not give 
 us the slip one of these days.' There was a twinkle in his 
 grey eye as he said this, quite inexplicable to his listener. 
 'My present mission,' continued the baron gravely — 'I 
 may confide it to a lady of your discretion — relates to some 
 political prisoners — I dare say you had no idea of having 
 such neighbours — who are detained in yonder castle ; ' and 
 he pointed with his finger to the huge fortress, which was 
 distinctly visible from the sofa on which he was sitting. 
 
 1 Indeed ! ' was all Lady Cleverton could say, as a cloud 
 passed before her eyes. 
 
 ' Yes ; information reached His Majesty's Government 
 but a few days ago that underhand practices had been 
 carrying on for some time in this island — something like a 
 
ISCHIA 
 
 427 
 
 plot for the escape of the prisoners I was speaking of. Do 
 not look alarmed, milady ; there is no fear of such dangerous 
 characters being again let loose on society. His Royal 
 Highness Prince Luigi, who, as admiral of the kingdom, 
 has charge of this island, sent me here to inquire into the 
 matter. Nothing worth mentioning after all ; mere child's 
 play. However, I thought it best, chiefly in the interest of 
 the prisoners themselves, to order their immediate removal.' 
 
 Lady Cleverton had listened to this disclosure with the 
 feelings of a criminal with his head on the block ; but she 
 commanded sufficient external calmness to ask, in a care- 
 less way, * And where are you going to send them ? ' 
 
 1 That is my secret, milady,' returned the baron, with a 
 smile as sharp as the point of a dagger ; ' that is my secret,' 
 and away he went. 
 
 When Speranza, shortly after, came to her mistress she 
 found her in a swoon. This, unhappily, was no uncommon 
 occurrence ; for many months past Lady Cleverton had 
 been subject to fainting fits. ' It was that horrible man,' 
 she whispered. ' I will tell you by-and-by ; I cannot think 
 just now, I feel so sleepy.' Speranza laid her down on the 
 sofa to sleep, Lucy lay very quietly. Now and then some 
 broken words, evidently connected with a dream, would 
 pass her lips ; some one she had long expected was coming, 
 and she must have her blue gown. Once she tried the first 
 notes of an air, which Speranza took up, and hummed 
 gently. It was the first Sicilian song Antonio had taught 
 Lucy. The silence after this was unbroken for hours. 
 
 The day was on the wane. Speranza, who had scarcely 
 dared to breathe for fear of disturbing the sleeper, began to 
 be scared, she knew not why, by the stillness around. 
 Unable to stand it any longer she went on tiptoe to her 
 mistress, and leaned over her. There was a change in the 
 fair face which struck Speranza. She called her by name 
 — no answer ; she took one of Lucy's hands — it was cold. 
 Lucy had ceased to suffer. 
 
428 DOCTOR ANTONIO 
 
 She looked like a sleeping child. The angel of death 
 had smoothed away the premature lines about her eyes and 
 mouth. Her lips were slightly parted with a smile. She 
 lay with her head turned towards the castle. Her last look 
 had been for Antonio. 
 
 Sir John could not stand the shock of the fatal news ; he 
 lingered on for some months, then died. 
 
 The young attache solicited and obtained a change of 
 residence. Naples had become unbearable to him. 
 
 Battista's mysterious customer was never seen or heard of 
 more. 
 
 Battista and Speranza went back to their own country, 
 and bought a fine country house near Nice, where they live 
 to this day in affluent circumstances ; Lady Cleverton, who 
 must have had a presentiment of her approaching end, 
 having bequeathed Speranza a large sum of money. But 
 the loss of their benefactress, and the hopeless doom of 
 Doctor Antonio, cast a gloom over their lives. Speranza's 
 looks are sadly altered ; her hair is all grey. 
 
 Captain, now Sir Aubrey Davenne, made a rich marriage, 
 and never went back to India. He has been for the last 
 few years one of the most respected members of the House 
 of Commons, where he seldom speaks but on what has 
 become his speciality — religious and philanthropic subjects. 
 The Peace Society counts him as one of its most influential 
 and zealous promoters. 
 
 Doctor Antonio still suffers, prays, and hopes for his 
 country. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty, 
 at the Edinburgh University Press. 
 
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