"Will you have a glass of brandy and water?" said I in English.
"I never refuse a good offer," said the Italian.
He sat down, and I ordered a glass of brandy and water for him and
another for myself.
"Pray speak a little Italian to him," said the good landlady to me.
"I have heard a great deal about the beauty of that language, and
should like to hear it spoken."
"From the Lago di Como?" said I, trying to speak Italian.
"Si, signore! but how came you to think that I was from the Lake of
Como?"
"Because," said I, "when I was a ragazzo I knew many from the Lake
of Como, who dressed much like yourself. They wandered about the
country with boxes on their backs and weather-glasses in their
hands, but had their head-quarters at N. where I lived."
"Do you remember any of their names?" said the Italian.
"Giovanni Gestra and Luigi Pozzi," I replied.
"I have seen Giovanni Gestra myself," said the Italian, "and I have
heard of Luigi Pozzi. Giovanni Gestra returned to the Lago - but
no one knows what is become of Luigi Pozzi."
"The last time I saw him," said I, "was about eighteen years ago at
Coruna in Spain; he was then in a sad drooping condition, and said
he bitterly repented ever quitting N."
"E con ragione," said the Italian, "for there is no place like N.
for doing business in the whole world. I myself have sold seventy
pounds' worth of weather-glasses at N. in one day. One of our
people is living there now, who has done bene, molto bene."
"That's Rossi," said I, "how is it that I did not mention him
first? He is my excellent friend, and a finer, cleverer fellow
never lived, nor a more honourable man. You may well say he has
done well, for he is now the first jeweller in the place. The last
time I was there I bought a diamond of him for my daughter
Henrietta. Let us drink his health!"
"Willingly!" said the Italian. "He is the prince of the Milanese
of England - the most successful of all, but I acknowledge the most
deserving. Che viva."
"I wish he would write his life," said I; "a singular life it would
be - he has been something besides a travelling merchant, and a
jeweller. He was one of Buonaparte's soldiers, and served in
Spain, under Soult, along with John Gestra. He once told me that
Soult was an old rascal, and stole all the fine pictures from the
convents, at Salamanca. I believe he spoke with some degree of
envy, for he is himself fond of pictures, and has dealt in them,
and made hundreds by them. I question whether if in Soult's place
he would not have done the same. Well, however that may be, che
viva."
Here the landlady interposed, observing that she wished we would
now speak English, for that she had quite enough of Italian, which
she did not find near so pretty a language as she had expected.
