We spoke of Doctor Jones - the landlady said that he
had his little eccentricities, but was an excellent and learned
man. Speaking of herself she said that she had three daughters,
that the youngest was with her and that the two eldest kept the
principal inn at Ruthyn. We occasionally spoke a little Welsh. At
length the landlady said, "There is an Italian in the kitchen who
can speak Welsh too. It's odd the only two people not Welshmen I
have ever known who could speak Welsh, for such you and he are,
should be in my house at the same time."
"Dear me," said I; "I should like to see him."
"That you can easily do," said the girl; "I daresay he will be glad
enough to come in if you invite him."
"Pray take my compliments to him," said I, "and tell him that I
shall be glad of his company."
The girl went out and presently returned with the Italian. He was
a short, thick, strongly-built fellow of about thirty-seven, with a
swarthy face, raven-black hair, high forehead, and dark deep eyes,
full of intelligence and great determination. He was dressed in a
velveteen coat, with broad lappets, red waistcoat, velveteen
breeches, buttoning a little way below the knee; white stockings
apparently of lamb's-wool and high-lows.
"Buona sera?" said I.
"Buona sera, signore!" said the Italian.
"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.
"You must not judge of the sound of Italian from what proceeds from
my mouth," said I. "It is not my native language. I have had
little practice in it, and only speak it very imperfectly."
"Nor must you judge of Italian from what you have heard me speak,"
said the man of Como; "I am not good at Italian, for the Milanese
speak amongst themselves a kind of jargon, composed of many
languages, and can only express themselves with difficulty in
Italian. I have been doing my best to speak Italian, but should be
glad now to speak English, which comes to me much more glibly."
"Are there any books in your dialect, or jergo, as I believe you
call it?" said I.
"I believe there are a few," said the Italian.
"Do you know the word slandra?" said I.
"Who taught you that word?" said the Italian.
"Giovanni Gestra," said I; "he was always using it."
"Giovanni Gestra was a vulgar illiterate man," said the Italian;
"had he not been so he would not have used it. It is a vulgar
word; Rossi would not have used it."
"What is the meaning of it?" said the landlady eagerly.
