The ways of the inn,
therefore, were exclusively Italian, and I had a better opportunity
of seeing the Italians as they are among themselves than I ever had
before.
Nothing struck me more than the easy terms on which every one,
including the waiter, appeared to be with every one else. This,
which in England would be impossible, is here not only possible but
a matter of course, because the general standard of good breeding
is distinctly higher than it is among ourselves. I do not mean to
say that there are no rude or unmannerly Italians, but that there
are fewer in proportion than there are in any other nation with
which I have acquaintance. This is not to be wondered at, for the
Italians have had a civilisation for now some three or four
thousand years, whereas all other nations are, comparatively
speaking, new countries, with a something even yet of colonial
roughness pervading them. As the colonies to England, so is
England to Italy in respect of the average standard of courtesy and
good manners. In a new country everything has a tendency to go
wild again, man included; and the longer civilisation has existed
in any country the more trustworthy and agreeable will its
inhabitants be. This preface is necessary, as explaining how it is
possible that things can be done in Italy without offence which
would be intolerable elsewhere; but I confess to feeling rather
hopeless of being able to describe what I actually saw without
giving a wrong impression concerning it.
Among the visitors was the head confidential clerk of a well-known
Milanese house, with his wife and sister. The sister was an
invalid, and so also was the husband, but the wife was a very
pretty woman and a very merry one. The waiter was a good-looking
young fellow of about five-and-twenty, and between him and Signora
Bonvicino - for we will say this was the clerk's name - there sprang
up a violent flirtation, all open and above board. The waiter was
evidently very fond of her, but said the most atrociously impudent
things to her from time to time. Dining under the veranda at the
next table I heard the Signora complain that the cutlets were
burnt. So they were - very badly burnt. The waiter looked at them
for a moment - threw her a contemptuous glance, clearly intended to
provoke war - "Chi non ha appetito {17} . . . " he exclaimed, and
was moving off with a shrug of the shoulders. The Signora
recognising a challenge, rose instantly from the table, and
catching him by the nape of his neck, kicked him deftly downstairs
into the kitchen, both laughing heartily, and the husband and
sister joining. I never saw anything more neatly done. Of course,
in a few minutes some fresh and quite unexceptionable cutlets made
their appearance.
Another morning, when I came down to breakfast, I found an
altercation going on between the same pair as to whether the lady's
nose was too large or not. It was not at all too large. It was a
very pretty little nose. The waiter was maintaining that it was
too large, and the lady that it was not.
One evening Signor Bonvicino told me that his employer had a very
large connection in England, and that though he had never been in
London, he knew all about it almost as well as if he had. The
great centre of business, he said, was in Red Lion Square. It was
here his employer's agent resided, and this was a more important
part than even the city proper. I threw a drop or two of cold
water on this, but without avail. Presently I asked what the
waiter's name was, not having been able to catch it. I asked this
of the Signora, and saw a little look on her face as though she
were not quite prepared to reply. Not understanding this, I
repeated my question.
"Oh! his name is Cesare," was the answer.
"Cesare! but that is not the name I hear you call him by."
"Well, perhaps not; we generally call him Cricco," {18} and she
looked as if she had suddenly remembered having been told that
there were such things as prigs, and might, for aught she knew, be
in the presence of one of these creatures now.
Her husband came to the rescue. "Yes," said he, "his real name is
Julius Caesar, but we call him Cricco. Cricco e un nome di paese;
parlando cosi non si offende la religione." {19}
The Roman Catholic religion, if left to itself and not compelled to
be introspective, is more kindly and less given to taking offence
than outsiders generally believe. At the Sacro Monte of Varese
they sell little round tin boxes that look like medals, and contain
pictures of all the chapels. In the lid of the box there is a
short printed account of the Sacro Monte, which winds up with the
words, "La religione e lo stupendo panorama tirano numerosi ed
allegri visitatori." {20}
Our people are much too earnest to allow that a view could have
anything to do with taking people up to the top of a hill where
there was a cathedral, or that people could be "merry" while on an
errand connected with religion.
On leaving this place I wanted to say good-bye to Signora
Bonvicino, and could not find her; after a time I heard she was at
the fountain, so I went and found her on her knees washing her
husband's and her own clothes, with her pretty round arms bare
nearly to the shoulder.
