It Was The Feast Of The Conception Of The
Blessed Virgin; The Lung' Arno Was Strewn With Boughs Of Laurel And
Myrtle, And The Pisan Gentry Promenaded For An Hour Under My Window.
On my leaving Florence an incident occurred, which will illustrate the
manner of doing public business in this country.
I had obtained my
passport from the Police Office, _vised_ for Pisa. It was then Friday, and
I was told that it would answer until ten o'clock on Tuesday morning.
Unluckily I did not present myself at the Leghorn gate of Florence until
eleven o'clock on that day. A young man in a military hat, sword, and blue
uniform, came to the carriage and asked for my passport, which I handed
him. In a short time he appeared again and desired me to get out and go
with him to the apartment in the side of the gate. I went and saw a
middle-aged man dressed in the same manner, sitting at the table with my
passport before him. "I am sorry," said he, "to say that your passport is
not regular, and that my duty compels me to detain you." "What is the
matter with the passport?" "The _vise_ is of more than three days
standing." I exerted all my eloquence to persuade him that an hour was of
no consequence, and that the public welfare would not suffer by letting me
pass, but he remained firm. "The law," he said, "is positive; I am
compelled to execute it.
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