the uncommercial traveller-第50章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



first　to　the　right　and　probably　you　will　see　him　standing　at　his

door。'



I　gave　a　commission　to　'him；'　and　I　have　been　inquiring　about　him。

I　have　carried　the　commission　about　Italy　several　months。　　Before　I

left　England；　there　came　to　me　one　night　a　certain　generous　and

gentle　English　nobleman　（he　is　dead　in　these　days　when　I　relate　the

story；　and　exiles　have　lost　their　best　British　friend）；　with　this

request：　　'Whenever　you　come　to　such　a　town；　will　you　seek　out　one

Giovanni　Carlavero；　who　keeps　a　little　wine…shop　there；　mention　my

name　to　him　suddenly；　and　observe　how　it　affects　him？'　　I　accepted

the　trust；　and　am　on　my　way　to　discharge　it。



The　sirocco　has　been　blowing　all　day；　and　it　is　a　hot　unwholesome

evening　with　no　cool　sea…breeze。　　Mosquitoes　and　fire…flies　are

lively　enough；　but　most　other　creatures　are　faint。　　The　coquettish

airs　of　pretty　young　women　in　the　tiniest　and　wickedest　of　dolls'

straw　hats；　who　lean　out　at　opened　lattice　blinds；　are　almost　the

only　airs　stirring。　　Very　ugly　and　haggard　old　women　with　distaffs；

and　with　a　grey　tow　upon　them　that　looks　as　if　they　were　spinning

out　their　own　hair　（I　suppose　they　were　once　pretty；　too；　but　it　is

very　difficult　to　believe　so）；　sit　on　the　footway　leaning　against

house　walls。　　Everybody　who　has　come　for　water　to　the　fountain；

stays　there；　and　seems　incapable　of　any　such　energetic　idea　as

going　home。　　Vespers　are　over；　though　not　so　long　but　that　I　can

smell　the　heavy　resinous　incense　as　I　pass　the　church。　　No　man

seems　to　be　at　work；　save　the　coppersmith。　　In　an　Italian　town　he

is　always　at　work；　and　always　thumping　in　the　deadliest　manner。



I　keep　straight　on；　and　come　in　due　time　to　the　first　on　the　right：

a　narrow　dull　street；　where　I　see　a　well…favoured　man　of　good

stature　and　military　bearing；　in　a　great　cloak；　standing　at　a　door。

Drawing　nearer　to　this　threshold；　I　see　it　is　the　threshold　of　a

small　wine…shop；　and　I　can　just　make　out；　in　the　dim　light；　the

inscription　that　it　is　kept　by　Giovanni　Carlavero。



I　touch　my　hat　to　the　figure　in　the　cloak；　and　pass　in；　and　draw　a

stool　to　a　little　table。　　The　lamp　（just　such　another　as　they　dig

out　of　Pompeii）　is　lighted；　but　the　place　is　empty。　　The　figure　in

the　cloak　has　followed　me　in；　and　stands　before　me。



'The　master？'



'At　your　service；　sir。'



'Please　to　give　me　a　glass　of　the　wine　of　the　country。'



He　turns　to　a　little　counter；　to　get　it。　　As　his　striking　face　is

pale；　and　his　action　is　evidently　that　of　an　enfeebled　man；　I

remark　that　I　fear　he　has　been　ill。　　It　is　not　much；　he　courteously

and　gravely　answers；　though　bad　while　it　lasts：　　the　fever。



As　he　sets　the　wine　on　the　little　table；　to　his　manifest　surprise　I

lay　my　hand　on　the　back　of　his；　look　him　in　the　face；　and　say　in　a

low　voice：　　'I　am　an　Englishman；　and　you　are　acquainted　with　a

friend　of　mine。　　Do　you　recollect　…　？'　and　I　mentioned　the　name　of

my　generous　countryman。



Instantly；　he　utters　a　loud　cry；　bursts　into　tears；　and　falls　on

his　knees　at　my　feet；　clasping　my　legs　in　both　his　arms　and　bowing

his　head　to　the　ground。



Some　years　ago；　this　man　at　my　feet；　whose　over…fraught　heart　is

heaving　as　if　it　would　burst　from　his　breast；　and　whose　tears　are

wet　upon　the　dress　I　wear；　was　a　galley…slave　in　the　North　of

Italy。　　He　was　a　political　offender；　having　been　concerned　in　the

then　last　rising；　and　was　sentenced　to　imprisonment　for　life。　　That

he　would　have　died　in　his　chains；　is　certain；　but　for　the

circumstance　that　the　Englishman　happened　to　visit　his　prison。



It　was　one　of　the　vile　old　prisons　of　Italy；　and　a　part　of　it　was

below　the　waters　of　the　harbour。　　The　place　of　his　confinement　was

an　arched　under…ground　and　under…water　gallery；　with　a　grill…gate

at　the　entrance；　through　which　it　received　such　light　and　air　as　it

got。　　Its　condition　was　insufferably　foul；　and　a　stranger　could

hardly　breathe　in　it；　or　see　in　it　with　the　aid　of　a　torch。　　At　the

upper　end　of　this　dungeon；　and　consequently　in　the　worst　position；

as　being　the　furthest　removed　from　light　and　air；　the　Englishman

first　beheld　him；　sitting　on　an　iron　bedstead　to　which　he　was

chained　by　a　heavy　chain。　　His　countenance　impressed　the　Englishmen

as　having　nothing　in　common　with　the　faces　of　the　malefactors　with

whom　he　was　associated；　and　he　talked　with　him；　and　learnt　how　he

came　to　be　there。



When　the　Englishman　emerged　from　the　dreadful　den　into　the　light　of

day；　he　asked　his　conductor；　the　governor　of　the　jail；　why　Giovanni

Carlavero　was　put　into　the　worst　place？



'Because　he　is　particularly　recommended；'　was　the　stringent　answer。



'Recommended；　that　is　to　say；　for　death？'



'Excuse　me；　particularly　recommended；'　was　again　the　answer。



'He　has　a　bad　tumour　in　his　neck；　no　doubt　occasioned　by　the

hardship　of　his　miserable　life。　　If　he　continues　to　be　neglected；

and　he　remains　where　he　is；　it　will　kill　him。'



'Excuse　me；　I　can　do　nothing。　　He　is　particularly　recommended。'

The　Englishman　was　staying　in　that　town；　and　he　went　to　his　home

there；　but　the　figure　of　this　man　chained　to　the　bedstead　made　it

no　home；　and　destroyed　his　rest　and　peace。　　He　was　an　Englishman　of

an　extraordinarily　tender　heart；　and　he　could　not　bear　the　picture。

He　went　back　to　the　prison　grate；　went　back　again　and　again；　and

talked　to　the　man　and　cheered　him。　　He　used　his　utmost　influence　to

get　the　man　unchained　from　the　bedstead；　were　it　only　for　ever　so

short　a　time　in　the　day；　and　permitted　to　come　to　the　grate。　　It

look　a　long　time；　but　the　Englishman's　station；　personal　character；

and　steadiness　of　purpose；　wore　out　opposition　so　far；　and　that

grace　was　at　last　accorded。　　Through　the　bars；　when　he　could　thus

get　light　upon　the　tumour；　the　Englishman　lanced　it；　and　it　did

well；　and　healed。　　His　strong　interest　in　the　prisoner　had　greatly

increased　by　this　time；　and　he　formed　the　desperate　resolution　that

he　would　exert　his　utmost　self…devotion　and　use　his　utmost　efforts；

to　get　Carlavero　pardoned。



If　the　prisoner　had　been　a　brigand　and　a　murderer；　if　he　had

committed　every　non…political　crime　in　the　Newgate　Calendar　and　out

of　it；　nothing　would　have　been　easier　than　for　a　man　of　any　court

or　priestly　influence　to　obtain　his　release。　　As　it　was；　nothing

could　have　been　more　difficult。　　Italian　authorities；　and　English

authorities　who　had　interest　with　them；　alike　assured　the

Englishman　that　his　object　was　hopeless。　　He　met　with　nothing　but

evasion；　refusal；　and　ridicule。　　His　political　prisoner　became　a

joke　in　the　place。　　It　was　especially　observable　that　English

Circumlocution；　and　English　Society　on　its　travels；　were　as

humorous　on　the　subject　as　Circumlocution　and　Society　may　be　on　any

subject　without　loss　of　caste。　　But；　the　Englishman　possessed　（and

proved　it　well　in　his　life）　a　courage　very　uncommon　among　us：　　he

had　not　the　least　fear　of　being　considered　a　bore；　in　a　good　humane

cause。　　So　he　went　on　persistently　trying；　and　trying；　and　trying；

to　get　Giovanni　Carlavero　out。　　That　prisoner　had　been　rigorously

re…chained；　after　the　tumour　operation；　and　it　was　not　likely　that

his　miserable　life　could　last　very　long。



One　day；　when　all　the　town　knew　about　the　Englishman　and　his

political　prisoner；　there　came　to　the　Englishman；　a　certain

sprightly　Italian　Advocate　of　whom　he　had　some　knowledge；　and　he

made　this　strange　proposal。　　'Give　me　a　hundred　pounds　to　obtain

Carlavero's　release。　　I　think　I　can　get　him　a　pardon；　with　that

money。　　But　I　cannot　tell　you　what　I　am　going　to　do　with　the　money；

nor　must　you　ever　ask　me　the　question　if　I　succeed；　nor　must　you

ever　ask　me　for　an　account　of　the　money　if　I　fail。'　　The　Englishman

decided　to　hazard　the　hundred　pounds。　　He　did　so；　and　heard　not

another　word　of　the　matter。　　For　half　a　year　and　more；　the　Advocate

made　no　sign；　and　never　once　'took　on'　in　any　way；　to　have　the

subject　on　his　mind。　　The　Englishman　was　then　ob