the uncommercial traveller-第52章

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rampart；　of　a　complete　system　of　fortifications。　　Fifty　times　a

day；　I　got　down　to　harangue　an　infuriated　soldiery　about　the

Bottle。　　Through　the　filthy　degradation　of　the　abject　and　vile

Roman　States；　I　had　as　much　difficulty　in　working　my　way　with　the

Bottle；　as　if　it　had　bottled　up　a　complete　system　of　heretical

theology。　　In　the　Neapolitan　country；　where　everybody　was　a　spy；　a

soldier；　a　priest；　or　a　lazzarone；　the　shameless　beggars　of　all

four　denominations　incessantly　pounced　on　the　Bottle　and　made　it　a

pretext　for　extorting　money　from　me。　　Quires　…　quires　do　I　say？

Reams　…　of　forms　illegibly　printed　on　whity…brown　paper　were　filled

up　about　the　Bottle；　and　it　was　the　subject　of　more　stamping　and

sanding　than　I　had　ever　seen　before。　　In　consequence　of　which　haze

of　sand；　perhaps；　it　was　always　irregular；　and　always　latent　with

dismal　penalties　of　going　back　or　not　going　forward；　which　were

only　to　be　abated　by　the　silver　crossing　of　a　base　hand；　poked

shirtless　out　of　a　ragged　uniform　sleeve。　　Under　all

discouragements；　however；　I　stuck　to　my　Bottle；　and　held　firm　to　my

resolution　that　every　drop　of　its　contents　should　reach　the

Bottle's　destination。



The　latter　refinement　cost　me　a　separate　heap　of　troubles　on　its

own　separate　account。　　What　corkscrews　did　I　see　the　military　power

bring　out　against　that　Bottle；　what　gimlets；　spikes；　divining　rods；

gauges；　and　unknown　tests　and　instruments！　　At　some　places；　they

persisted　in　declaring　that　the　wine　must　not　be　passed；　without

being　opened　and　tasted；　I；　pleading　to　the　contrary；　used　then　to

argue　the　question　seated　on　the　Bottle　lest　they　should　open　it　in

spite　of　me。　　In　the　southern　parts　of　Italy　more　violent

shrieking；　face…making；　and　gesticulating；　greater　vehemence　of

speech　and　countenance　and　action；　went　on　about　that　Bottle　than

would　attend　fifty　murders　in　a　northern　latitude。　　It　raised

important　functionaries　out　of　their　beds；　in　the　dead　of　night。　　I

have　known　half…a…dozen　military　lanterns　to　disperse　themselves　at

all　points　of　a　great　sleeping　Piazza；　each　lantern　summoning　some

official　creature　to　get　up；　put　on　his　cocked…hat　instantly；　and

come　and　stop　the　Bottle。　　It　was　characteristic　that　while　this

innocent　Bottle　had　such　immense　difficulty　in　getting　from　little

town　to　town；　Signor　Mazzini　and　the　fiery　cross　were　traversing

Italy　from　end　to　end。



Still；　I　stuck　to　my　Bottle；　like　any　fine　old　English　gentleman

all　of　the　olden　time。　　The　more　the　Bottle　was　interfered　with；

the　stauncher　I　became　（if　possible）　in　my　first　determination　that

my　countryman　should　have　it　delivered　to　him　intact；　as　the　man

whom　he　had　so　nobly　restored　to　life　and　liberty　had　delivered　it

to　me。　　If　ever　I　had　been　obstinate　in　my　days　…　and　I　may　have

been；　say；　once　or　twice　…　I　was　obstinate　about　the　Bottle。　　But；

I　made　it　a　rule　always　to　keep　a　pocket　full　of　small　coin　at　its

service；　and　never　to　be　out　of　temper　in　its　cause。　　Thus；　I　and

the　Bottle　made　our　way。　　Once　we　had　a　break…down；　rather　a　bad

break…down；　on　a　steep　high　place　with　the　sea　below　us；　on　a

tempestuous　evening　when　it　blew　great　guns。　　We　were　driving　four

wild　horses　abreast；　Southern　fashion；　and　there　was　some　little

difficulty　in　stopping　them。　　I　was　outside；　and　not　thrown　off；

but　no　words　can　describe　my　feelings　when　I　saw　the　Bottle　…

travelling　inside；　as　usual　…　burst　the　door　open；　and　roll　obesely

out　into　the　road。　　A　blessed　Bottle　with　a　charmed　existence；　he

took　no　hurt；　and　we　repaired　damage；　and　went　on　triumphant。



A　thousand　representations　were　made　to　me　that　the　Bottle　must　be

left　at　this　place；　or　that；　and　called　for　again。　　I　never　yielded

to　one　of　them；　and　never　parted　from　the　Bottle；　on　any　pretence；

consideration；　threat；　or　entreaty。　　I　had　no　faith　in　any　official

receipt　for　the　Bottle；　and　nothing　would　induce　me　to　accept　one。

These　unmanageable　politics　at　last　brought　me　and　the　Bottle；

still　triumphant；　to　Genoa。　　There；　I　took　a　tender　and　reluctant

leave　of　him　for　a　few　weeks；　and　consigned　him　to　a　trusty　English

captain；　to　be　conveyed　to　the　Port　of　London　by　sea。



While　the　Bottle　was　on　his　voyage　to　England；　I　read　the　Shipping

Intelligence　as　anxiously　as　if　I　had　been　an　underwriter。　　There

was　some　stormy　weather　after　I　myself　had　got　to　England　by　way　of

Switzerland　and　France；　and　my　mind　greatly　misgave　me　that　the

Bottle　might　be　wrecked。　　At　last　to　my　great　joy；　I　received

notice　of　his　safe　arrival；　and　immediately　went　down　to　Saint

Katharine's　Docks；　and　found　him　in　a　state　of　honourable　captivity

in　the　Custom　House。



The　wine　was　mere　vinegar　when　I　set　it　down　before　the　generous

Englishman　…　probably　it　had　been　something　like　vinegar　when　I

took　it　up　from　Giovanni　Carlavero　…　but　not　a　drop　of　it　was

spilled　or　gone。　　And　the　Englishman　told　me；　with　much　emotion　in

his　face　and　voice；　that　he　had　never　tasted　wine　that　seemed　to

him　so　sweet　and　sound。　　And　long　afterwards；　the　Bottle　graced　his

table。　　And　the　last　time　I　saw　him　in　this　world　that　misses　him；

he　took　me　aside　in　a　crowd；　to　say；　with　his　amiable　smile：　　'We

were　talking　of　you　only　to…day　at　dinner；　and　I　wished　you　had

been　there；　for　I　had　some　Claret　up　in　Carlavero's　Bottle。'







CHAPTER　XVIII　…　THE　CALAIS　NIGHT　MAIL







It　is　an　unsettled　question　with　me　whether　I　shall　leave　Calais

something　handsome　in　my　will；　or　whether　I　shall　leave　it　my

malediction。　　I　hate　it　so　much；　and　yet　I　am　always　so　very　glad

to　see　it；　that　I　am　in　a　state　of　constant　indecision　on　this

subject。　　When　I　first　made　acquaintance　with　Calais；　it　was　as　a

maundering　young　wretch　in　a　clammy　perspiration　and　dripping

saline　particles；　who　was　conscious　of　no　extremities　but　the　one

great　extremity；　sea…sickness　…　who　was　a　mere　bilious　torso；　with

a　mislaid　headache　somewhere　in　its　stomach　…　who　had　been　put　into

a　horrible　swing　in　Dover　Harbour；　and　had　tumbled　giddily　out　of

it　on　the　French　coast；　or　the　Isle　of　Man；　or　anywhere。　　Times

have　changed；　and　now　I　enter　Calais　self…reliant　and　rational。　　I

know　where　it　is　beforehand；　I　keep　a　look　out　for　it；　I　recognise

its　landmarks　when　I　see　any　of　them；　I　am　acquainted　with　its

ways；　and　I　know　…　and　I　can　bear　…　its　worst　behaviour。



Malignant　Calais！　　Low…lying　alligator；　evading　the　eyesight　and

discouraging　hope！　　Dodging　flat　streak；　now　on　this　bow；　now　on

that；　now　anywhere；　now　everywhere；　now　nowhere！　　In　vain　Cape

Grinez；　coming　frankly　forth　into　the　sea；　exhorts　the　failing　to

be　stout　of　heart　and　stomach：　　sneaking　Calais；　prone　behind　its

bar；　invites　emetically　to　despair。　　Even　when　it　can　no　longer

quite　conceal　itself　in　its　muddy　dock；　it　has　an　evil　way　of

falling　off；　has　Calais；　which　is　more　hopeless　than　its

invisibility。　　The　pier　is　all　but　on　the　bowsprit；　and　you　think

you　are　there　…　roll；　roar；　wash！　…　Calais　has　retired　miles

inland；　and　Dover　has　burst　out　to　look　for　it。　　It　has　a　last　dip

and　slide　in　its　character；　has　Calais；　to　be　especially　commanded

to　the　infernal　gods。　　Thrice　accursed　be　that　garrison…town；　when

it　dives　under　the　boat's　keel；　and　comes　up　a　league　or　two　to　the

right；　with　the　packet　shivering　and　spluttering　and　staring　about

for　it！



Not　but　what　I　have　my　animosities　towards　Dover。　　I　particularly

detest　Dover　for　the　self…complacency　with　which　it　goes　to　bed。

It　always　goes　to　bed　（when　I　am　going　to　Calais）　with　a　more

brilliant　display　of　lamp　and　candle　than　any　other　town。　　Mr。　and

Mrs。　Birmingham；　host　and　hostess　of　the　Lord　Warden　Hotel；　are　my

much　esteemed　friends；　but　they　are　too　conceited　about　the

comforts　of　that　establishment　when　the　Night　Mail　is　starting。　　I

know　it　is　a　good　house　to　stay　at；　and　I　don't　want　the　fact

insisted　upon　in　all　its　warm　bright　windows　at　such　an　hour。　　I

know　the　Warden　is　a　stati