the uncommercial traveller-第59部分

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which　I　was　departing；　was　so　great；　and　it　took　up　so　much　room

when　it　was　got　in；　that　I　elected　to　sit　outside。　　The　last　I　saw

of　Giovanni　Carlavero　was　his　running　through　the　town　by　the　side

of　the　jingling　wheels；　clasping　my　hand　as　I　stretched　it　down

from　the　box；　charging　me　with　a　thousand　last　loving　and　dutiful

messages　to　his　dear　patron；　and　finally　looking　in　at　the　bottle

as　it　reposed　inside；　with　an　admiration　of　its　honourable　way　of

travelling　that　was　beyond　measure　delightful。



And　now；　what　disquiet　of　mind　this　dearly…beloved　and　highly…

treasured　Bottle　began　to　cost　me；　no　man　knows。　　It　was　my

precious　charge　through　a　long　tour；　and；　for　hundreds　of　miles；　I

never　had　it　off　my　mind　by　day　or　by　night。　　Over　bad　roads　…　and

they　were　many　…　I　clung　to　it　with　affectionate　desperation。　　Up

mountains；　I　looked　in　at　it　and　saw　it　helplessly　tilting　over　on

its　back；　with　terror。　　At　innumerable　inn　doors　when　the　weather

was　bad；　I　was　obliged　to　be　put　into　my　vehicle　before　the　Bottle

could　be　got　in；　and　was　obliged　to　have　the　Bottle　lifted　out

before　human　aid　could　come　near　me。　　The　Imp　of　the　same　name；

except　that　his　associations　were　all　evil　and　these　associations

were　all　good；　would　have　been　a　less　troublesome　travelling

companion。　　I　might　have　served　Mr。　Cruikshank　as　a　subject　for　a

new　illustration　of　the　miseries　of　the　Bottle。　　The　National

Temperance　Society　might　have　made　a　powerful　Tract　of　me。



The　suspicions　that　attached　to　this　innocent　Bottle；　greatly

aggravated　my　difficulties。　　It　was　like　the　apple…pie　in　the

child's　book。　　Parma　pouted　at　it；　Modena　mocked　it；　Tuscany

tackled　it；　Naples　nibbled　it；　Rome　refused　it；　Austria　accused　it；

Soldiers　suspected　it；　Jesuits　jobbed　it。　　I　composed　a　neat

Oration；　developing　my　inoffensive　intentions　in　connexion　with

this　Bottle；　and　delivered　it　in　an　infinity　of　guard…houses；　at　a

multitude　of　town　gates；　and　on　every　drawbridge；　angle；　and

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　s