Take all the vices that degrade a nation, "bray them in a mortar," and they 'll not eat so deep into the moral feeling of a people as a tainted administration of the law.
You may fancy that, in my passionate warmth, I have forgotten all about my individual case: no such thing. I have, however, rescued myself from the danger of an apoplexy by opening this safety-valve to my indignation. And now I cannot resume my narrative. No, Tom, "I have lost the scent," and all I can do is to bring you "in at the death." I was sentenced to pay seven hundred zwanzigers,—eight-pences,—all the costs of the procedure, the doctor's bill, and the maintenance of Giacomo till his convalescence was completed. I appealed on the spot to an upper court, and the judgment was confirmed! I nearly burst with indignant anger, and asked my advocate if he had ever heard of such iniquity. He shrugged his shoulders, smiled slightly, and said, "The law is precarious in all countries."
"Yes,—but," said I, "the judges are not always corrupt. Now, that old president of the first court suggested every answer to the witness—"
"Vincenzio Lamporeccho is a shrewd man—"
"What! How do you call him? Is he anything to our friend Giacomo?"
"He is his father!"
"And the Brigadier who arrested me?"
"Is his brother. The junior judge of the Appeal Court, Luigi Lamporeccho, is his first cousin."
I did n't ask more questions, Tom. Fancy a country where your butler is brother to the chief baron, and sues you for wages in the Court of Exchequer!
"And you, Signor Mastuccio," said I. "I hope I have not exposed you to the vengeance of this powerful family by your zeal in my behalf?"