“I see no harm in petitions, and if Grassini gets one up I'll sign it with all the pleasure in life. But I don't think mere petitioning and nothing else will accomplish much. Why can't we have both petitions and pamphlets?”
“Simply because the pamphlets will put the government into a state of mind in which it won't grant the petitions,” said Grassini.
“It won't do that anyhow.” The Neapolitan rose and came across to the table. “Gentlemen, you're on the wrong tack. Conciliating the government will do no good. What we must do is to rouse the people.”
“That's easier said than done; how are you going to start?”
“Fancy asking Galli that! Of course he'd start by knocking the censor on the head.”
“No, indeed, I shouldn't,” said Galli stoutly. “You always think if a man comes from down south he must believe in no argument but cold steel.”
“Well, what do you propose, then? Sh! Attention, gentlemen! Galli has a proposal to make.”
The whole company, which had broken up into little knots of twos and threes, carrying on separate discussions, collected round the table to listen. Galli raised his hands in expostulation.
“No, gentlemen, it is not a proposal; it is merely a suggestion. It appears to me that there is a great practical danger in all this rejoicing over the new Pope. People seem to think that, because he has struck out a new line and granted this amnesty, we have only to throw ourselves—all of us, the whole of Italy—into his arms and he will carry us to the promised land. Now, I am second to no one in admiration of the Pope's behaviour; the amnesty was a splendid action.”
“I am sure His Holiness ought to feel flattered——” Grassini began contemptuously.