He kept on the move all the time, and as he turned his head from one side to the other hurriedly asked me what forces Venice could put into the field in war time.
“Twenty men-of-war, sire, and a number of galleys.”
“What are the land forces?”
“Seventy thousand men, sire; all of whom are subjects of the Republic, and assessing each village at one man.”
“That is not true; no doubt you wish to amuse me by telling me these fables. Give me your opinions on taxation.”
This was the first conversation I had ever had with a monarch. I made a rapid review of the situation, and found myself much in the same position as an actor of the improvised comedy of the Italians, who is greeted by the hisses of the gods if he stops short a moment. I therefore replied with all the airs of a doctor of finance that I could say something about the theory of taxation.
“That’s what I want,” he replied, “for the practice is no business of yours.”
“There are three kinds of taxes, considered as to their effects. The first is ruinous, the second a necessary evil, and the third invariably beneficial.”
“Good! Go on.”
“The ruinous impost is the royal tax, the necessary is the military, and the beneficial is the popular.”