“Di s’guro, s’gnor’, semp’ dritt!”
Across northern Italy, almost in a straight line, are scattered several famous cities, all invaded by the broad highway that leads from the Simplon to Venice. Most beautiful among them is Pallanza, a village paradise on the shore of Lago Maggiore, in the lakeside groves of which I should have tarried longer but for the recollection of how wide the world is to the impecunious wayfarer. I fished out, therefore, from the bin of a second-hand book dealer a ragged Baedeker in French, and, thus armed with a more trustworthy source of information than dull-eyed peasants, boarded the steamer that connected the broken ends of the highway. During the short journey a band of English tourists sauntered about on the deck above me, and my native tongue, unheard since Paris and not to be heard again until—well, until long after, sounded almost foreign to my ears.
Beyond Varese next morning, within sight of five snow-capped peaks of the range I had crossed three days before, I espied from afar the white sun-shields of two officers, armed with muskets, and marching westward. Anticipating a quizzing, I turned aside from the sun-scorched route and awaited their coming in a shaded spot. Strange to say, in this land burdened with a tax on salt and an unholy visitation of soldiers and priests, vagrants enjoy far more liberty than in France. Thus far the indifference of the gendarmerie had been so marked that I had come to feel neglected. Yet tramps abounded. This very freedom makes Italy a favorite land among the Handwerksgesellen of Switzerland, Germany, and Austria, many of whom I had already met, marching southward full of Wanderlust, or crawling homeward with bitter stories of the miseries of the peninsula.
The carabinieri, spick and span of uniform, their swords rattling egotistically on the roadway, drew near, and, stepping into the shade, opened a conversation that needs no translation.
“Di dove siete?”
“Di America, dei Stati Uniti.”
“Di America! Ma! E dove andate?”
“A Venezia.”
“Ma! Come! A piedi?”
“Di siguro. Come volete che fare?”