“Yes,” interrupted Ivanhoe, “and great poets, Byron and Milton—il Paradiso Perduto—and that other one who wrote the drama named—what is his name? Gladstone.”
“Some of our poets have written drama,” I said. “What particular drama do you mean?”
“The one—it is from the History of Rome,” replied Ivanhoe. “A man kills his wife, but I do not remember his name.”
“Was it Romeo?” suggested the corporal.
“No; not Romeo. This was a black man. I read that Giovanni Grasso acted it in London.”
“It was Amleto,” said the corporal.
“No, it was not,” replied Ivanhoe. “And now I remember he was not black; he lived in Holland.”
“Where is Holland?” inquired the corporal.
“Holland is in the north. The people who live there are called Aragonesi.”
While Filomena prepared the coffee, I asked the corporal whether she allowed smoking in her bedroom. She did, so I gave him a cigarette and he admired my case saying it was