"Superba!" cried the little man, ironically; "who the devil are you?"
"That you will discover in the morning, my lord," I answered, sternly; "but, in the mean time, order your driver to rein back, or I will slash his cattle across the face."
"Not the thousandth part of an inch!" exclaimed the little man, from the depths of his carriage. "And hark you, Signor Carozziere, whip up your horses, and hold fast: on your life!"
"Monsignore Barone, once more I request—"
"Fico! I am in waiting for the Princess of Paterna: and is my carriage to give way before that of my bitterest enemy? Hear me, good people," he added, addressing the increasing mob, among whom I recognised many of the savage conciarotti—a tribe, or faction, which was long the terror of the citizens, and disgrace of Palermo—"hark-ye, sirs! you all know me—Baróne Guelfo, of the Vale of Amato—a true patriot, a despiser of Jacobins, and hater of Frenchmen. Is my carriage to make way for that of the Visconte di Santugo, a follower of Ruffo, the Buonapartist—a traitor to his king, to Naples, and to Sicily—an upstart signorello of yesterday? I draw name and blood from the house of Guelfo, the foes of the Ghibellines, and one of the most ancient races of northern Italy."
"Beware what you assert, Signore Baróne!" said Zacheo, the old chasseur; "Santugo, who is now fighting bravely in La Syla, is the reverse of a traitor, and may yet make you eat your words with an ounce bullet."
"Hell contains not a blacker traitor!" cried the baron, starting half out of his carriage, and animated by the bitterest personal hatred against his enemy. "No, nor Naples a more cunning Buonapartist. And sure I am that the bold-hearted conciarrotti of Palermo will not see the Barone Guelfo, one of the most faithful nobles of the Junta, and grand cup-bearer to his Altezza the Prince of Paterna, insulted in their streets, and his equipage compelled to yield before another."
"Largo! largo! viva il Baróne! largo! make way!" yelled the rabble.
I was excessively provoked at this obstinacy, in the cicisbéo of the princess; it flowed from a political spirit, which I did not altogether understand. Meanwhile, the terror of the three Italian girls, and my anxiety for their safety, increased, as the clamouring conciarotti mustered apace, crowding around us.
The conciarotti! who has not heard of that terrible community, at whose name all Palermo trembled? Like the lazzaroni at Naples and the trasteverini of Rome, a nest of matchless ruffians, banded together by mysterious laws, by ancient privileges and immunities, upon which not even the king or his viceroy dared to infringe; and against whom the power of the civil authorities and the bayonets of the soldiers, the edicts of the Junta and manifestoes from the vice-regal palace, were alike levelled fruitlessly and vainly. The enlightened viceroy, the Marchese di Caraccioli, could smother the death-fires of the Inquisition, and demolish its dreaded office; but he dared not meddle with the tanners of Palermo.