We had a real adventure upon the return trip to Naples. Our party filled a railway carriage with the exception of two seats, one of which was taken by an elderly German, the other by an Italian officer, whose bright eyes and bronzed complexion were brighter and darker for his snowy hair. Ernesto had engaged to meet us at the station at nine o’clock P.M. We had no apprehension on the score of the proprieties with so steady and tried a coachman. But we were loaded down with parcels of Sorrento woodwork, and the streets swarmed with daring thieves. At a former visit to Naples, as we were driving through the Chiaja, the fashionable thoroughfare of the city, a man had sprung upon the carriage-step, snatched a gold chain and locket from the neck of a young lady sitting opposite to me, and made off with his booty before we could call out to Caput who sat beside the coachman. The streets were one blaze of lamps, the hour early dusk; a hundred people must have witnessed the robbery, but nobody interfered.
“We shall have trouble with all these, I am afraid!” remarked I, looking at the bulky bundles.
“You vill, inteet!” struck in the German, respectfully. “I dit haf to bay effer so mooch duty on some photograph I did dake from Bompeii to Naple dis last veek.”
“Duty! in going from one Italian city to another!”
“Duty! and a fery heafy impost it is! Brigand dey are—de Gofferment and all!”
We had spent so much of our substance—rating available funds as such—in the ruinously-fascinating shops of Sorrento that the prospect of duties that might double the sum was no bagatelle. The story sounded incredible. We appealed to the officer, making frank disclosure of our purchases and ignorance of custom-house regulations. He was a handsome man, with a fatherliness of manner in hearkening to our story that won our confidence. It was true, he stated, that imposts were levied by one Italian city and province upon the products of another. Equally true that it was a relic of less enlightened days when union of the different states under one government was a dream, even of wise patriots. He advised us to conceal as many of our parcels under our cloaks as we could, to avoid notice and a scene at the gate of the station. Should we be stopped, he would represent the case in its proper aspect, and do what he could to help us.
“Although”—with a smile—“custom-house officials do not relish interference from any quarter.”
He spoke French fluently, but the conversation that succeeded was in his own tongue. He was a gentleman, intelligent and social, with the gentle, winning courtesy of speech and demeanor that characterizes the well-bred Italian, infinitely more pleasing than the polished hollowness of the Frenchman of equal rank. As we were running into the station he asked permission to carry a large portfolio one of us had bought. His short, military cloak, clasped at the throat, and falling over one arm, hid it entirely.
“And yours?” he turned to Miss M——, whose possessions were most conspicuous of all.
“Tell him,” she said to Prima, in her pleasant, even tones, “that I will hide nothing. I have been all over the Continent with all sorts of things known as contraband in my satchel and trunks, and have never paid a cent of duty. Nobody troubles me. They see that I am an American who speaks no language but her own, therefore is perfectly honest. They would let me pass if I were made of Sorrento wood, carved and inlaid in the most expensive style. You will see! I bear a charmed life.”