her mistress went on an
unceasing quarrel: they quarrelled in my room, in the corridor, and, as
I knew by their shrill voices, in places remote; yet I am sure they did
not dislike each other, and probably neither of them ever thought of
parting. Unexpectedly, one evening, this woman entered, stood by the
bedside, and began to talk with such fierce energy, with such flashing
of her black eyes, and such distortion of her features, that I could
only suppose that she was attacking me for the trouble I caused her. A
minute or two passed before I could even hit the drift of her furious
speech; she was always the most difficult of the natives to understand,
and in rage she became quite unintelligible. Little by little, by dint
of questioning, I got at what she meant. There had been _guai_, worse
than usual; the mistress had reviled her unendurably for some fault or
other, and was it not hard that she should be used like this after
having _tanto, tanto lavorato_! In fact, she was appealing for my
sympathy, not abusing me at all. When she went on to say that she was
alone in the world, that all her kith and kin were _freddi morti_
(stone dead), a pathos in her aspect and her words took hold upon me;
it was much as if some heavy-laden beast of burden had suddenly found
tongue, and protested in the rude beginnings of articulate utterance
against its hard lot. If only one could have learnt, in intimate
detail, the life of this domestic serf! How interesting, and how
sordidly picturesque against the background of romantic landscape, of
scenic history! I looked long into her sallow, wrinkled face, trying to
imagine the thoughts that ruled its expression. In some measure my
efforts at kindly speech succeeded, and her "Ah, Cristo!" as she turned
to go away, was not without a touch of solace.

Another time my hostess fell foul of the waiter, because he had brought
me goat's milk which was very sour. There ensued the most comical
scene. In an access of fury the stout woman raged and stormed; the
waiter, a lank young fellow, with a simple, good-natured face, after
trying to explain that he had committed the fault by inadvertence,
suddenly raised his hand, like one about to exhort a congregation, and
exclaimed in a tone of injured remonstrance, "_Un po' di calma! Un po'
di calma!_" My explosion of laughter at this inimitable utterance put
an end to the strife. The youth laughed with me; his mistress bustled
him out of the room, and then be