human
You have made up your mind to go, then, _amico_?
gpt
Yes, signore.
human
Well, I shall miss you. To whom shall I talk the tongue I love so well, when Giovanni is gone?
gpt
Whenever the signore goes to Italia, he shall find me. It needs but a word to bring me to him. The signore will pardon me, but he is like--like a son.
human
Thanks, Giovanni. By the way, did you hear a woman singing in the street last night?
gpt
Yes. At first--
human
Ah, but that could not be, Giovanni; that could not be.
gpt
No, it could not be. But she sang well!
human
So thought I. I even ran out into the street to find out who she was; but she vanished like the lady in the conjurer's trick. But it seemed to me that, while she sang in Italian, she herself was not wholly of that race.
gpt
Giovanni struck a noiseless brava with his hands.
human
Have I not always said that the signore's ears are as sharp as my own? No, the voice was very beautiful, but it was not truly Roman. It was more like they talk in Venice. And yet the sound of the voice decided me. The hills have always been calling to me; and I must answer.
gpt
And the unforgetting _carabinieri_?
human
Oh, I must take my chance,
gpt
What shall you do?
human
I have my two hands, signore. Besides, the signore has said it; I am rich. Giovanni permitted a smile to stir his thin lips.
gpt
Yes, I must go back. Your people have been good to me and have legally made me one of them, but my heart is never here. It is always so cold and every one moves so quickly. You can not lie down in the sun. Your police, bah! They beat you on the feet. You remember when I fell asleep on the steps of the cathedral? They thought I was drunk, and would have arrested me!
human
Everybody must keep moving here; it is the penalty of being rich.
gpt
And I am lonesome for my kind. I have nothing in common with these herds of Sicilians and Neapolitans who pour into the streets from the wharves.
human
Yet in war time the Neapolitans sheltered your pope.
gpt
Vanity! They wished to make an impression on the rest of the world. It is dull here, besides. There is no joy in the shops. I am lost in these great palaces. The festa is lacking. Nobody bargains; nobody sees the proprietor; you find your way to the streets alone. The butcher says that his meat is so-and-so, and you pay; the grocer marks his tins such-and-such, and you do not question; and the baker says that, and you pay, pay, pay! What? I need a collar; it is _quindici_--fifteen you say! I offer _quattordici_. I would give interest to the sale. But no! The collar goes back into the box. I pay _quindici_, or I go without. It is the same everywhere; very dull, dead, lifeless.