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Page 76
"Thirty years, that is a long time to remember Bologna, I cannot say
that thirty years I remember New York. You will not believe!" He was
obviously not more than twenty-five, so this was vastly humorous.
"Twenty years, yes, twenty years I will say! And have you seen San
Stefano? Seven churches in one! Also the most old. And having forty
Jerusalem martyrs."
"Forty would go a long way in relics," the Senator observed with
discouragement, "but my remarks had reference to the Bologna sausage,
sir."
"Sausage--ah! _mortadella_--yes they make here I believe." Mr. Bellini
held up his knife and fork to enable his plate to be changed and looked
darkly at the succeeding course. "But every Italian cannot like that
dish. I eat him never. You will not find in this hotel no." His manner
indicated a personal hostility to the Bologna sausage, but the Senator
did not seem to notice it.
"You don't say so! Local consumption going off too, eh? Now how do you
explain that?"
Mr. Bellini shrugged his shoulders. "It is much eat by the poor people.
They will always have that _mortadella_!"
"That looks," said the Senator thoughtfully, "like the production of an
inferior article. But not necessarily, not necessarily, of course."
"Bologna it is very _ecclesiastic_." Mr. Bellini addressed my other
parent, recovering a smile. "We have produced here six popes. It is the
fame of Bologna."
"You seem to think a great deal of producing popes in Italy," momma
replied coldly. "I should consider it a terrible responsibility."
"Now do you suppose," said poppa confidentially, "that the idea of
trichinosis had anything to do with slackening the demand?"
Mr. Bellini threw his head back, and passionately replaced a section of
biscuit and cheese in the middle of his plate.
"I know nossing, any more than you! Why you speak me always that Bologna
sausage! _Pazienza!_ What is it that sausage to make the agreeable
conversation!"
"Sir," exclaimed the Senator with astonishment and equal heat, "you
don't seem to be aware of it, but at one time the Bologna sausage ruled
the world!"
Mr. Bellini, however, could evidently not trust himself to discuss the
matter further. He rose precipitately with an outraged, impersonal bow,
and left the table, abandoning his biscuit and cheese, his half finished
bottle of Rudesheimer and the figs that were to follow, with the
indifference of a lofty nature.
"I'm sorry I spoiled his dinner," said poppa with concern, "but if a
Bologna man can't talk about Bologna sausages, what can he talk about?"
It made the Senator reticent, though, as to sausages of any kind, with
the other commercial traveller--the hotel was full of them, and we found
it very entertaining after the barren dining rooms of southern
Italy--with whom we breakfasted. He spoke to this one exclusively about
the architectural and historic features of the city, in a manner which
forbade any approach to gastronomic themes, and while the second
commercial traveller regarded him with great respect, it must be
confessed that the conversation languished. Dicky might have helped us
out, but Dicky was following his usual custom of having rooms in one
hotel and covering as many others as possible with his meals, in the
hope of an accidental meeting. This was excellent as a distraction for
his mind, but since it occasionally led him into three _d�jeuners_ and
two dinners, rather bad, we feared, for other parts of him. He had
confided his design to me; he intended, on meeting Isabel's eye, to turn
very pale, abruptly terminate his repast, ask for his hat and stick, and
walk out with conspicuous agitation. As to the course he meant to pursue
afterwards he was vague; the great thing was to make an impression upon
Isabel. We differed about the nature of the impression. Dicky took it
for granted that she would be profoundly affected, but he made no
allowance for the way in which maternal vigilance like that of Mrs.
Portheris can discourage the imagination.
Poppa made two further attempts to inform himself upon the leading
manufacturing interest of Bologna. He inquired of the _padrone_, who was
pleased to hear that Bologna had a leading manufacturing interest, and
when my parent asked where he could see the process, pointed out several
shops in the Piazza Maggiore. One of these the Senator visited,
note-book in hand, and was shown with great alacrity every variety of
_mortadella_, from delicacies the size of a finger to mottled
conceptions as thick as a small barrel. He found a difficulty in
explaining, however, even with an Italian phrase book, that it was the
manufacture only about which he was curious, and that, admirable as the
result might be, he did not wish to buy any of it. When the latter fact
finally made itself plain, the proprietor became truculent and gave us,
although he spoke no English, so vivid an idea of the inconsistency of
our presence in his premises, that we retired in all the irritation of
the well-meaning and misunderstood. The Senator, however, who had
absolute confidence in his phrase book, saw a deeper significance in the
remarkable unwillingness of the people of Bologna to expatiate upon the
feature which had given them fame. "The fact is," said he gloomily,
restoring his note-book to his inside pocket as we entered the
terra-cotta doorway of St. Catarina, "they're not anxious to let a
stranger into the know of it." And this conviction remaining with him,
still inspires the Senator with a contemptuous pity for the porcine
methods of a people who refuse to submit them to the light of day and
the observation of the world at large.
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