“Bless you, my good boy; I should take you for an Englishman, by your way of dealing. I’ll come to your village. Only write me down the name; for your Italian names slip through my head. I’ll come to the vineyard if it was ten miles off; and all the time we stay in Naples (may it not be so long as I fear it will!), with my master’s leave, which he never refuses me to anything that’s proper, I’ll deal with you for all our fruit, as sure as my name’s Arthur, and with none else, with my good will. I wish all your countrymen would take after you in honesty, indeed I do,” concluded the Englishman, looking full at Piedro, who took up his unsold basket of fish, looking somewhat silly, and gloomily walked off.
Arthur, the English servant, was as good as his word. He dealt constantly with Francisco, and proved an excellent customer, buying from him during the whole season as much fruit as his master wanted. His master, who was an Englishman of distinction, was invited to take up his residence, during his stay in Italy, at the Count de F.’s villa, which was in the environs of Naples — an easy walk from Resina. Francisco had the pleasure of seeing his father’s vineyard often full of generous visitors, and Arthur, who had circulated the anecdote of the bruised melon, was, he said, “proud to think that some of this was his doing, and that an Englishman never forgot a good turn, be it from a countryman or foreigner.”
“My dear boy,” said Francisco’s father to him, whilst Arthur was in the vineyard helping to tend the vines, “I am to thank you and your honesty, it seems, for our having our hands so full of business this season. It is fair you should have a share of our profits.”
“So I have, father, enough and enough, when I see you and mother going on so well. What can I want more?”
“Oh, my brave boy, we know you are a grateful, good son; but I have been your age myself; you have companions, you have little expenses of your own. Here; this vine, this fig-tree, and a melon a week next summer shall be yours. With these make a fine figure amongst the little Neapolitan merchants; and all I wish is that you may prosper as well, and by the same honest means, in managing for yourself, as you have done managing for me.”
“Thank you, father; and if I prosper at all, it shall be by those means, and no other, or I should not be worthy to be called your son.”
Piedro the cunning did not make quite so successful a summer’s work as did Francisco the honest. No extraordinary events happened, no singular instance of bad or good luck occurred; but he felt, as persons usually do, the natural consequences of his own actions. He pursued his scheme of imposing, as far as he could, upon every person he dealt with; and the consequence was, that at last nobody would deal with him.
“It is easy to outwit one person, but impossible to outwit all the world,” said a man * who knew the world at least as well as either Piedro or his father.
* The Duke de Rochefoucault.—”On peut etre puls fin qu’un autre, mais pas plus fin que tous les autres.”
Piedro’s father, amongst others, had reason to complain. He saw his own customers fall off from him, and was told, whenever he went into the market, that his son was such a cheat there was no dealing with him. One day, when he was returning from the market in a very bad humour, in consequence of these reproaches, and of his not having found customers for his goods, he espied his SMART son Piedro at a little merchant’s fruit-board devouring a fine gourd with prodigious greediness. “Where, glutton, do you find money to pay for these dainties?” exclaimed his father, coming close up to him, with angry gestures. Piedro’s mouth was much too full to make an immediate reply, nor did his father wait for any, but darting his hand into the youth’s pocket, pulled forth a handful of silver.
“The money, father,” said Piedro, “that I got for the fish yesterday, and that I meant to give you to-day, before you went out.”
“Then I’ll make you remember it against another time, sirrah!” said his father. “I’ll teach you to fill your stomach with my money. Am I to lose my customers by your tricks, and then find you here eating my all? You are a rogue, and everybody has found you out to be a rogue; and the worst of rogues I find you, who scruples not to cheat his own father.”
Saying these words, with great vehemence he seized hold of Piedro, and in the very midst of the little fruit-market gave him a severe beating. This beating did the boy no good; it was vengeance not punishment. Piedro saw that his father was in a passion, and knew that he was beaten because he was found out to be a rogue, rather than for being one. He recollected perfectly that his father once said to him: “Let everyone take care of his own grapes.”
Indeed it was scarcely reasonable to expect that a boy who had been educated to think that he might cheat every customer he could in the way of trade, should be afterwards scrupulously honest in his conduct towards the father whose proverbs encouraged his childhood in cunning.
Piedro writhed with bodily pain as he left the market after his drubbing, but his mind was not in the least amended. On the contrary, he was hardened to the sense of shame by the loss of reputation. All the little merchants were spectators of this scene, and heard his father’s words: “You ARE a rogue, and the worst of rogues, who scruples not to cheat his own father.”
These words were long remembered, and long did Piedro feel their effects. He once flattered himself that, when his trade of selling fish failed him, he could readily engage in some other; but he now found, to his mortification, that what Francisco’s father said proved true: “In all trades the best fortune to set up with is a good character.”
Not one of the little Neapolitan merchants would either enter into partnership with him, give him credit, or even trade with him for ready money. “If you would cheat your own father, to be sure you will cheat us,” was continually said to him by these prudent little people.
Piedro was taunted and treated with contempt at home and abroad. His father, when he found that his son’s smartness was no longer useful in making bargains, shoved him out of his way whenever he met him. All the food or clothes that he had at home seemed to be given to him grudgingly, and with such expressions as these: “Take that; but it is too good for you. You must eat this, now, instead of gourds and figs — and be thankful you have even this.”
Piedro spent a whole winter very unhappily. He expected that all his old tricks, and especially what his father had said of him in the market- place, would be soon forgotten; but month passed after month, and still these things were fresh in the memory of all who had known them.
It is not easy to get rid of a bad character. A very great rogue * was once heard to say, that he would, with all his heart, give ten thousand pounds for a good character, because he knew that he could make twenty thousand by it.
* Chartres.
Something like this was the sentiment of our cunning hero when he experienced the evils of a bad reputation, and when he saw the numerous advantages which Francisco’s good character procured. Such had been Piedro’s wretched education, that even the hard lessons of experience could not alter its pernicious effects. He was sorry his knavery had been detected, but he still thought it clever to cheat, and was secretly persuaded that, if he had cheated successfully, he should have been happy. “But I know I am not happy now,” said he to himself one morning, as he sat alone disconsolate by the sea-shore, dressed in tattered garments, weak and hungry, with an empty basket beside him. His fishing- rod, which he held between his knees, bent over the dry sands instead of into the water, for he was not thinking of what he was about; his arms were folded, his head hung down, and his ragged hat was slouched over his face. He was a melancholy spectacle.
Francisco, as he was coming from his father’s vineyard with a large dish of purple and white grapes upon his head, and a basket of melons and figs hanging upon his arm, chanced to see Piedro seated in this melancholy posture. Touched with compassion, Francisco approached him softly; his footsteps were not heard upon the sands, and Piedro did not perceive that anyone was near him till he felt something cold touch his hand; he then started, and, looking up,
saw a bunch of grapes, which Francisco was holding over his head.
“Eat them: you’ll find them very good, I hope,” said Francisco, with a benevolent smile.
“They are excellent — most excellent, and I am much obliged to you, Francisco,” said Piedro. “I was very hungry, and that’s what I am now, without anybody’s caring anything about it. I am not the favourite I was with my father, but I know it is all my own fault.”
“Well, but cheer up,” said Francisco; “my father always says, ‘One who knows he has been in fault, and acknowledges it, will scarcely be in fault again.’ Yes, take as many figs as you will,” continued he; and held his basket closer to Piedro, who, as he saw, cast a hungry eye upon one of the ripe figs.
“But,” said Piedro, after he had taken several, “shall not I get you into a scrape by taking so many? Won’t your father be apt to miss them?”
“Do you think I would give them to you if they were not my own?” said
Francisco, with a sudden glance of indignation.
“Well, don’t be angry that I asked the question; it was only from fear of getting you into disgrace that I asked it.”
“It would not be easy for anybody to do that, I hope,” said Francisco, rather proudly.
“And to me less than anybody,” replied Piedro, in an insinuating tone, “I, that am so much obliged to you!”
“A bunch of grapes, and a few figs, are no mighty obligation,” said Francisco, smiling; “I wish I could do more for you. You seem, indeed, to have been very unhappy of late. We never see you in the markets as we used to do.”
“No; ever since my father beat me, and called me rogue before all the children there, I have never been able to show my face without being gibed at by one or t’other. If you would but take me along with you amongst them, and only just SEEM my friend, for a day or two, or so, it would quite set me up again; for they all like you.”
“I would rather BE than seem your friend, if I could,” said Francisco.
“Ay, to be sure; that would be still better,” said Piedro, observing that Francisco, as he uttered his last sentence, was separating the grapes and other fruits into two equal divisions. “To be sure I would rather you would BE than SEEM a friend to me; but I thought that was too much to ask at first, though I have a notion, notwithstanding I have been so UNLUCKY lately — I have a notion you would have no reason to repent of it. You would find me no bad hand, if you were to try, and take me into partnership.”
“Partnership!” interrupted Francisco, drawing back alarmed; “I had no thoughts of that.”
“But won’t you? can’t you?” said Piedro, in a supplicating tone; “CAN’T you have thoughts of it? You’d find me a very active partner.”
Franscisco still drew back, and kept his eyes fixed upon the ground. He was embarrassed; for he pitied Piedro, and he scarcely knew how to point out to him that something more is necessary in a partner in trade besides activity, and that is honesty.
“Can’t you?” repeated Piedro, thinking that he hesitated from merely mercenary motives. “You shall have what share of the profits you please.”
“I was not thinking of the profits,” said Francisco; “but without meaning to be ill-natured to you, Piedro, I must say that I cannot enter into any partnership with you at present; but I will do what, perhaps, you will like as well,” said he, taking half the fruit out of his basket; “you are heartily welcome to this; try and sell it in the children’s fruit market. I’ll go on before you, and speak to those I am acquainted with, and tell them you are going to set up a new character, and that you hope to make it a good one.”
“Hey, shall I! Thank you for ever, dear Francisco,” cried Piedro, seizing his plentiful gift of fruit. “Say what you please for me.”
“But don’t make me say anything that is not true,” said Francisco, pausing.
“No, to be sure not,” said Piedro; “I DO mean to give no room for scandal. If I could get them to trust me as they do you, I should be happy indeed.”
“That is what you may do, if you please,” said Francisco. “Adieu, I wish you well with all my heart; but I must leave you now, or I shall be too late for the market.”
CHAPTER II.
Chi va piano va sano, e anche lontano.
Fair and softly goes far in a day.
Piedro had now an opportunity of establishing a good character. When he went into the market with his grapes and figs, he found that he was not shunned or taunted as usual. All seemed disposed to believe in his intended reformation, and to give him a fair trial.
These favourable dispositions towards him were the consequence of Francisco’s benevolent representations. He told them that he thought Piedro had suffered enough to cure him of his tricks, and that it would be cruelty in them, because he might once have been in fault, to banish him by their reproaches from amongst them, and thus to prevent him from the means of gaining his livelihood honestly.
Piedro made a good beginning, and gave what several of the younger customers thought excellent bargains. His grapes and figs were quickly sold, and with the money that he got for them he the next day purchased from a fruit dealer a fresh supply; and thus he went on for some time, conducting himself with scrupulous honesty, so that he acquired some credit among his companions. They no longer watched him with suspicious eyes. They trusted to his measures and weights, and they counted less carefully the change which they received from him.
The satisfaction he felt from this alteration in their manners was at first delightful to Piedro; but in proportion to his credit, his opportunities of defrauding increased; and these became temptations which he had not the firmness to resist. His old manner of thinking recurred.
“I make but a few shillings a day, and this is but slow work,” said he to himself. “What signifies my good character, if I make so little by it?”
Light gains, and frequent, make a heavy purse, * was one of Francisco’s proverbs. But Piedro was in too great haste to get rich to take time into his account. He set his invention to work, and he did not want for ingenuity, to devise means of cheating without running the risk of detection. He observed that the younger part of the community were extremely fond of certain coloured sugar plums, and of burnt almonds.
* Poco e spesso empie il l’orsetto.
With the money he had earned by two months’ trading in fruit he laid in a large stock of what appeared to these little merchants a stock of almonds and sugar-plums, and he painted in capital gold coloured letters upon his board, “Sweetest, largest, most admirable sugar-plums of all colours ever sold in Naples, to be had here; and in gratitude to his numerous customers, Piedro adds to these, ‘Burnt almonds gratis.’”.
This advertisement attracted the attention of all who could read; and many who could not read heard it repeated with delight. Crowds of children surrounded Piedro’s board of promise, and they all went away the first day amply satisfied. Each had a full measure of coloured sugar- plums at the usual price, and along with these a burnt almond gratis. The burnt almond had such an effect upon the public judgment, that it was universally allowed that the sugar-plums were, as the advertisement set forth, the largest, sweetest, most admirable ever sold in Naples; though all the time they were, in no respect, better than any other sugar-plums.
It was generally reported that Piedro gave full measure — fuller than any other board in the city. He measured the sugar-plums in a little cubical tin box; and this, it was affirmed, he heaped up to the top, and pressed down before he poured out the contents into the open hands of his approving customers. This belief, and Piedro’s popularity, continued longer even than he had expected; and, as he thought his sugar-plums had secured their reputation with the GENEROUS PUBLIC, he gradually neglected to add burnt almonds gratis.
One day a boy of about ten years old passed carelessly by, whistling as he went along, and swinging a carpenter’s rule in his hand. “Ha! what have we here?” cried he, stopping to read what was written on Piedro’s board. “This promi
ses rarely. Old as I am, and tall of my age, which makes the matter worse, I am still as fond of sugar-plums as my little sister, who is five years younger than I. Come, Signor, fill me quick, for I’m in haste to taste them, two measures of the sweetest, largest, most admirable sugar-plums in Naples — one measure for myself and one for my little Rosetta.”
“You’ll pay for yourself and your sister, then,” said Piedro, “for no credit is given here.”
“No credit do I ask,” replied the lively boy; “when I told you I loved sugar-plums, did I tell you I loved them, or even my sister, so well as to run in debt for them? Here’s for myself, and here’s for my sister’s share,” said he, laying down his money; “and now for the burnt almonds gratis, my good fellow.”
“They are all out; I have been out of burnt almonds this great while,” said Piedro.
“Then why are they in your advertisement here?” said Carlo.
“I have not had time to scratch them out of the board.”
“What! not when you have, by your own account, been out of them a great while? I did not know it required so much time to blot out a few words — let us try.”; and as he spoke, Carlo, for that was the name of Piedro’s new customer, pulled a bit of white chalk out of his pocket, and drew a broad score across the line on the board which promised burnt almonds gratis.
“You are most impatient,” said Piedro; “I shall have a fresh stock of almonds to-morrow.”
“Why must the board tell a lie to-day?”
“It would ruin me to alter it,” said Piedro.
“A lie may ruin you, but I could scarcely think the truth could.”
“You have no right to meddle with me or my board,” said Piedro, put off his guard, and out of his usual soft voice of civility, by this last observation. “My character, and that of my board, are too firmly established now for any chance customer like you to injure.”
“I never dreamed of injuring you or anyone else,” said Carlo—”I wish, moreover, you may not injure yourself. Do as you please with your board, but give me my sugar-plums, for I have some right to meddle with those, having paid for them.”
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