"We left the city that afternoon and climbed the gorges towards Novi,
intending our steps upon Turin. The _mufro_ trotted behind us, and
mile after mile at the brute's behest--its stern behest, Cavalier--
Mr. Badcock fluted its favourite air, _I attempt from love's sickness
to fly_. But at the last shop before passing the gate I had provided
myself with a gun; and at nightfall, on a ledge above the torrent
roaring at our feet, I did the deed. . . . Yes, Cavalier, you behold
a sportsman who has slain a wild sheep of Corsica. Such men are
rare.
"The echoes of the report attracted a company of pedestrians coming
down the pass. They proved to be a party of comedians moving on
Genoa from Turin, whence the Church had expelled them (as I gathered)
upon an unjust suspicion of offending against public morals.
At sight of Badcock, their leader, with little ado, offered him a
place in the troupe. His ignorance of Italian was no bar; for
pantomime, in which he was to play the role of pantaloon, is enacted
(as you are aware) in dumb-show. Nay, on the strength only of our
nationality they enlisted us both; for Englishmen, they told me, are
famous over the continent of Europe for other things and for making
the best clowns.
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