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daggers drawn again, he felt safer in my hands
than in theirs. Luckily there was no cause for
alarm, in fact I thought he looked livelier after
his stroke than before. I tried to cheer him
up as well as I could, said there was nothing
to worry about and that I had always believed
he had already had several slight strokes before.
He was soon on his legs again, more active than
ever, he was still flourishing when I left Rome.
Soon afterwards I made the acquaintance of
his deadly enemy Doctor Campbell, whom he
had called an old ruffian. Judging from my
first impression he seemed to have hit upon the
right diagnosis this time. A more savage-looking
old gentleman I never saw, wild blood-shot eyes
and cruel lips, the flushed face of a drunkard,
all covered with hair like a monkey, and a long,
unkempt beard. He was said to be over eighty,
the retired old English chemist told me he
looked exactly the same thirty years ago when
he first arrived in Rome. Nobody knew from
where he came, it was rumoured he had been
a surgeon in the Southern army in the American
war. Surgery was his speciality, he was in fact
the only surgeon among the foreign doctors,
he was on speaking terms with none of them.
One day I found him standing by my carriage
patting Tappio.
“I envy you that dog,” he said abruptly in a
rough voice. “Do you like monkeys?”
I said I loved monkeys.
He said I was his man, he begged me to come
and have a look at his monkey who had been
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