was cruel, but he was merciless, and spared no exaggeration of her
voice, her dramatic manner, and a way she had of sprawling over the
piano, producing an ensemble which made it impossible to hear her
again in the same songs without a disposition to laugh.

An incident occurred at this time which made Miss Cushman's position
in regard to the quarrel with the consulate still more difficult. It
was not long after the advent of the famous horse-tamer John S. Rarey,
of whom she had been a pupil in America when he first came out. A
person professing to be Rarey was touring Europe and teaching his
manner of breaking horses, beginning at Copenhagen and following the
seashore to Naples, whence he came to Rome and was received with great
enthusiasm by Miss Cushman, for at that time, and while the war was
in its critical stage, American lions were very rare in Rome. The
horse-tamer was, on her authority, made the guest of the American
community, breakfasted, dined, and feted, and a large subscription
was made for a class in horse-breaking. At this juncture I heard of
a performance of the _soi-disant_ Rarey at Naples, in which he had
nearly killed a beautiful young mare, and, knowing that the system of
Rarey did not include cruelty, I began to doubt the identity of the
tamer. I called for the passport with which he had come, and which
was, as usual, deposited at the police office, and discovered that it
was issued by a "vice-consul _pro tempore_" at Dresden, an officer not
recognized by our regulations, bad and loose as they were, and a
man whose name, moreover, was not on the consular list, though the
passport was on a regular form. I at once wrote to the police,
requesting them to cause the said John S. Rarey to prove his identity.

The summons to the police office brought him to the consulate the next
morning before I was out of bed (the office and my bedroom constituted
the headquarters of the government of the United States of America
at Rome), with a petition to me to request the police to delay the
examination until the next day, as he had two friends who would
identify him, but who were that day (it was Sunday) at Tivoli for the
day. As an escape was impossible, and he was in a nervous trepidation
which, it was clear to see, was awful funk, I wrote the note desired;
and, before the day was out, he had gone to my English colleague, the
amiable Severn, and confessed that he was an impostor, a Canadian, and
asked for English