Madame Giovanni
First published in 1855, Alexandre Dumas’ The Journal of Madame Giovanni is something of an enigma. The famous and prolific novelist claimed it to be the true story of a Parisian lass who accompanied her Italian merchant husband on a ten-year journey round the world. She kept no journal of her travels, but instead told her tale to Dumas, who was her amanuensis. The true identity of Madame Giovanni remains a mystery and some doubt that she ever existed, instead crediting Dumas with fabricating the entire work. The narrative, however, is rich in detail and is most likely based on real travels.
I was beginning, as I have already said, to be bored with Hobart Town and to desire a change. So at the end of two months Mr Giovanni told me that, in view of my entreaties, we would leave for Launceston and from there for Port Phillips. I confess that this news was extremely agreeable to me and the day for departure, left to my choice, was set for the following one. I was already beginning to have that zest for travel which has since made me, if not the most agreeable, at least the most adaptable travelling companion in the world…
Port Phillip is situated on the far side of Banks Strait1 directly opposite Launceston in Australia. Large steamers, however, remain at Port Williams2. Some strange caprice accounts for the development of Port Phillip where only small boats can land. To reach it, the banks of a river are followed—forgive my ignorance which, notwithstanding, I hope may prove one of the charms of the book—for I do not recall the name of this river. But what I do know is that these banks are merely a long series of slaughterhouses where sheep are killed; tanneries where their hides are prepared; and factories where their fat is prepared for the market. Here and there appear white mountains twenty-five, thirty, and forty feet high; these are the bones. These slaughterhouses, tanneries, fat, or rather tallow factories, these bones forming pyramids along the banks, give forth a pestilential odour that made me regard Port Phillip with horror even before arriving.
The commercial activity of England in fine wools, sheepskins and Australian tallow is well known. I have never seen herds like those that clip, as Virgil says, the hills and plains of Port Phillip. These immense solitary plains seem like vast seas where each sheep forms a wave. The various herds are in charge of free emigrants—Scotch, English and Irish. At the time of our visit the port was only a mass of houses, but this mass was increasing daily. Out of it a city appeared to be rising. Wealth, abundance, future luxury, all could be sensed in the affluence that was apparent on every hand.
But since this was only mildly interesting to us, we might have remained only twenty-four hours at Port Phillip had we not been detained by curiosity aroused by a certain event that had just occurred. A few days before our arrival one of the keepers of these vast herds just indicated had appeared at the shop of Mr B——, one of the leading goldsmiths of the city. The merchant knew at a glance that the man who had just entered his shop did not have the aspect of a purchaser. ‘What do you wish?’ he asked.
The Irishman (it was an Irishman) drew from his pocket a shabby, ragged handkerchief, unrolled the handkerchief, and from its folds extracted a brilliant object the size of a loaf of bread.
‘Look, Mr Jeweller,’ he said, ‘I want to know what this is.’
B—— looked at the nugget encrusted with stones, turning it over and over.
‘Where did you find this?’ he asked.
‘Down below, while watching my sheep. I saw something sparkling in the sun and I said to myself: “The first time I go to the city, I must show this to some jeweller.” I came to the city, your address was given me, and here I am. Has this any value whatsoever?’
The jeweller touched the nugget. It was pure gold.
‘Well?’ asked the shepherd.
‘This has some value, indeed,’ replied the jeweller, ‘but not so great as you think.’
‘But at least it is worth something?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is it worth?’
‘How much do you expect?’
‘How do you expect me to know? It is for you to say what you can conscientiously pay me for it.’
‘Well,’ said the jeweller, ‘here are four pounds sterling.’
‘But you should certainly add some money to buy shoes, hose, and one or two old shirts.’
‘No, provided I give you what is actually the value of your nugget. But wait. After all I will give you what you ask.’
And calling his wife he told her to prepare a package from his own wearing apparel of the things the shepherd required and to give it to him. Then, while his wife was wrapping shoes, stockings, and shirts in a napkin, he inquired: ‘Are there many stones of this type in the place where the sheep graze?’
‘I do not know,’ replied the shepherd. ‘I stumbled on this, picked it up, and brought it in to you. That is all.’
‘Well, if you find more, bring them in, too.’
‘I am certain to find them.’
‘And you will bring them to me?’
‘Certainly, I will give you first choice.’
Mrs B—— entered with the package. The Irishman thanked the jeweller and left, convinced that he had been duped. He was not mistaken; the nugget contained four pounds of pure gold, exclusive of the stones, and being virgin gold it was of the highest quality.
By the evening of the day the incident occurred, all Port Phillip knew the story. Almost immediately the demon of speculation spread its wings over the city. The shepherd was found and sequestered; a joint stock company was organised to exploit the gold at Port Phillip. Finally, the directors of the society sought an interview with the Irishman. An effort was made to persuade the shepherd to lead the speculators to the place where the gold nugget had been found. At first the shepherd shook his head and stubbornly refused. But after a series of promises and threats his resistance was overcome. ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘I will take you there.’
Until time to depart the shepherd was placed in a room, well fed and well cared for, but out of sight. An expedition was organised with shovels, pickaxes, carts, horses, mills for sifting the dirt, etc. Finally the expedition led by the shepherd departed. The party consisted of all the shareholders who wished to assist personally in the first work and of almost the entire village population, who, more or less inadequately equipped for the trip, attached themselves to the procession. Some even left without provisions, relying on what they could find. This indeed was a universal fever, under a sun that roasted all. We watched the caravan pass. It consisted of two thousand persons.
‘As a matter of fact,’ said my husband, ‘I am tempted to follow them and see, not the mine they will find, but what they will do if the shepherd is a liar.’
‘Do go,’ I replied.
And my husband departed. As the trip held no interest for a woman, I let him depart alone. At the end of only four days I received news of the party from the advance guard of disappointed men. For two days the shepherd had led the caravan under a sun of thirty-five degrees; then, having reached a mountain wholly composed of rock, he had stamped on the ground, hands in his pockets, whistling, and saying: ‘Here is where I found it.’
Soon everyone began to dig, spade and pick, uttering a cry of joy at each hope, a sigh of grief at each disappointment. The following day a search was made for the shepherd to ask him again whether this was the place the nugget that caused all this disturbance had been found. But the shepherd had disappeared. The shepherd had been carried off by a speculator.
A capitalist had said to him: ‘You are unwise to content yourself with one-tenth of the dividends of the company. Come with me to Sydney; we will purchase whatever is needed for our work, hire two or three men to whom we shall pay good wages; we can return by way of the interior; from Sydney to Port Phillip by land is six hundred miles. No one will recognise us; we shall both work as miners and divide everything in half. In that way you will not be disturbed.’
The proposal was accepted. Thus the disappearance of the shepherd was accounted for. No one knew anything about this arrangement. I alone was taken into the secret, the speculator being a friend of my husband. Let us briefly complete the history of the shepherd. The speculator hid him in the bottom of the hold of the Shamrock and paid the captain eight guineas to waive the usual formalities for receiving passengers on board.
Having reached Sydney, the speculator fulfilled his promise, feeding, looking after, and humouring his Hen with the Golden Eggs. There the necessary tools were purchased, including a wagon, a cart, all working implements, guns, to the amount of fifteen hundred pounds sterling. Four men were hired and promised, in addition to two crowns daily, an equal amount in dividends. The itinerary that was to be followed in the interior of the country was traced and the day of the departure arranged. But when the time came to leave, the shepherd could not be found. The speculator called him, searched for him, sent others to search for him, but in vain; he was never seen again. His disappearance remains a mystery to this day.
But interest had been aroused; engineers were sent out to conduct experiments at points comparatively remote from one another and ultimately, after three or four years, gold mines were discovered. Today they are being actively exploited. I might say, in passing, that the speculator who brought the shepherd to Sydney, half laughing at the adventure and half serious at the thought of the results, happened to be my husband.
1. Bass Strait.
2. Williamstown.