Chapter IX: Part 9

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door; the others
swaggered into the house; stood their fusils in a corner of the
room; and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid
it, with some emphasis, on the table. They now called lustily for
wine; drew benches round the table, and hailing the doctor as
though he had been a boon companion of long standing, insisted
upon his sitting down and making merry. He complied with forced
grimace, but with fear and trembling; sitting on the edge of his
bench; supping down heartburn with every drop of liquor; eyeing
ruefully the black muzzled pistols, and cold, naked stilettos.
They pushed the bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously; sang,
laughed, told excellent stories of robberies and combats, and the
little doctor was fain to laugh at these cut-throat pleasantries,
though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his bosom.

By their own account they were young men from the villages, who
had Recently taken up this line of life in the mere wild caprice
of youth. They talked of their exploits as a sportsman talks of
his amusements. To shoot down a traveller seemed of little more
consequence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture
of the glorious roving life they led; free as birds; here to-day,
gone to-morrow; ranging the forests, climbing the rocks, scouring
the valleys; the world their own wherever they could lay hold of
it; full purses, merry companions; pretty women.—The little
antiquary got fuddled with their talk and their wine, for they
did not spare bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal ring,
and his family watch; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities
which was warming under him, for a time faded from his memory, in
the glowing picture which they drew. He declares that he no
longer wonders at the prevalence of this robber mania among the
mountains; for he felt at the time, that had he been a young man
and a strong man, and had there been no danger of the galleys in
the background, he should have been half tempted himself to turn
bandit.

At length the fearful hour of separating arrived. The doctor was
suddenly called to himself and his fears, by seeing the robbers
resume their weapons. He now quaked for his valuables, and above
all for his antiquarian treatise. He endeavored, however, to look
cool and unconcerned; and drew from out of his deep pocket a
long, lank, leathern purse, far gone in consumption, at the
bottom of which a few coin chinked with the trembling of his
hand.

The chief of the party observed this movement; and laying his
hand upon the antiquary’s shoulder—“Harkee! Signor Dottore!” said
he, “we have drank together as friends and comrades, let us part
as such. We understand you; we know who and what you are; for we
know who every body is that sleeps at Terracina, or that puts
foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you carry all your
wealth in your head. We can’t get at it, and we should not know
what to do with it, if we could. I see you are uneasy about your
ring; but don’t worry your mind; it is not worth taking; you
think it an antique, but it’s a counterfeit—a mere sham.”

Here the doctor would have put in a word, for his antiquarian
pride was touched.

“Nay, nay,” continued the other, “we’ve no time to dispute about
it. Value it as you please. Come, you are a brave little old
signor—one more cup of wine and we’ll pay the reckoning. No
compliments—I insist on it. So—now make the best of your way back
to Terracina; it’s growing late—buono viaggio!—and harkee, take
care how you wander among these mountains.”

They shouldered their fusils, sprang gaily up the rocks, and the
little doctor hobbled back to Terracina, rejoicing that the
robbers had let his seal ring, his watch, and his treatise escape
unmolested, though rather nettled that they should have
pronounced his veritable intaglio a counterfeit.

The improvvisatore had shown many symptoms of impatience during
this recital. He saw his theme in danger of being taken out of
his hands by a rival story-teller, which to an able talker is
always a serious grievance; it was also in danger of being taken
away by a Neapolitan, and that was still more vexatious; as the
members of the different Italian states have an incessant
jealousy of each other in all things, great and small. He took
advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold
again of the thread of the conversation.

“As I was saying,” resumed he, “the prevalence of these banditti
is so extensive; their power so combined and interwoven with
other ranks of society—”

“For that matter,” said the Neapolitan, “I have heard that your
government has had some understanding with these gentry, or at
least winked at them.”

“My government?” said the Roman, impatiently.

“Aye—they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi—”

“Hush!” said the Roman, holding up his finger, and rolling his
large eyes about the room.

“Nay-I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored in Rome,”
replied the other, sturdily. “It was whispered that the Cardinal
had been up to the mountain, and had an interview with some of
the chiefs. And I have been told that when honest people have
been kicking their heels in the Cardinal’s anti-chamber, waiting
by the hour for admittance, one of these stiletto-looking fellows
has elbowed his way through the crowd, and entered without
ceremony into the Cardinal’s presence.

“I know,” replied the Roman, “that there have been such reports;
and it is not impossible that government may have made use of
these men at particular periods, such as at the time of your
abortive revolution, when your carbonari were so busy with their
machinations all over the country. The information that men like
these could collect, who were familiar, not merely with all the
recesses and secret places of the mountains, but also with all
the dark and dangerous recesses of society, and knew all that was
plotting in the world of mischief; the utility of such
instruments in the hands of government was too obvious to be
overlooked, and Cardinal Gonsalvi as a politic statesman, may,
perhaps, have made use of them; for it is well known the robbers,
with all their atrocities, are respectful towards the church, and
devout in their religion.”

“Religion!—religion?” echoed the Englishman.

“Yes—religion!” repeated the improvvisatore. “Scarce one of them
but will cross himself and say his prayers when he hears in his
mountain fastness the matin or the _ave maria_ bells sounding
from the valleys. They will often confess themselves to the
village priests, to obtain absolution; and occasionally visit the
village churches to pray at some favorite shrine. I recollect an
instance in point: I was one evening in the village of Frescati,
which lies below the mountains of Abruzzi. The people, as usual
in fine evenings in our Italian towns and villages, were standing
about in groups in the public square, conversing and amusing
themselves. I observed a tall, muscular fellow, wrapped in a
great mantle, passing across the square, but skulking along in
the dark, as if avoiding notice. The people, too, seemed to draw
back as he passed. It was whispered to me that he was a notorious
bandit.”

“But why was he not immediately seized?” said the Englishman.

“Because it was nobody’s business; because nobody wished to incur
the vengeance of his comrades; because there were not sufficient
_gens d’armes_ near to insure security against the numbers of
desperadoes he might have at hand; because the _gens d’armes_
might not have received particular instructions with respect to
him, and might not feel disposed to engage in the hazardous
conflict without compulsion. In short, I might give you a
thousand reasons, rising out of the state of our government and
manners, not one of which after all might appear satisfactory.”

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an air of contempt.

“I have been told,” added the Roman, rather quickly, “that even
in your metropolis of London, notorious thieves, well known to
the police as such, walk the streets at noon-day, in search of
their prey, and are not molested unless caught in the very act of
robbery.”

The Englishman gave another shrug, but with a different
expression.

“Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf thus prowling
through the fold, and saw him enter a church. I was curious to
witness his devotions. You know our spacious, magnificent
churches. The one in which he entered was vast and shrouded in
the dusk of evening. At the extremity of the long aisles a couple
of tapers feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the side
chapels was a votive candle placed before the image of a saint.
Before this image the robber had prostrated himself. His mantle
partly falling off from his shoulders as he knelt, revealed a
form of Herculean strength; a stiletto and pistol glittered in
his belt, and the light falling on his countenance showed
features not unhandsome, but strongly and fiercely charactered.
As he prayed he became vehemently agitated; his lips quivered;
sighs and murmurs, almost groans burst from him; he beat his
breast with violence, then clasped his hands and wrung them
convulsively as he extended them towards the image. Never had I
seen such a terrific picture of remorse. I felt fearful of being
discovered by him, and withdrew. Shortly after I saw him issue
from the church wrapped in his mantle; he recrossed the square,
and no doubt returned to his mountain with disburthened
conscience, ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime.”

The conversation was here taken up by two other travellers,
recently arrived, Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a linen-draper and a
green-grocer, just returning from a tour in Greece and the Holy
Land: and who were full of the story of Alderman Popkins. They
were astonished that the robbers should dare to molest a man of
his importance on ’change; he being an eminent dry-salter of
Throgmorton street, and a magistrate to boot.

In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too true; it was
attested by too many present to be for a moment doubted; and from
the contradictory and concordant testimony of half a score, all
eager to relate it, the company were enabled to make out all the
particulars.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY

It was but a few days before that the carriage of Alderman
Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina. Those who have
seen an English family carriage on the continent, must know the
sensation it produces. It is an epitome of England; a little
morsel of the old island rolling about the world—every thing so
compact, so snug, so finished and fitting. The wheels that roll
on patent axles without rattling; the body that hangs so well on
its springs, yielding to every motion, yet proof against every
shock. The ruddy faces gaping out of the windows; sometimes of a
portly old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager, and
sometimes of a fine fresh hoyden, just from boarding school. And
then the dickeys loaded with well-dressed servants, beef-fed and
bluff; looking down from their heights with contempt on all the
world around; profoundly ignorant of the country and the people,
and devoutly certain that every thing not English must be wrong.

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins, as it made its
appearance at Terracina. The courier who had preceded it, to
order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had given a magnificent
account of the riches and greatness of his master, blundering
with all an Italian’s splendor of imagination about the
alderman’s titles and dignities; the host had added his usual
share of exaggeration, so that by the time the alderman drove up
to the door, he was Milor—Magnifico—Principe—the Lord knows what!

The alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi and Itri, but
he refused. It was as much as a man’s life was worth, he said, to
stop him on the king’s highway; he would complain of it to the
ambassador at Naples; he would make a national affair of it. The
principezza Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly
secure in the protection of her husband, so omnipotent a man in
the city. The signorini Popkins, two fine bouncing girls, looked
to their brother Tom, who had taken lessons in boxing; and as to
the dandy himself, he was sure no scaramouch of an Italian robber
would dare to meddle with an Englishman. The landlord shrugged
his shoulders and turned out the palms of his hands with a true
Italian grimace, and the carriage of Milor Popkins rolled on.

They passed through several very suspicious places without any
molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were very romantic, and had
learnt to draw in water colors, were enchanted with the savage
scenery around; it was so like what they had read in Mrs.
Radcliffe’s romances, they should like of all things to make
sketches. At length, the carriage arrived at a place where the
road wound up a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk into a sleep;
the young ladies were reading the last works of Sir Walter Scott
and Lord Byron, and the dandy was hectoring the postilions from
the coach box. The Alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his
legs up the hill. It was a long winding ascent, and obliged him
every now and then to stop and blow and wipe his forehead with
many a pish! and phew! being rather pursy and short of wind. As
the carriage, however, was far behind him, and toiling slowly
under the weight of so many well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed
travellers, he had plenty of time to walk at leisure.

On a jutting point of rock that overhung the road nearly at the
summit of the hill, just where the route began again to descend,
he saw a solitary man seated, who appeared to be tending goats.
Alderman Popkins was one of your shrewd travellers that always
like to be picking up small information along the road, so he
thought he’d just scramble up to the honest man, and have a
little talk with him by way of learning the news and getting a
lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the peasant he did not half
like his looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks wrapped in
the usual long mantle, which, with his slouched hat, only left a
part of a swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow,
and a fierce moustache to be seen. He had whistled several times
to his dog which was roving about the side of the hill. As the
Alderman approached he rose and greeted him. When standing erect
he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman
Popkins; who, however, being a short man, might be deceived.

The latter would gladly now have been back in the carriage, or
even on ’change in London, for he was by no means well pleased
with his company. However, he determined to put the best face on
matters, and was beginning a conversation about the state of the
weather, the baddishness of the crops, and the price of goats in
that part of the country, when he heard a violent screaming. He
ran to the edge of the rock, and, looking over, saw away down the
road his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held down the fat
footman, another had the dandy by his starched cravat, with a
pistol to his head; one was rummaging a portmanteau, another
rummaging the principezza’s pockets, while the two Misses Popkins
were screaming from each window of the carriage, and their
waiting maid squalling from the dickey.

Alderman Popkins felt all the fury of the parent and the
magistrate Roused within him. He grasped his cane and was on the
point of scrambling down the rocks, either to assault the robbers
or to read the riot act, when he was suddenly grasped by the arm.
It was by his friend the goatherd, whose cloak, falling partly
off, discovered a belt stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In
short, he found himself in the clutches of the captain of the
band, who had stationed himself on the rock to look out for
travellers and to give notice to his men.

A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned inside out, and
all the finery and the frippery of the Popkins family scattered
about the road. Such a chaos of Venice beads and Roman mosaics;
and Paris bonnets of the young ladies, mingled with the
alderman’s night-caps and lamb’s wool stockings, and the dandy’s
hair-brushes, stays, and starched cravats.

The gentlemen were eased of their purses and their watches; the
ladies of their jewels, and the whole party were on the point of
being carried up into the mountain, when fortunately the
appearance of soldiery at a distance obliged the robbers to make
off with the spoils they had secured, and leave the Popkins
family to gather together the remnants of their effects, and make
the best of their way to Fondi.

When safe arrived, the alderman made a terrible blustering at the
inn; threatened to complain to the ambassador at Naples, and was
ready to shake his cane at the whole country. The dandy had many
stories to tell of his scuffles with the brigands, who
overpowered him merely by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins, they
were quite delighted with the adventure, and were occupied the
whole evening in writing it in their journals. They declared the
captain of the band to be a most romantic-looking man; they dared
to say some unfortunate lover, or exiled nobleman: and several of
the band to be very handsome young men—“quite picturesque!”

“In verity,” said mine host of Terracina, “they say the captain
of the band is _un galant uomo_.”

“A gallant man!” said the Englishman. “I’d have your gallant man
hang’d like a dog!”

“To dare to meddle with Englishmen!” said Mr. Hobbs.

“And such a family as the Popkinses!” said Mr. Dobbs.

“They ought to come upon the country for damages!” said Mr.
Hobbs.

“Our ambassador should make a complaint to the government of
Naples,” said Mr. Dobbs.

“They should be requested to drive these rascals out of the
country,” said Hobbs.

“If they did not, we should declare war against them!” said
Dobbs.

The Englishman was a little wearied by this story, and by the
ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was glad when a summons to
their supper relieved him from a crowd of travellers. He walked
out with his Venetian friends and a young Frenchman of an
interesting demeanor, who had become sociable with them in the
course of the conversation. They directed their steps toward the
sea, which was lit up by the rising moon. The Venetian, out of
politeness, left his beautiful wife to be escorted by the
Englishman. The latter, however, either from shyness or reserve,
did not avail himself of the civility, but walked on without
offering his arm. The fair Venetian, with all her devotion to her
husband, was a little nettled at a want of gallantry to which her
charms had rendered her unaccustomed, and took the proffered arm
of the Frenchman with a pretty air of pique, which, however, was
entirely lost upon the phlegmatic delinquent.

Not far distant from the inn they came to where there was a body
of soldiers on the beach, encircling and guarding a number of
galley slaves, who were permitted to refresh themselves in the
evening breeze, and to sport and roll upon the sand.

“It was difficult,” the Frenchman observed, “to conceive a more
frightful mass of crime than was here collected. The parricide,
the fratricide, the infanticide, who had first fled from justice
and turned mountain bandit, and then, by betraying his brother
desperadoes, had bought a commutation of punishment, and the
privilege of wallowing on the shore for an hour a day, with this
wretched crew of miscreants!”

The remark of the Frenchman had a strong effect upon the company,
particularly upon the Venetian lady, who shuddered as she cast a
timid look at this horde of wretches at their evening relaxation.
“They seemed,” she said, “like so many serpents, wreathing and
twisting together.”

The Frenchman now adverted to the stories they had been listening
to at the inn, adding, that if they had any further curiosity on
the subject, he could recount an adventure which happened to
himself among the robbers and which might give them some idea of
the habits and manners of those beings. There was an air of
modesty and frankness about the Frenchman which had gained the
good-will of the whole party, not even excepting the Englishman.
They all gladly accepted his proposition; and as they strolled
slowly up and down the seashore, he related the following
adventure.

THE PAINTER’S ADVENTURE

I am an historical painter by profession, and resided for some
time in the family of a foreign prince, at his villa, about
fifteen miles from Rome, among some of the most interesting
scenery of Italy. It is situated on the heights of ancient
Tusculum. In its neighborhood are the ruins of the villas of
Cicero, Sulla, Lucullus, Rufinus, and other illustrious Romans,
who sought refuge here occasionally, from their toils, in the
bosom of a soft and luxurious repose. From the midst of
delightful bowers, refreshed by the pure mountain breeze, the eye
looks over a romantic landscape full of poetical and historical
associations. The Albanian mountains, Tivoli, once the favorite
residence of Horace and Maecenas; the vast deserted Campagna with
the Tiber running through it, and St. Peter’s dome swelling in
the midst, the monument—as it were, over the grave of ancient
Rome.

I assisted the prince in the researches he was making among the
classic ruins of his vicinity. His exertions were highly
successful. Many wrecks of admirable statues and fragments of
exquisite sculpture were dug up; monuments of the taste and
magnificence that reigned in the ancient Tusculan abodes. He had
studded his villa and its grounds with statues, relievos, vases,
and sarcophagi; thus retrieved from the bosom of the earth.

The mode of life pursued at the villa was delightfully serene,
diversified by interesting occupations and elegant leisure. Every
one passed the day according to his pleasure or occupation; and
we all assembled in a cheerful dinner party at sunset. It was on
the fourth of November, a beautiful serene day, that we had
assembled in the saloon at the sound of the first dinner-bell.
The family were surprised at the absence of the prince’s
confessor. They waited for him in vain, and at length placed
themselves at table. They first attributed his absence to his
having prolonged his customary walk; and the first part of the
dinner passed without any uneasiness. When the dessert was
served, however, without his making his appearance, they began to
feel anxious. They feared he might have been taken ill in some
alley of the woods; or, that he might have fallen into the hands
of robbers. At the interval of a small valley rose the mountains
of the Abruzzi, the strong-hold of banditti. Indeed, the
neighborhood had, for some time, been infested by them; and
Barbone, a notorious bandit chief, had often been met prowling
about the solitudes of Tusculum. The daring enterprises of these
ruffians were well known; the objects of their cupidity or
vengeance were insecure even in palaces. As yet they had
respected the possessions of the prince; but the idea of such
dangerous spirits hovering about the neighbourhood was sufficient
to occasion alarm.

The fears of the company increased as evening closed in. The
prince ordered out forest guards, and domestics with flambeaux to
search for the confessor. They had not departed long, when a
slight noise was heard in the corridor of the ground floor. The
family were dining on the first floor, and the remaining
domestics were occupied in attendance. There was no one on the
ground floor at this moment but the house keeper, the laundress,
and three field laborers, who were resting themselves, and
conversing with the women.

I heard the noise from below, and presuming it to be occasioned
by the return of the absentee, I left the table, and hastened
down stairs, eager to gain intelligence that might relieve the
anxiety of the prince and princess. I had scarcely reached the
last step, when I beheld before me a man dressed as a bandit; a
carbine in his hand, and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His
countenance had a mingled expression of ferocity and trepidation.
He sprang upon me, and exclaimed exultingly, “Ecco il principe!”

I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but endeavored to
summon up coolness and presence of mind. A glance towards the
lower end of the corridor showed me several ruffians, clothed and
armed in the same manner with the one who had seized me. They
were guarding the two females and the field laborers. The robber,
who held me firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly whether or
not I were the prince. His object evidently was to carry off the
prince, and extort an immense ransom. He was enraged at receiving
none but vague replies; for I felt the importance of misleading
him.

A sudden thought struck me how I might extricate myself from his
clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, but I was vigorous. His
companions were at a distance. By a sudden exertion I might wrest
myself from him and spring up the staircase, whither he would not
dare to follow me singly. The idea was put in execution as soon
as conceived. The ruffian’s throat was bare: with my right hand I
seized him by it, just between the mastoides; with my left hand I
grasped the arm which held the carbine. The suddenness of my
attack took him completely unawares; and the strangling nature of
my grasp paralyzed him. He choked and faltered. I felt his hand
relaxing its hold, and was on the point of jerking myself away
and darting up the staircase before he could recover himself,
when I was suddenly seized by some one from behind.

I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once more released, fell
upon me with fury, and gave me several blows with the butt end of
his carbine, one of which wounded me severely in the forehead,
and covered me with blood. He took advantage of my being stunned
to rifle me of my watch and whatever valuables I had about my
person.

When I recovered from the effects of the blow, I heard the voice
of the chief of the banditti, who exclaimed “Quello e il
principe, siamo contente, audiamo!” (It is the prince, enough,
let us be off.) The band immediately closed round me and dragged
me out of the palace, bearing off the three laborers likewise.

I had no hat on, and the blood was flowing from my wound; I
managed to staunch it, however, with my pocket-handkerchief,
which I bound round my forehead. The captain of the band
conducted me in triumph, supposing me to be the prince. We had
gone some distance before he learnt his mistake from one of the
laborers. His rage was terrible. It was too late to return to the
villa and endeavor to retrieve his error, for by this time the
alarm must have been given, and every one in arms. He darted at
me a furious look; swore I had deceived him, and caused him to
miss his fortune; and told me to prepare for death. The rest of
the robbers were equally furious. I saw their hands upon their
poinards; and I knew that death was seldom an empty menace with
these ruffians.

The laborers saw the peril into which their information had
betrayed me, and eagerly assured the captain that I was a man for
whom the prince would pay a great ransom. This produced a pause.
For my part, I cannot say that I had been much dismayed by their
menaces. I mean not to make any boast of courage; but I have been
so schooled to hardship during the late revolutions, and have
beheld death around me in so many perilous and disastrous scenes
that I have become, in some measure callous to its terrors. The
frequent hazard of life makes a man at length as reckless of it
as a gambler of his money. To their threat of death, I replied:
“That the sooner it was executed, the better.” This reply seemed
to astonish the captain, and the prospect of ransom held out by
the laborers, had, no doubt, a still greater effect on him. He
considered for a moment; assumed a calmer manner, and made a sign
to his companions, who had remained waiting for my death warrant.
“Forward,” said he, “we will see about this matter by and bye.”

We descended rapidly towards the road of la Molara, which leads
to Rocca Priori. In the midst of this road is a solitary inn. The
captain ordered the troop to halt at the distance of a pistol
shot from it; and enjoined profound silence. He then approached
the threshold alone with noiseless steps. He examined the outside
of the door very narrowly, and then returning precipitately, made
a sign for the troop to continue its march in silence. It has
since been ascertained that this was one of those infamous inns
which are the secret resorts of banditti. The innkeeper had an
understanding with the captain, as he most probably had with the
chiefs of the different bands. When any of the patroles and gens
d’armes were quartered at his house, the brigands were warned of
it by a preconcerted signal on the door; when there was no such
signal, they might enter with safety and be sure of welcome. Many
an isolated inn among the lonely parts of the Roman territories,
and especially on the skirts of the mountains, have the same
dangerous and suspicious character. They are places where the
banditti gather information; where they concert their plans, and
where the unwary traveller, remote from hearing or assistance, is
sometimes betrayed to the stiletto of the midnight murderer.

After pursuing our road a little farther, we struck off towards
the Woody mountains which envelope Rocca Priori. Our march was
long and painful, with many circuits and windings; at length we
clambered a steep ascent, covered with a thick forest, and when
we had reached the centre, I was told to seat myself on the
earth. No sooner had I done so, than at a sign from their chief,
the robbers surrounded me, and spreading their great cloaks from
one to the other, formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to which
their bodies might be said to seem as columns. The captain then
struck a light, and a flambeau was lit immediately. The mantles
were extended to prevent the light of the flambeau from being
seen through the forest. Anxious as was my situation, I could not
look round upon this screen of dusky drapery, relieved by the
bright colors of the robbers’ under-dresses, the gleaming of
their weapons, and the variety of strong-marked countenances, lit
up by the flambeau, without admiring the picturesque effect of
the scene. It was quite theatrical.

The captain now held an ink-horn, and giving me pen and paper,
ordered me to write what he should dictate. I obeyed. It was a
demand, couched in the style of robber eloquence, “that the
prince should send three thousand dollars for my ransom, or that
my death should be the consequence of a refusal.”

I knew enough of the desperate character of these beings to feel
assured this was not an idle menace. Their only mode of insuring
attention to their demands, is to make the infliction of the
penalty inevitable. I saw at once, however, that the demand was
preposterous, and made in improper language.

I told the captain so, and assured him, that so extravagant a sum
would never be granted; that I was neither friend or relative of
the prince, but a mere artist, employed to execute certain
paintings. That I had nothing to offer as a ransom but the price
of my labors; if this were not sufficient, my life was at their
disposal: it was a thing on which I sat but little value.

I was the more hardy in my reply, because I saw that coolness and
hardihood had an effect upon the robbers. It is true, as I
finished speaking the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto,
but he restrained himself, and snatching the letter, folded it,
and ordered me, in a peremptory tone, to address it to the
prince. He then despatched one of the laborers with it to
Tusculum, who promised to return with all possible speed.

The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and I was told
that I might do the same. They spread their great cloaks on the
ground, and lay down around me. One was stationed at a little
distance to keep watch, and was relieved every two hours. The
strangeness and wildness of this mountain bivouac, among lawless
beings whose hands seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and
with whom life was so trivial and insecure, was enough to banish
repose. The coldness of the earth and of the dew, however, had a
still greater effect than mental causes in disturbing my rest.
The airs wafted to these mountains from the distant Mediterranean
diffused a great chilliness as the night advanced. An expedient
suggested itself. I called one of my fellow prisoners, the
laborers, and made him lie down beside me. Whenever one of my
limbs became chilled I approached it to the robust limb of my
neighbor, and borrowed some of his warmth. In this way I was able
to obtain a little sleep.

Day at length dawned, and I was roused from my slumber by the
voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise and follow him. I
obeyed. On considering his physiognomy attentively, it appeared a
little softened. He even assisted me in scrambling up the steep
forest among rocks and brambles. Habit had made him a vigorous
mountaineer; but I found it excessively toilsome to climb those
rugged heights. We arrived at length at the summit of the
mountain.

Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art suddenly
awakened; and I forgot, in an instant, all perils and fatigues at
this magnificent view of the sunrise in the midst of the
mountains of Abruzzi. It was on these heights that Hannibal first
pitched his camp, and pointed out Rome to his followers. The eye
embraces a vast extent of country. The minor height of Tusculum,
with its villas, and its sacred ruins, lie below; the Sabine
hills and the Albanian mountains stretch on either hand, and
beyond Tusculum and Frescati spreads out the immense Campagna,
with its line of tombs, and here and there a broken aqueduct
stretching across it, and the towers and domes of the eternal
city in the midst.

Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun, and
bursting upon my sight, as I looked forth from among the majestic
forests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made
still more savage by groups of the banditti, armed and dressed in
their wild, picturesque manner, and you will not wonder that the
enthusiasm of a painter for a moment overpowered all his other
feelings.

The banditti were astonished at my admiration of a scene which
familiarity had made so common in their eyes. I took advantage of
their halting at this spot, drew forth a quire of drawing-paper,
and began to sketch the features of the landscape. The height, on
which I was seated, was wild and solitary, separated from the
ridge of Tusculum by a valley nearly three miles wide; though the
distance appeared less from the purity of the atmosphere. This
height was one of the favorite retreats of the banditti,
commanding a look-out over the country; while, at the same time,
it was covered with forests, and distant from the populous haunts
of men.

While I was sketching, my attention was called off for a moment
by the cries of birds and the bleatings of sheep. I looked
around, but could see nothing of the animals that uttered them.
They were repeated, and appeared to come from the summits of the
trees. On looking more narrowly, I perceived six of the robbers
perched on the tops of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest of
the mountain, and commanded an uninterrupted prospect. From hence
they were keeping a look-out, like so many vultures; casting
their eyes into the depths of the valley below us; communicating;
with each other by signs, or holding discourse in sounds, which
might be mistaken by the wayfarer for the cries of hawks and
crows, or the bleating of the mountain flocks. After they had
reconnoitred the neighborhood, and finished their singular
discourse, they descended from their airy perch, and returned to
their prisoners. The captain posted three of them at three naked
sides of the mountain, while he remained to guard us with what
appeared his most trusty companion.

I had my book of sketches in my hand; he requested to see it, and
after having run his eye over it, expressed himself convinced of
the truth of my assertion, that I was a painter. I thought I saw
a gleam of good feeling dawning in him, and determined to avail
myself of it. I knew that the worst of men have their good points
and their accessible sides, if one would but study them
carefully. Indeed, there is a singular mixture in the character
of the Italian robber. With reckless ferocity, he often mingles
traits of kindness and good humor. He is often not radically bad,
but driven to his course of life by some unpremeditated crime,
the effect of those sudden bursts of passion to which the Italian
temperament is prone. This has compelled him to take to the
mountains, or, as it is technically termed among them, “andare in
Campagna.” He has become a robber by profession; but like a
soldier, when not in action, he can lay aside his weapon and his
fierceness, and become like other men.

I took occasion from the observations of the captain on my
sketchings, to fall into conversation with him. I found him
sociable and communicative. By degrees I became completely at my
ease with him. I had fancied I perceived about him a degree of
self-love, which I determined to make use of. I assumed an air of
careless frankness, and told him that, as artist, I pretended to
the power of judging of the physiognomy; that I thought I
perceived something in his features and demeanor which announced
him worthy of higher fortunes. That he was not formed to exercise
the profession to which he had abandoned himself; that he had
talents and qualities fitted for a nobler sphere of action; that
he had but to change his course of life, and in a legitimate
career, the same courage and endowments which now made him an
object of terror, would ensure him the applause and admiration of
society.

I had not mistaken my man. My discourse both touched and excited
him. He seized my hand, pressed it, and replied with strong
emotion, “You have guessed the truth; you have judged me
rightly.” He remained for a moment silent; then with a kind of
effort he resumed. “I will tell you some particulars of my life,
and you will perceive that it was the oppression of others,
rather than my own crimes, that drove me to the mountains. I
sought to serve my fellow-men, and they have persecuted me from
among them.” We seated ourselves on the grass, and the robber
gave me the following anecdotes of his history.

THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN

I am a native of the village of Prossedi. My father was easy
enough In circumstances, and we lived peaceably and
independently, cultivating our fields. All went on well with us
until a new chief of the sbirri was sent to our village to take
command of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying into
every thing, and practising all sorts of vexations and
oppressions in the discharge of his office.

I was at that time eighteen years of age, and had a natural love
of justice and good neighborhood. I had also a little education,
and knew something of history, so as to be able to judge a little
of men and their actions. All this inspired me with hatred for
this paltry despot. My own family, also, became the object of his
suspicion or dislike, and felt more than once the arbitrary abuse
of his power. These things worked together on my mind, and I
gasped after vengeance. My character was always ardent and
energetic; and acted upon by my love of justice, determined me by
one blow to rid the country of the tyrant.

Full of my project I rose one morning before peep of day, and
concealing a stiletto under my waistcoat—here you see it!—(and he
drew forth a long keen poniard)—I lay in wait for him in the
outskirts of the village. I knew all his haunts, and his habit of
making his rounds and prowling about like a wolf, in the gray of
the morning; at length I met him, and attacked him with fury. He
was armed, but I took him unawares, and was full of youth and
vigor. I gave him repeated blows to make sure work, and laid him
lifeless at my feet.

When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I returned with all
haste to the village, but had the ill-luck to meet two of the
sbirri as I entered it. They accosted me and asked if I had seen
their chief. I assumed an air of tranquillity, and told them I
had not. They continued on their way, and, within a few hours,
brought back the dead body to Prossedi. Their suspicions of me
being already awakened, I was arrested and thrown into prison.
Here I lay several weeks, when the prince, who was Seigneur of
Prossedi, directed judicial proceedings against me. I was brought
to trial, and a witness was produced who pretended to have seen
me not far from the bleeding body, and flying with precipitation,
so I was condemned to the galleys for thirty years.

“Curse on such laws,” vociferated the bandit, foaming with rage;
“curse on such a government, and ten thousand curses on the
prince who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, while so many
other Roman princes harbor and protect assassins a thousand times
more culpable. What had I done but what was inspired by a love of
justice and my country? Why was my act more culpable than that of
Brutus, when he sacrificed Caesar to the cause of liberty and
justice?”

There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous in the
rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating himself with one
of the great names of antiquity. It showed, however, that he had
at least the merit of knowing the remarkable facts in the history
of his country. He became more calm, and resumed his narrative.

I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. My heart was
burning with rage. I had been married scarce six months to a
woman whom I passionately loved, and who was pregnant. My family
was in despair. For a long time I made unsuccessful efforts to
break my chain. At length I found a morsel of iron which I hid
carefully, endeavored with a pointed flint to fashion it into a
kind of file. I occupied myself in this work during the
night-time, and when it was finished, I made out, after a long
time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My flight was
successful.

I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which surround
Prossedi, and found means to inform my wife of the place where I
was concealed. She came often to see me. I had determined to put
myself at the head of an armed band. She endeavored for a long
time to dissuade me; but finding my resolution fixed, she at
length united in my project of vengeance, and brought me,
herself, my poniard.

By her means I communicated with several brave fellows of the
Neighboring villages, who I knew to be ready to take to the
mountains, and only panting for an opportunity to exercise their
daring spirits. We soon formed a combination, procured arms, and
we have had ample opportunities of revenging ourselves for the
wrongs and injuries which most of us have suffered. Every thing
has succeeded with us until now, and had it not been for our
blunder in mistaking you for the prince, our fortunes would have
been made.

Here the robber concluded his story. He had talked himself into
companionship, and assured me he no longer bore me any grudge for
the error of which I had been the innocent cause. He even
professed a kindness for me, and wished me to remain some time
with them. He promised to give me a sight of certain grottos
which they occupied beyond Villetri, and whither they resorted
during the intervals of their expeditions. He assured me that
they led a jovial life there; had plenty of good cheer; slept on
beds of moss, and were waited upon by young and beautiful
females, whom I might take for models.

I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his descriptions of these
grottos and their inhabitants; they realized those scenes in
robber-story which I had always looked upon as mere creations of
the fancy. I should gladly have accepted his invitation, and paid
a visit to those caverns, could I have felt more secure in my
company.

I began to find my situation less painful. I had evidently
propitiated the good-will of the chieftain, and hoped that he
might release me for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, however,
awaited me. While the captain was looking out with impatience for
the return of the messenger who had been sent to the prince, the
sentinel who had been posted on the side of the mountain facing
the plain of la Molara, came running towards us with
precipitation. “We are betrayed!” exclaimed he. “The police of
Frescati are after us. A party of carabiniers have just stopped
at the inn below the mountain.” Then laying his hand on his
stiletto, he swore, with a terrible oath, that if they made the
least movement towards the mountains, my life and the lives of my
fellow-prisoners should answer for it.

The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demeanor, and approved
of what his companion said; but when the latter had returned to
his post, he turned to me with a softened air: “I must act as
chief,” said he, “and humor my dangerous subalterns. It is a law
with us to kill our prisoners rather than suffer them to be
rescued; but do not be alarmed. In case we are surprised keep by
me; fly with us, and I will consider myself responsible for your
life.”

There was nothing very consolatory in this arrangement, which
would have placed me between two dangers; I scarcely knew, in
case of flight, which I should have most to apprehend from, the
carbines of the pursuers, or the stilettos of the pursued. I
remained silent, however, and endeavored to maintain a look of
tranquillity.

For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and anxiety. The
robbers, crouching among their leafy coverts, kept an eagle watch
upon the carabiniers below, as they loitered about the inn;
sometimes lolling about the portal; sometimes disappearing for
several minutes, then sallying out, examining their weapons,
pointing in different directions and apparently asking questions
about the neighborhood; not a movement or gesture was last upon
the keen eyes of the brigands. At length we were relieved from
our apprehensions. The carabiniers having finished their
refreshment, seized their arms, continued along the valley
towards the great road, and gradually left the mountain behind
them. “I felt almost certain,” said the chief, “that they could
not be sent after us. They know too well how prisoners have fared
in our hands on similar occasions. Our laws in this respect are
inflexible, and are necessary for our safety. If we once flinched
from them, there would no longer be such thing as a ransom to be
procured.”

There were no signs yet of the messenger’s return. I was
preparing to resume my sketching, when the captain drew a quire
of paper from his knapsack—“Come,” said he, laughing, “you are a
painter; take my likeness. The leaves of your portfolio are
small; draw it on this.” I gladly consented, for it was a study
that seldom presents itself to a painter. I recollected that
Salvator Rosa in his youth had voluntarily sojourned for a time
among the banditti of Calabria, and had filled his mind with the
savage scenery and savage associates by which he was surrounded.
I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the thought. I found the
captain the most docile of subjects, and after various shifting
of positions, I placed him in an attitude to my mind.

Picture to yourself a stern, muscular figure, in fanciful bandit
costume, with pistols and poniards in belt, his brawny neck bare,
a handkerchief loosely thrown around it, and the two ends in
front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of travellers;
reliques and medals hung on his breast; his hat decorated with
various-colored ribbands; his vest and short breeches of bright
colors and finely embroidered; his legs in buskins or leggins.
Fancy him on a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks,
leaning on his carbine as if meditating some exploit, while far
below are beheld villages and villas, the scenes of his
maraudings, with the wide Campagna dimly extending in the
distance.

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to admire
himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished, when the laborer
arrived who had been sent for my ransom. He had reached Tusculum
two hours after midnight. He brought me a letter from the prince,
who was in bed at the time of his arrival. As I had predicted, he
treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five hundred
dollars for my ransom. Having no money by him at the moment, he
had sent a note for the amount, payable to whomever should
conduct me safe and sound to Rome. I presented the note of hand
to the chieftain; he received it with a shrug. “Of what use are
notes of hand to us?” said he, “who can we send with you to Rome
to receive it? We are all marked men, known and described at
every gate and military post, and village church-door. No, we
must have gold and silver; let the sum be paid in cash and you
shall be restored to liberty.”

The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to
communicate His determination to the prince. When I had finished
the letter and took the sheet from the quire, I found on the
opposite side of it the portrait which I had just been tracing. I
was about to tear it off and give it to the chief.

“Hold,” said he, “let it go to Rome; let them see what kind of
looking fellow I am. Perhaps the prince and his friends may form
as good an opinion of me from my face as you have done.”

This was said sportively, yet it was evident there was vanity
lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful chief of
banditti forgot for a moment his usual foresight and precaution
in the common wish to be admired. He never reflected what use
might be made of this portrait in his pursuit and conviction.

The letter was folded and directed, and the messenger departed
again For Tusculum. It was now eleven o’clock in the morning, and
as yet we had eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety, I began
to feel a craving appetite. I was glad, therefore, to hear the
captain talk something of eating. He observed that for three days
and nights they had been lurking about among rocks and woods,
meditating their expedition to Tusculum, during which all their
provisions had been exhausted. He should now take measures to
procure a supply. Leaving me, therefore, in the charge of his
comrade, in whom he appeared to have implicit confidence, he
departed, assuring me, that in less than two hours we should make
a good dinner. Where it was to come from was an enigma to me,
though it was evident these beings had their secret friends and
agents throughout the country.