Chapter 33 Roman Bandits.

Chapter 33 Roman Bandits.

 

The next morning Franz woke first, and instantly rang the

bell. The sound had not yet died away when Signor Pastrini

himself entered.

 

"Well, excellency," said the landlord triumphantly, and

without waiting for Franz to question him, "I feared

yesterday, when I would not promise you anything, that you

were too late -- there is not a single carriage to be had --

that is, for the last three days of the carnival."

 

"Yes," returned Franz, "for the very three days it is most

needed."

 

"What is the matter?" said Albert, entering; "no carriage to

be had?"

 

"Just so," returned Franz, "you have guessed it."

 

"Well, your Eternal City is a nice sort of place."

 

"That is to say, excellency," replied Pastrini, who was

desirous of keeping up the dignity of the capital of the

Christian world in the eyes of his guest, "that there are no

carriages to be had from Sunday to Tuesday evening, but from

now till Sunday you can have fifty if you please."

 

"Ah, that is something," said Albert; "to-day is Thursday,

and who knows what may arrive between this and Sunday?"

 

"Ten or twelve thousand travellers will arrive," replied

Franz, "which will make it still more difficult."

 

"My friend," said Morcerf, "let us enjoy the present without

gloomy forebodings for the future."

 

"At least we can have a window?"

 

"Where?"

 

"In the Corso."

 

"Ah, a window!" exclaimed Signor Pastrini, -- "utterly

impossible; there was only one left on the fifth floor of

the Doria Palace, and that has been let to a Russian prince

for twenty sequins a day."

 

The two young men looked at each other with an air of

stupefaction.

 

"Well," said Franz to Albert, "do you know what is the best

thing we can do? It is to pass the Carnival at Venice; there

we are sure of obtaining gondolas if we cannot have

carriages."

 

"Ah, the devil, no," cried Albert; "I came to Rome to see

the Carnival, and I will, though I see it on stilts."

 

"Bravo! an excellent idea. We will disguise ourselves as

monster pulchinellos or shepherds of the Landes, and we

shall have complete success."

 

"Do your excellencies still wish for a carriage from now to

Sunday morning?"

 

"Parbleu!" said Albert, "do you think we are going to run

about on foot in the streets of Rome, like lawyer's clerks?"

 

"I hasten to comply with your excellencies' wishes; only, I

tell you beforehand, the carriage will cost you six piastres

a day."

 

"And, as I am not a millionaire, like the gentleman in the

next apartments," said Franz, "I warn you, that as I have

been four times before at Rome, I know the prices of all the

carriages; we will give you twelve piastres for to-day,

tomorrow, and the day after, and then you will make a good

profit."

 

"But, excellency" -- said Pastrini, still striving to gain

his point.

 

"Now go," returned Franz, "or I shall go myself and bargain

with your affettatore, who is mine also; he is an old friend

of mine, who has plundered me pretty well already, and, in

the hope of making more out of me, he will take a less price

than the one I offer you; you will lose the preference, and

that will be your fault."

 

"Do not give yourselves the trouble, excellency," returned

Signor Pastrini, with the smile peculiar to the Italian

speculator when he confesses defeat; "I will do all I can,

and I hope you will be satisfied."

 

"And now we understand each other."

 

"When do you wish the carriage to be here?"

 

"In an hour."

 

"In an hour it will be at the door."

 

An hour after the vehicle was at the door; it was a hack

conveyance which was elevated to the rank of a private

carriage in honor of the occasion, but, in spite of its

humble exterior, the young men would have thought themselves

happy to have secured it for the last three days of the

Carnival. "Excellency," cried the cicerone, seeing Franz

approach the window, "shall I bring the carriage nearer to

the palace?"

 

Accustomed as Franz was to the Italian phraseology, his

first impulse was to look round him, but these words were

addressed to him. Franz was the "excellency," the vehicle

was the "carriage," and the Hotel de Londres was the

"palace." The genius for laudation characteristic of the

race was in that phrase.

 

Franz and Albert descended, the carriage approached the

palace; their excellencies stretched their legs along the

seats; the cicerone sprang into the seat behind. "Where do

your excellencics wish to go?" asked he.

 

"To Saint Peter's first, and then to the Colosseum,"

returned Albert. But Albert did not know that it takes a day

to see Saint Peter's, and a month to study it. The day was

passed at Saint Peter's alone. Suddenly the daylight began

to fade away; Franz took out his watch -- it was half-past

four. They returned to the hotel; at the door Franz ordered

the coachman to be ready at eight. He wished to show Albert

the Colosseum by moonlight, as he had shown him Saint

Peter's by daylight. When we show a friend a city one has

already visited, we feel the same pride as when we point out

a woman whose lover we have been. He was to leave the city

by the Porta del Popolo, skirt the outer wall, and re-enter

by the Porta San Giovanni; thus they would behold the

Colosseum without finding their impressions dulled by first

looking on the Capitol, the Forum, the Arch of Septimus

Severus, the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina, and the Via

Sacra. They sat down to dinner. Signor Pastrini had promised

them a banquet; he gave them a tolerable repast. At the end

of the dinner he entered in person. Franz thought that he

came to hear his dinner praised, and began accordingly, but

at the first words he was interrupted. "Excellency," said

Pastrini, "I am delighted to have your approbation, but it

was not for that I came."

 

"Did you come to tell us you have procured a carriage?"

asked Albert, lighting his cigar.

 

"No; and your excellencies will do well not to think of that

any longer; at Rome things can or cannot be done; when you

are told anything cannot he done, there is an end of it."

 

"It is much more convenient at Paris, -- when anything

cannot be done, you pay double, and it is done directly."

 

"That is what all the French say," returned Signor Pastrini,

somewhat piqued; "for that reason, I do not understand why

they travel."

 

"But," said Albert, emitting a volume of smoke and balancing

his chair on its hind legs, "only madmen, or blockheads like

us, ever do travel. Men in their senses do not quit their

hotel in the Rue du Helder, their walk on the Boulevard de

Gand, and the Cafe de Paris." It is of course understood

that Albert resided in the aforesaid street, appeared every

day on the fashionable walk, and dined frequently at the

only restaurant where you can really dine, that is, if you

are on good terms with its frequenters. Signor Pastrini

remained silent a short time; it was evident that he was

musing over this answer, which did not seem very clear.

"But," said Franz, in his turn interrupting his host's

meditations, "you had some motive for coming here, may I beg

to know what it was?"

 

"Ah, yes; you have ordered your carriage at eight o'clock

precisely?"

 

"I have."

 

"You intend visiting Il Colosseo."

 

"You mean the Colosseum?"

 

"It is the same thing. You have told your coachman to leave

the city by the Porta del Popolo, to drive round the walls,

and re-enter by the Porta San Giovanni?"

 

"These are my words exactly."

 

"Well, this route is impossible."

 

"Impossible!"

 

"Very dangerous, to say the least."

 

"Dangerous! -- and why?"

 

"On account of the famous Luigi Vampa."

 

"Pray, who may this famous Luigi Vampa be?" inquired Albert;

"he may be very famous at Rome, but I can assure you he is

quite unknown at Paris."

 

"What! do you not know him?"

 

"I have not that honor."

 

"You have never heard his name?"

 

"Never."

 

"Well, then, he is a bandit, compared to whom the Decesaris

and the Gasparones were mere children."

 

"Now then, Albert," cried Franz, "here is a bandit for you

at last."

 

"I forewarn you, Signor Pastrini, that I shall not believe

one word of what you are going to tell us; having told you

this, begin."

 

"Once upon a time" --

 

"Well, go on." Signor Pastrini turned toward Franz, who

seemed to him the more reasonable of the two; we must do him

justice, -- he had had a great many Frenchmen in his house,

but had never been able to comprehend them. "Excellency,"

said he gravely, addressing Franz, "if you look upon me as a

liar, it is useless for me to say anything; it was for your

interest I" --

 

"Albert does not say you are a liar, Signor Pastrini," said

Franz, "but that he will not believe what you are going to

tell us, -- but I will believe all you say; so proceed."

 

"But if your excellency doubt my veracity" --

 

"Signor Pastrini," returned Franz, "you are more susceptible

than Cassandra, who was a prophetess, and yet no one

believed her; while you, at least, are sure of the credence

of half your audience. Come, sit down, and tell us all about

this Signor Vampa."

 

"I had told your excellency he is the most famous bandit we

have had since the days of Mastrilla."

 

"Well, what has this bandit to do with the order I have

given the coachman to leave the city by the Porta del

Popolo, and to re-enter by the Porta San Giovanni?"

 

"This," replied Signor Pastrini, "that you will go out by

one, but I very much doubt your returning by the other."

 

"Why?" asked Franz.

 

"Because, after nightfall, you are not safe fifty yards from

the gates."

 

"On your honor is that true?" cried Albert.

 

"Count," returned Signor Pastrini, hurt at Albert's repeated

doubts of the truth of his assertions, "I do not say this to

you, but to your companion, who knows Rome, and knows, too,

that these things are not to be laughed at."

 

"My dear fellow," said Albert, turning to Franz, "here is an

admirable adventure; we will fill our carriage with pistols,

blunderbusses, and double-barrelled guns. Luigi Vampa comes

to take us, and we take him -- we bring him back to Rome,

and present him to his holiness the Pope, who asks how he

can repay so great a service; then we merely ask for a

carriage and a pair of horses, and we see the Carnival in

the carriage, and doubtless the Roman people will crown us

at the Capitol, and proclaim us, like Curtius and the veiled

Horatius, the preservers of their country." Whilst Albert

proposed this scheme, Signor Pastrini's face assumed an

expression impossible to describe.

 

"And pray," asked Franz, "where are these pistols,

blunderbusses, and other deadly weapons with which you

intend filling the carriage?"

 

"Not out of my armory, for at Terracina I was plundered even

of my hunting-knife."

 

"I shared the same fate at Aquapendente."

 

"Do you know, Signor Pastrini," said Albert, lighting a

second cigar at the first, "that this practice is very

convenient for bandits, and that it seems to be due to an

arrangement of their own." Doubtless Signor Pastrini found

this pleasantry compromising, for he only answered half the

question, and then he spoke to Franz, as the only one likely

to listen with attention. "Your excellency knows that it is

not customary to defend yourself when attacked by bandits."

 

"What!" cried Albert, whose courage revolted at the idea of

being plundered tamely, "not make any resistance!"

 

"No, for it would be useless. What could you do against a

dozen bandits who spring out of some pit, ruin, or aqueduct,

and level their pieces at you?"

 

"Eh, parbleu! -- they should kill me."

 

The inn-keeper turned to Franz with an air that seemed to

say, "Your friend is decidedly mad."

 

"My dear Albert," returned Franz, "your answer is sublime,

and worthy the `Let him die,' of Corneille, only, when

Horace made that answer, the safety of Rome was concerned;

but, as for us, it is only to gratify a whim, and it would

be ridiculous to risk our lives for so foolish a motive."

Albert poured himself out a glass of lacryma Christi, which

he sipped at intervals, muttering some unintelligible words.

 

"Well, Signor Pastrini," said Franz, "now that my companion

is quieted, and you have seen how peaceful my intentions

are, tell me who is this Luigi Vampa. Is he a shepherd or a

nobleman? -- young or old? -- tall or short? Describe him,

in order that, if we meet him by chance, like Bugaboo John

or Lara, we may recognize him."

 

"You could not apply to any one better able to inform you on

all these points, for I knew him when he was a child, and

one day that I fell into his hands, going from Ferentino to

Alatri, he, fortunately for me, recollected me, and set me

free, not only without ransom, but made me a present of a

very splendid watch, and related his history to me."

 

"Let us see the watch," said Albert.

 

Signor Pastrini drew from his fob a magnificent Breguet,

bearing the name of its maker, of Parisian manufacture, and

a count's coronet.

 

"Here it is," said he.

 

"Peste," returned Albert, "I compliment you on it; I have

its fellow" -- he took his watch from his waistcoat pocket

-- "and it cost me 3,000 francs."

 

"Let us hear the history," said Franz, motioning Signor

Pastrini to seat himself.

 

"Your excellencies permit it?" asked the host.

 

"Pardieu!" cried Albert, "you are not a preacher, to remain

standing!"

 

The host sat down, after having made each of them a

respectful bow, which meant that he was ready to tell them

all they wished to know concerning Luigi Vampa. "You tell

me," said Franz, at the moment Signor Pastrini was about to

open his mouth, "that you knew Luigi Vampa when he was a

child -- he is still a young man, then?"

 

"A young man? he is only two and twenty; -- he will gain

himself a reputation."

 

"What do you think of that, Albert? -- at two and twenty to

be thus famous?"

 

"Yes, and at his age, Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon, who

have all made some noise in the world, were quite behind

him."

 

"So," continued Franz, "the hero of this history is only two

and twenty?"

 

"Scarcely so much."

 

"Is he tall or short?"

 

"Of the middle height -- about the same stature as his

excellency," returned the host, pointing to Albert.

 

"Thanks for the comparison," said Albert, with a bow.

 

"Go on, Signor Pastrini," continued Franz, smiling at his

friend's susceptibility. "To what class of society does he

belong?"

 

"He was a shepherd-boy attached to the farm of the Count of

San-Felice, situated between Palestrina and the lake of

Gabri; he was born at Pampinara, and entered the count's

service when he was five years old; his father was also a

shepherd, who owned a small flock, and lived by the wool and

the milk, which he sold at Rome. When quite a child, the

little Vampa displayed a most extraordinary precocity. One

day, when he was seven years old, he came to the curate of

Palestrina, and asked to be taught to read; it was somewhat

difficult, for he could not quit his flock; but the good

curate went every day to say mass at a little hamlet too

poor to pay a priest and which, having no other name, was

called Borgo; he told Luigi that he might meet him on his

return, and that then he would give him a lesson, warning

him that it would be short, and that he must profit as much

as possible by it. The child accepted joyfully. Every day

Luigi led his flock to graze on the road that leads from

Palestrina to Borgo; every day, at nine o'clock in the

morning, the priest and the boy sat down on a bank by the

wayside, and the little shepherd took his lesson out of the

priest's breviary. At the end of three months he had learned

to read. This was not enough -- he must now learn to write.

The priest had a writing teacher at Rome make three

alphabets -- one large, one middling, and one small; and

pointed out to him that by the help of a sharp instrument he

could trace the letters on a slate, and thus learn to write.

The same evening, when the flock was safe at the farm, the

little Luigi hastened to the smith at Palestrina, took a

large nail, heated and sharpened it, and formed a sort of

stylus. The next morning he gathered an armful of pieces of

slate and began. At the end of three months he had learned

to write. The curate, astonished at his quickness and

intelligence, made him a present of pens, paper, and a

penknife. This demanded new effort, but nothing compared to

the first; at the end of a week he wrote as well with this

pen as with the stylus. The curate related the incident to

the Count of San-Felice, who sent for the little shepherd,

made him read and write before him, ordered his attendant to

let him eat with the domestics, and to give him two piastres

a month. With this, Luigi purchased books and pencils. He

applied his imitative powers to everything, and, like

Giotto, when young, he drew on his slate sheep, houses, and

trees. Then, with his knife, he began to carve all sorts of

objects in wood; it was thus that Pinelli, the famous

sculptor, had commenced.

 

"A girl of six or seven -- that is, a little younger than

Vampa -- tended sheep on a farm near Palestrina; she was an

orphan, born at Valmontone and was named Teresa. The two

children met, sat down near each other, let their flocks

mingle together, played, laughed, and conversed together; in

the evening they separated the Count of San-Felice's flock

from those of Baron Cervetri, and the children returned to

their respective farms, promising to meet the next morning.

The next day they kept their word, and thus they grew up

together. Vampa was twelve, and Teresa eleven. And yet their

natural disposition revealed itself. Beside his taste for

the fine arts, which Luigi had carried as far as he could in

his solitude, he was given to alternating fits of sadness

and enthusiasm, was often angry and capricious, and always

sarcastic. None of the lads of Pampinara, Palestrina, or

Valmontone had been able to gain any influence over him or

even to become his companion. His disposition (always

inclined to exact concessions rather than to make them) kept

him aloof from all friendships. Teresa alone ruled by a

look, a word, a gesture, this impetuous character, which

yielded beneath the hand of a woman, and which beneath the

hand of a man might have broken, but could never have been

bended. Teresa was lively and gay, but coquettish to excess.

The two piastres that Luigi received every month from the

Count of San-Felice's steward, and the price of all the

little carvings in wood he sold at Rome, were expended in

ear-rings, necklaces, and gold hairpins. So that, thanks to

her friend's generosity, Teresa was the most beautiful and

the best-attired peasant near Rome. The two children grew up

together, passing all their time with each other, and giving

themselves up to the wild ideas of their different

characters. Thus, in all their dreams, their wishes, and

their conversations, Vampa saw himself the captain of a

vessel, general of an army, or governor of a province.

Teresa saw herself rich, superbly attired, and attended by a

train of liveried domestics. Then, when they had thus passed

the day in building castles in the air, they separated their

flocks, and descended from the elevation of their dreams to

the reality of their humble position.

 

"One day the young shepherd told the count's steward that he

had seen a wolf come out of the Sabine mountains, and prowl

around his flock. The steward gave him a gun; this was what

Vampa longed for. This gun had an excellent barrel, made at

Breschia, and carrying a ball with the precision of an

English rifle; but one day the count broke the stock, and

had then cast the gun aside. This, however, was nothing to a

sculptor like Vampa; he examined the broken stock,

calculated what change it would require to adapt the gun to

his shoulder, and made a fresh stock, so beautifully carved

that it would have fetched fifteen or twenty piastres, had

he chosen to sell it. But nothing could be farther from his

thoughts. For a long time a gun had been the young man's

greatest ambition. In every country where independence has

taken the place of liberty, the first desire of a manly

heart is to possess a weapon, which at once renders him

capable of defence or attack, and, by rendering its owner

terrible, often makes him feared. From this moment Vampa

devoted all his leisure time to perfecting himself in the

use of his precious weapon; he purchased powder and ball,

and everything served him for a mark -- the trunk of some

old and moss-grown olive-tree, that grew on the Sabine

mountains; the fox, as he quitted his earth on some

marauding excursion; the eagle that soared above their

heads: and thus he soon became so expert, that Teresa

overcame the terror she at first felt at the report, and

amused herself by watching him direct the ball wherever he

pleased, with as much accuracy as if he placed it by hand.

 

"One evening a wolf emerged from a pine-wood hear which they

were usually stationed, but the wolf had scarcely advanced

ten yards ere he was dead. Proud of this exploit, Vampa took

the dead animal on his shoulders, and carried him to the

farm. These exploits had gained Luigi considerable

reputation. The man of superior abilities always finds

admirers, go where he will. He was spoken of as the most

adroit, the strongest, and the most courageous contadino for

ten leagues around; and although Teresa was universally

allowed to be the most beautiful girl of the Sabines, no one

had ever spoken to her of love, because it was known that

she was beloved by Vampa. And yet the two young people had

never declared their affection; they had grown together like

two trees whose roots are mingled, whose branches

intertwined, and whose intermingled perfume rises to the

heavens. Only their wish to see each other had become a

necessity, and they would have preferred death to a day's

separation. Teresa was sixteen, and Vampa seventeen. About

this time, a band of brigands that had established itself in

the Lepini mountains began to be much spoken of. The

brigands have never been really extirpated from the

neighborhood of Rome. Sometimes a chief is wanted, but when

a chief presents himself he rarely has to wait long for a

band of followers.

 

"The celebrated Cucumetto, pursued in the Abruzzo, driven

out of the kingdom of Naples, where he had carried on a

regular war, had crossed the Garigliano, like Manfred, and

had taken refuge on the banks of the Amasine between Sonnino

and Juperno. He strove to collect a band of followers, and

followed the footsteps of Decesaris and Gasperone, whom he

hoped to surpass. Many young men of Palestrina, Frascati,

and Pampinara had disappeared. Their disappearance at first

caused much disquietude; but it was soon known that they had

joined Cucumetto. After some time Cucumetto became the

object of universal attention; the most extraordinary traits

of ferocious daring and brutality were related of him. One

day he carried off a young girl, the daughter of a surveyor

of Frosinone. The bandit's laws are positive; a young girl

belongs first to him who carries her off, then the rest draw

lots for her, and she is abandoned to their brutality until

death relieves her sufferings. When their parents are

sufficiently rich to pay a ransom, a messenger is sent to

negotiate; the prisoner is hostage for the security of the

messenger; should the ransom be refused, the prisoner is

irrevocably lost. The young girl's lover was in Cucumetto's

troop; his name was Carlini. When she recognized her lover,

the poor girl extended her arms to him, and believed herself

safe; but Carlini felt his heart sink, for he but too well

knew the fate that awaited her. However, as he was a

favorite with Cucumetto, as he had for three years

faithfully served him, and as he had saved his life by

shooting a dragoon who was about to cut him down, he hoped

the chief would have pity on him. He took Cucumetto one

side, while the young girl, seated at the foot of a huge

pine that stood in the centre of the forest, made a veil of

her picturesque head-dress to hide her face from the

lascivious gaze of the bandits. There he told the chief all

-- his affection for the prisoner, their promises of mutual

fidelity, and how every night, since he had been near, they

had met in some neighboring ruins.

 

"It so happened that night that Cucumetto had sent Carlini

to a village, so that he had been unable to go to the place

of meeting. Cucumetto had been there, however, by accident,

as he said, and had carried the maiden off. Carlini besought

his chief to make an exception in Rita's favor, as her

father was rich, and could pay a large ransom. Cucumetto

seemed to yield to his friend's entreaties, and bade him

find a shepherd to send to Rita's father at Frosinone.

Carlini flew joyfully to Rita, telling her she was saved,

and bidding her write to her father, to inform him what had

occurred, and that her ransom was fixed at three hundred

piastres. Twelve hours' delay was all that was granted --

that is, until nine the next morning. The instant the letter

was written, Carlini seized it, and hastened to the plain to

find a messenger. He found a young shepherd watching his

flock. The natural messengers of the bandits are the

shepherds who live between the city and the mountains,

between civilized and savage life. The boy undertook the

commission, promising to be in Frosinone in less than an

hour. Carlini returned, anxious to see his mistress, and

announce the joyful intelligence. He found the troop in the

glade, supping off the provisions exacted as contributions

from the peasants; but his eye vainly sought Rita and

Cucumetto among them. He inquired where they were, and was

answered by a burst of laughter. A cold perspiration burst

from every pore, and his hair stood on end. He repeated his

question. One of the bandits rose, and offered him a glass

filled with Orvietto, saying, `To the health of the brave

Cucumetto and the fair Rita.' At this moment Carlini heard a

woman's cry; he divined the truth, seized the glass, broke

it across the face of him who presented it, and rushed

towards the spot whence the cry came. After a hundred yards

he turned the corner of the thicket; he found Rita senseless

in the arms of Cucumetto. At the sight of Carlini, Cucumetto

rose, a pistol in each hand. The two brigands looked at each

other for a moment -- the one with a smile of lasciviousness

on his lips, the other with the pallor of death on his brow.

A terrible battle between the two men seemed imminent; but

by degrees Carlini's features relaxed, his hand, which had

grasped one of the pistols in his belt, fell to his side.

Rita lay between them. The moon lighted the group.

 

"`Well,' said Cucumetto, `have you executed your

commission?'

 

"`Yes, captain,' returned Carlini. `At nine o'clock

to-morrow Rita's father will be here with the money.' -- `It

is well; in the meantime, we will have a merry night; this

young girl is charming, and does credit to your taste. Now,

as I am not egotistical, we will return to our comrades and

draw lots for her.' -- `You have determined, then, to

abandon her to the common law?" said Carlini.

 

"`Why should an exception be made in her favor?'

 

"`I thought that my entreaties' --

 

"`What right have you, any more than the rest, to ask for an

exception?' -- `It is true.' -- `But never mind,' continued

Cucumetto, laughing, `sooner or later your turn will come.'

Carlini's teeth clinched convulsively.

 

"`Now, then,' said Cucumetto, advancing towards the other

bandits, `are you coming?' -- `I follow you.'

 

"Cucumetto departed, without losing sight of Carlini, for,

doubtless, he feared lest he should strike him unawares; but

nothing betrayed a hostile design on Carlini's part. He was

standing, his arms folded, near Rita, who was still

insensible. Cucumetto fancied for a moment the young man was

about to take her in his arms and fly; but this mattered

little to him now Rita had been his; and as for the money,

three hundred piastres distributed among the band was so

small a sum that he cared little about it. He continued to

follow the path to the glade; but, to his great surprise,

Carlini arrived almost as soon as himself. `Let us draw

lots! let us draw lots!' cried all the brigands, when they

saw the chief.

 

"Their demand was fair, and the chief inclined his head in

sign of acquiescence. The eyes of all shone fiercely as they

made their demand, and the red light of the fire made them

look like demons. The names of all, including Carlini, were

placed in a hat, and the youngest of the band drew forth a

ticket; the ticket bore the name of Diovolaccio. He was the

man who had proposed to Carlini the health of their chief,

and to whom Carlini replied by breaking the glass across his

face. A large wound, extending from the temple to the mouth,

was bleeding profusely. Diovalaccio, seeing himself thus

favored by fortune, burst into a loud laugh. `Captain,' said

he, `just now Carlini would not drink your health when I

proposed it to him; propose mine to him, and let us see if

he will be more condescending to you than to me.' Every one

expected an explosion on Carlini's part; but to their great

surprise, he took a glass in one hand and a flask in the

other, and filling it, -- `Your health, Diavolaccio,' said

he calmly, and he drank it off, without his hand trembling

in the least. Then sitting down by the fire, `My supper,'

said he; `my expedition has given me an appetite.' -- `Well

done, Carlini!' cried the brigands; `that is acting like a

good fellow;' and they all formed a circle round the fire,

while Diavolaccio disappeared. Carlini ate and drank as if

nothing had happened. The bandits looked on with

astonishment at this singular conduct until they heard

footsteps. They turned round, and saw Diavolaccio bearing

the young girl in his arms. Her head hung back, and her long

hair swept the ground. As they entered the circle, the

bandits could perceive, by the firelight, the unearthly

pallor of the young girl and of Diavolaccio. This apparition

was so strange and so solemn, that every one rose, with the

exception of Carlini, who remained seated, and ate and drank

calmly. Diavolaccio advanced amidst the most profound

silence, and laid Rita at the captain's feet. Then every one

could understand the cause of the unearthly pallor in the

young girl and the bandit. A knife was plunged up to the

hilt in Rita's left breast. Every one looked at Carlini; the

sheath at his belt was empty. `Ah, ah,' said the chief, `I

now understand why Carlini stayed behind.' All savage

natures appreciate a desperate deed. No other of the bandits

would, perhaps, have done the same; but they all understood

what Carlini had done. `Now, then,' cried Carlini, rising in

his turn, and approaching the corpse, his hand on the butt

of one of his pistols, `does any one dispute the possession

of this woman with me?' -- `No,' returned the chief, `she is

thine.' Carlini raised her in his arms, and carried her out

of the circle of firelight. Cucumetto placed his sentinels

for the night, and the bandits wrapped themselves in their

cloaks, and lay down before the fire. At midnight the

sentinel gave the alarm, and in an instant all were on the

alert. It was Rita's father, who brought his daughter's

ransom in person. `Here,' said he, to Cucumetto, `here are

three hundred piastres; give me back my child. But the

chief, without taking the money, made a sign to him to

follow. The old man obeyed. They both advanced beneath the

trees, through whose branches streamed the moonlight.

Cucumetto stopped at last, and pointed to two persons

grouped at the foot of a tree.

 

"`There,' said he, `demand thy child of Carlini; he will

tell thee what has become of her;' and he returned to his

companions. The old man remained motionless; he felt that

some great and unforeseen misfortune hung over his head. At

length he advanced toward the group, the meaning of which he

could not comprehend. As he approached, Carlini raised his

head, and the forms of two persons became visible to the old

man's eyes. A woman lay on the ground, her head resting on

the knees of a man, who was seated by her; as he raised his

head, the woman's face became visible. The old man

recognized his child, and Carlini recognized the old man. `I

expected thee,' said the bandit to Rita's father. --

`Wretch!' returned the old man, `what hast thou done?' and

he gazed with terror on Rita, pale and bloody, a knife

buried in her bosom. A ray of moonlight poured through the

trees, and lighted up the face of the dead. -- `Cucumetto

had violated thy daughter,' said the bandit; `I loved her,

therefore I slew her; for she would have served as the sport

of the whole band.' The old man spoke not, and grew pale as

death. `Now,' continued Carlini, `if I have done wrongly,

avenge her;' and withdrawing the knife from the wound in

Rita's bosom, he held it out to the old man with one hand,

while with the other he tore open his vest. -- `Thou hast

done well!' returned the old man in a hoarse voice; `embrace

me, my son.' Carlini threw himself, sobbing like a child,

into the arms of his mistress's father. These were the first

tears the man of blood had ever wept. `Now,' said the old

man, `aid me to bury my child.' Carlini fetched two

pickaxes; and the father and the lover began to dig at the

foot of a huge oak, beneath which the young girl was to

repose. When the grave was formed, the father kissed her

first, and then the lover; afterwards, one taking the head,

the other the feet, they placed her in the grave. Then they

knelt on each side of the grave, and said the prayers of the

dead. Then, when they had finished, they cast the earth over

the corpse, until the grave was filled. Then, extending his

hand, the old man said; `I thank you, my son; and now leave

me alone.' -- `Yet' -- replied Carlini. -- `Leave me, I

command you.' Carlini obeyed, rejoined his comrades, folded

himself in his cloak, and soon appeared to sleep as soundly

as the rest. It had been resolved the night before to change

their encampment. An hour before daybreak, Cucumetto aroused

his men, and gave the word to march. But Carlini would not

quit the forest, without knowing what had become of Rita's

father. He went toward the place where he had left him. He

found the old man suspended from one of the branches of the

oak which shaded his daughter's grave. He then took an oath

of bitter vengeance over the dead body of the one and the

tomb of the other. But he was unable to complete this oath,

for two days afterwards, in an encounter with the Roman

carbineers, Carlini was killed. There was some surprise,

however, that, as he was with his face to the enemy, he

should have received a ball between his shoulders. That

astonishment ceased when one of the brigands remarked to his

comrades that Cucumetto was stationed ten paces in Carlini's

rear when he fell. On the morning of the departure from the

forest of Frosinone he had followed Carlini in the darkness,

and heard this oath of vengeance, and, like a wise man,

anticipated it. They told ten other stories of this bandit

chief, each more singular than the other. Thus, from Fondi

to Perusia, every one trembles at the name of Cucumetto.

 

"These narratives were frequently the theme of conversation

between Luigi and Teresa. The young girl trembled very much

at hearing the stories; but Vampa reassured her with a

smile, tapping the butt of his good fowling-piece, which

threw its ball so well; and if that did not restore her

courage, he pointed to a crow, perched on some dead branch,

took aim, touched the trigger, and the bird fell dead at the

foot of the tree. Time passed on, and the two young people

had agreed to be married when Vampa should be twenty and

Teresa nineteen years of age. They were both orphans, and

had only their employers' leave to ask, which had been

already sought and obtained. One day when they were talking

over their plans for the future, they heard two or three

reports of firearms, and then suddenly a man came out of the

wood, near which the two young persons used to graze their

flocks, and hurried towards them. When he came within

hearing, he exclaimed. `I am pursued; can you conceal me?'

They knew full well that this fugitive must be a bandit; but

there is an innate sympathy between the Roman brigand and

the Roman peasant and the latter is always ready to aid the

former. Vampa, without saying a word, hastened to the stone

that closed up the entrance to their grotto, drew it away,

made a sign to the fugitive to take refuge there, in a

retreat unknown to every one, closed the stone upon him, and

then went and resumed his seat by Teresa. Instantly

afterwards four carbineers, on horseback, appeared on the

edge of the wood; three of them appeared to be looking for

the fugitive, while the fourth dragged a brigand prisoner by

the neck. The three carbineers looked about carefully on

every side, saw the young peasants, and galloping up, began

to question them. They had seen no one. `That is very

annoying,' said the brigadier; for the man we are looking

for is the chief.' -- `Cucumetto?' cried Luigi and Teresa at

the same moment.

 

"`Yes,' replied the brigadier; `and as his head is valued at

a thousand Roman crowns, there would have been five hundred

for you, if you had helped us to catch him.' The two young

persons exchanged looks. The brigadier had a moment's hope.

Five hundred Roman crowns are three thousand lire, and three

thousand lire are a fortune for two poor orphans who are

going to be married.

 

"`Yes, it is very annoying,' said Vampa; `but we have not

seen him.'

 

"Then the carbineers scoured the country in different

directions, but in vain; then, after a time, they

disappeared. Vampa then removed the stone, and Cucumetto

came out. Through the crevices in the granite he had seen

the two young peasants talking with the carbineers, and

guessed the subject of their parley. He had read in the

countenances of Luigi and Teresa their steadfast resolution

not to surrender him, and he drew from his pocket a purse

full of gold, which he offered to them. But Vampa raised his

head proudly; as to Teresa, her eyes sparkled when she

thought of all the fine gowns and gay jewellery she could

buy with this purse of gold.

 

"Cucumetto was a cunning fiend, and had assumed the form of

a brigand instead of a serpent, and this look from Teresa

showed to him that she was a worthy daughter of Eve, and he

returned to the forest, pausing several times on his way,

under the pretext of saluting his protectors. Several days

elapsed, and they neither saw nor heard of Cucumetto. The

time of the Carnival was at hand. The Count of San-Felice

announced a grand masked ball, to which all that were

distinguished in Rome were invited. Teresa had a great

desire to see this ball. Luigi asked permission of his

protector, the steward, that she and he might be present

amongst the servants of the house. This was granted. The

ball was given by the Count for the particular pleasure of

his daughter Carmela, whom he adored. Carmela was precisely

the age and figure of Teresa, and Teresa was as handsome as

Carmela. On the evening of the ball Teresa was attired in

her best, her most brilliant ornaments in her hair, and

gayest glass beads, -- she was in the costume of the women

of Frascati. Luigi wore the very picturesque garb of the

Roman peasant at holiday time. They both mingled, as they

had leave to do, with the servants and peasants.

 

"The festa was magnificent; not only was the villa

brilliantly illuminated, but thousands of colored lanterns

were suspended from the trees in the garden; and very soon

the palace overflowed to the terraces, and the terraces to

the garden-walks. At each cross-path was an orchestra, and

tables spread with refreshments; the guests stopped, formed

quadrilles, and danced in any part of the grounds they

pleased. Carmela was attired like a woman of Sonnino. Her

cap was embroidered with pearls, the pins in her hair were

of gold and diamonds, her girdle was of Turkey silk, with

large embroidered flowers, her bodice and skirt were of

cashmere, her apron of Indian muslin, and the buttons of her

corset were of jewels. Two of her companions were dressed,

the one as a woman of Nettuno, and the other as a woman of

La Riccia. Four young men of the richest and noblest

families of Rome accompanied them with that Italian freedom

which has not its parallel in any other country in the

world. They were attired as peasants of Albano, Velletri,

Civita-Castellana, and Sora. We need hardly add that these

peasant costumes, like those of the young women, were

brilliant with gold and jewels.

 

"Carmela wished to form a quadrille, but there was one lady

wanting. Carmela looked all around her, but not one of the

guests had a costume similar to her own, or those of her

companions. The Count of San-Felice pointed out Teresa, who

was hanging on Luigi's arm in a group of peasants. `Will you

allow me, father?' said Carmela. -- `Certainly,' replied the

count, `are we not in Carnival time?' -- Carmela turned

towards the young man who was talking with her, and saying a

few words to him, pointed with her finger to Teresa. The

young man looked, bowed in obedience, and then went to

Teresa, and invited her to dance in a quadrille directed by

the count's daughter. Teresa felt a flush pass over her

face; she looked at Luigi, who could not refuse his assent.

Luigi slowly relinquished Teresa's arm, which he had held

beneath his own, and Teresa, accompanied by her elegant

cavalier, took her appointed place with much agitation in

the aristocratic quadrille. Certainly, in the eyes of an

artist, the exact and strict costume of Teresa had a very

different character from that of Carmela and her companions;

and Teresa was frivolous and coquettish, and thus the

embroidery and muslins, the cashmere waist-girdles, all

dazzled her, and the reflection of sapphires and diamonds

almost turned her giddy brain.

 

"Luigi felt a sensation hitherto unknown arising in his

mind. It was like an acute pain which gnawed at his heart,

and then thrilled through his whole body. He followed with

his eye each movement of Teresa and her cavalier; when their

hands touched, he felt as though he should swoon; every

pulse beat with violence, and it seemed as though a bell

were ringing in his ears. When they spoke, although Teresa

listened timidly and with downcast eyes to the conversation

of her cavalier, as Luigi could read in the ardent looks of

the good-looking young man that his language was that of

praise, it seemed as if the whole world was turning round

with him, and all the voices of hell were whispering in his

ears ideas of murder and assassination. Then fearing that

his paroxysm might get the better of him, he clutched with

one hand the branch of a tree against which he was leaning,

and with the other convulsively grasped the dagger with a

carved handle which was in his belt, and which, unwittingly,

he drew from the scabbard from time to time. Luigi was

jealous! He felt that, influenced by her ambitions and

coquettish disposition, Teresa might escape him.

 

"The young peasant girl, at first timid and scared, soon

recovered herself. We have said that Teresa was handsome,

but this is not all; Teresa was endowed with all those wild

graces which are so much more potent than our affected and

studied elegancies. She had almost all the honors of the

quadrille, and if she were envious of the Count of

San-Felice's daughter, we will not undertake to say that

Carmela was not jealous of her. And with overpowering

compliments her handsome cavalier led her back to the place

whence he had taken her, and where Luigi awaited her. Twice

or thrice during the dance the young girl had glanced at

Luigi, and each time she saw that he was pale and that his

features were agitated, once even the blade of his knife,

half drawn from its sheath, had dazzled her eyes with its

sinister glare. Thus, it was almost tremblingly that she

resumed her lover's arm. The quadrille had been most

perfect, and it was evident there was a great demand for a

repetition, Carmela alone objecting to it, but the Count of

San-Felice besought his daughter so earnestly, that she

acceded. One of the cavaliers then hastened to invite

Teresa, without whom it was impossible for the quadrille to

be formed, but the young girl had disappeared. The truth

was, that Luigi had not felt the strength to support another

such trial, and, half by persuasion and half by force, he

had removed Teresa toward another part of the garden. Teresa

had yielded in spite of herself, but when she looked at the

agitated countenance of the young man, she understood by his

silence and trembling voice that something strange was

passing within him. She herself was not exempt from internal

emotion, and without having done anything wrong, yet fully

comprehended that Luigi was right in reproaching her. Why,

she did not know, but yet she did not the less feel that

these reproaches were merited. However, to Teresa's great

astonishment, Luigi remained mute, and not a word escaped

his lips the rest of the evening. When the chill of the

night had driven away the guests from the gardens, and the

gates of the villa were closed on them for the festa

in-doors, he took Teresa quite away, and as he left her at

her home, he said, --

 

"`Teresa, what were you thinking of as you danced opposite

the young Countess of San-Felice?' -- `I thought,' replied

the young girl, with all the frankness of her nature, `that

I would give half my life for a costume such as she wore.'

 

"`And what said your cavalier to you?' -- `He said it only

depended on myself to have it, and I had only one word to

say.'

 

"`He was right,' said Luigi. `Do you desire it as ardently

as you say?' -- `Yes.' -- `Well, then, you shall have it!'

 

"The young girl, much astonished, raised her head to look at

him, but his face was so gloomy and terrible that her words

froze to her lips. As Luigi spoke thus, he left her. Teresa

followed him with her eyes into the darkness as long as she

could, and when he had quite disappeared, she went into the

house with a sigh.

 

"That night a memorable event occurred, due, no doubt, to

the imprudence of some servant who had neglected to

extinguish the lights. The Villa of San-Felice took fire in

the rooms adjoining the very apartment of the lovely

Carmela. Awakened in the night by the light of the flames,

she sprang out of bed, wrapped herself in a dressing-gown,

and attempted to escape by the door, but the corridor by

which she hoped to fly was already a prey to the flames. She

then returned to her room, calling for help as loudly as she

could, when suddenly her window, which was twenty feet from

the ground, was opened, a young peasant jumped into the

chamber, seized her in his arms, and with superhuman skill

and strength conveyed her to the turf of the grass-plot,

where she fainted. When she recovered, her father was by her

side. All the servants surrounded her, offering her

assistance. An entire wing of the villa was burnt down; but

what of that, as long as Carmela was safe and uninjured? Her

preserver was everywhere sought for, but he did not appear;

he was inquired after, but no one had seen him. Carmela was

greatly troubled that she had not recognized him. As the

count was immensely rich, excepting the danger Carmela had

run, -- and the marvellous manner in which she had escaped,

made that appear to him rather a favor of providence than a

real misfortune, -- the loss occasioned by the conflagration

was to him but a trifle.

 

"The next day, at the usual hour, the two young peasants

were on the borders of the forest. Luigi arrived first. He

came toward Teresa in high spirits, and seemed to have

completely forgotten the events of the previous evening. The

young girl was very pensive, but seeing Luigi so cheerful,

she on her part assumed a smiling air, which was natural to

her when she was not excited or in a passion. Luigi took her

arm beneath his own, and led her to the door of the grotto.

Then he paused. The young girl, perceiving that there was

something extraordinary, looked at him steadfastly.

`Teresa,' said Luigi, `yesterday evening you told me you

would give all the world to have a costume similar to that

of the count's daughter.' -- `Yes,' replied Teresa with

astonishment; `but I was mad to utter such a wish.' -- `And

I replied, "Very well, you shall have it."' -- `Yes,'

replied the young girl, whose astonishment increased at

every word uttered by Luigi, `but of course your reply was

only to please me.'

 

"`I have promised no more than I have given you, Teresa,'

said Luigi proudly. `Go into the grotto and dress yourself.'

At these words he drew away the stone, and showed Teresa the

grotto, lighted up by two wax lights, which burnt on each

side of a splendid mirror; on a rustic table, made by Luigi,

were spread out the pearl necklace and the diamond pins, and

on a chair at the side was laid the rest of the costume.

 

"Teresa uttered a cry of joy, and, without inquiring whence

this attire came, or even thanking Luigi, darted into the

grotto, transformed into a dressing-room. Luigi pushed the

stone behind her, for on the crest of a small adjacent hill

which cut off the view toward Palestrina, he saw a traveller

on horseback, stopping a moment, as if uncertain of his

road, and thus presenting against the blue sky that perfect

outline which is peculiar to distant objects in southern

climes. When he saw Luigi, he put his horse into a gallop

and advanced toward him. Luigi was not mistaken. The

traveller, who was going from Palestrina to Tivoli, had

mistaken his way; the young man directed him; but as at a

distance of a quarter of a mile the road again divided into

three ways, and on reaching these the traveller might again

stray from his route, he begged Luigi to be his guide. Luigi

threw his cloak on the ground, placed his carbine on his

shoulder, and freed from his heavy covering, preceded the

traveller with the rapid step of a mountaineer, which a

horse can scarcely keep up with. In ten minutes Luigi and

the traveller reached the cross-roads. On arriving there,

with an air as majestic as that of an emperor, he stretched

his hand towards that one of the roads which the traveller

was to follow. -- "That is your road, excellency, and now

you cannot again mistake.' -- `And here is your recompense,'

said the traveller, offering the young herdsman some small

pieces of money.

 

"`Thank you,' said Luigi, drawing back his hand; `I render a

service, I do not sell it.' -- `Well,' replied the

traveller, who seemed used to this difference between the

servility of a man of the cities and the pride of the

mountaineer, `if you refuse wages, you will, perhaps, accept

a gift.' -- `Ah, yes, that is another thing.' -- `Then,'

said the traveller, `take these two Venetian sequins and

give them to your bride, to make herself a pair of

earrings.'

 

"`And then do you take this poniard,' said the young

herdsman; `you will not find one better carved between

Albano and Civita-Castellana.'

 

"`I accept it,' answered the traveller, `but then the

obligation will be on my side, for this poniard is worth

more than two sequins.' -- `For a dealer perhaps; but for

me, who engraved it myself, it is hardly worth a piastre.'

 

"`What is your name?' inquired the traveller. -- `Luigi

Vampa,' replied the shepherd, with the same air as he would

have replied, Alexander, King of Macedon. -- `And yours?' --

`I,' said the traveller, `am called Sinbad the Sailor.'"

Franz d'Epinay started with surprise.

 

"Sinbad the Sailor." he said.

 

"Yes," replied the narrator; "that was the name which the

traveller gave to Vampa as his own."

 

"Well, and what may you have to say against this name?"

inquired Albert; "it is a very pretty name, and the

adventures of the gentleman of that name amused me very much

in my youth, I must confess." -- Franz said no more. The

name of Sinbad the Sailor, as may well be supposed, awakened

in him a world of recollections, as had the name of the

Count of Monte Cristo on the previous evening.

 

"Proceed!" said he to the host.

 

"Vampa put the two sequins haughtily into his pocket, and

slowly returned by the way he had gone. As he came within

two or three hundred paces of the grotto, he thought he

heard a cry. He listened to know whence this sound could

proceed. A moment afterwards he thought he heard his own

name pronounced distinctly. The cry proceeded from the

grotto. He bounded like a chamois, cocking his carbine as he

went, and in a moment reached the summit of a hill opposite

to that on which he had perceived the traveller. Three cries

for help came more distinctly to his ear. He cast his eyes

around him and saw a man carrying off Teresa, as Nessus, the

centaur, carried Dejanira. This man, who was hastening

towards the wood, was already three-quarters of the way on

the road from the grotto to the forest. Vampa measured the

distance; the man was at least two hundred paces in advance

of him, and there was not a chance of overtaking him. The

young shepherd stopped, as if his feet had been rooted to

the ground; then he put the butt of his carbine to his

shoulder, took aim at the ravisher, followed him for a

second in his track, and then fired. The ravisher stopped

suddenly, his knees bent under him, and he fell with Teresa

in his arms. The young girl rose instantly, but the man lay

on the earth struggling in the agonies of death. Vampa then

rushed towards Teresa; for at ten paces from the dying man

her legs had failed her, and she had dropped on her knees,

so that the young man feared that the ball that had brought

down his enemy, had also wounded his betrothed. Fortunately,

she was unscathed, and it was fright alone that had overcome

Teresa. When Luigi had assured himself that she was safe and

unharmed, he turned towards the wounded man. He had just

expired, with clinched hands, his mouth in a spasm of agony,

and his hair on end in the sweat of death. His eyes remained

open and menacing. Vampa approached the corpse, and

recognized Cucumetto. From the day on which the bandit had

been saved by the two young peasants, he had been enamoured

of Teresa, and had sworn she should be his. From that time

he had watched them, and profiting by the moment when her

lover had left her alone, had carried her off, and believed

he at length had her in his power, when the ball, directed

by the unerring skill of the young herdsman, had pierced his

heart. Vampa gazed on him for a moment without betraying the

slightest emotion; while, on the contrary, Teresa,

shuddering in every limb, dared not approach the slain

ruffian but by degrees, and threw a hesitating glance at the

dead body over the shoulder of her lover. Suddenly Vampa

turned toward his mistress: -- `Ah,' said he -- `good, good!

You are dressed; it is now my turn to dress myself.'

 

"Teresa was clothed from head to foot in the garb of the

Count of San-Felice's daughter. Vampa took Cucumetto's body

in his arms and conveyed it to the grotto, while in her turn

Teresa remained outside. If a second traveller had passed,

he would have seen a strange thing, -- a shepherdess

watching her flock, clad in a cashmere grown, with ear-rings

and necklace of pearls, diamond pins, and buttons of

sapphires, emeralds, and rubies. He would, no doubt, have

believed that he had returned to the times of Florian, and

would have declared, on reaching Paris, that he had met an

Alpine shepherdess seated at the foot of the Sabine Hill. At

the end of a quarter of an hour Vampa quitted the grotto;

his costume was no less elegant than that of Teresa. He wore

a vest of garnet-colored velvet, with buttons of cut gold; a

silk waistcoat covered with embroidery; a Roman scarf tied

round his neck; a cartridge-box worked with gold, and red

and green silk; sky-blue velvet breeches, fastened above the

knee with diamond buckles; garters of deerskin, worked with

a thousand arabesques, and a hat whereon hung ribbons of all

colors; two watches hung from his girdle, and a splendid

poniard was in his belt. Teresa uttered a cry of admiration.

Vampa in this attire resembled a painting by Leopold Robert,

or Schnetz. He had assumed the entire costume of Cucumetto.

The young man saw the effect produced on his betrothed, and

a smile of pride passed over his lips. -- `Now,' he said to

Teresa, `are you ready to share my fortune, whatever it may

be?' -- `Oh, yes!' exclaimed the young girl

enthusiastically. -- `And follow me wherever I go?' -- `To

the world's end.' -- `Then take my arm, and let us on; we

have no time to lose.' -- The young girl did so without

questioning her lover as to where he was conducting her, for

he appeared to her at this moment as handsome, proud, and

powerful as a god. They went towards the forest, and soon

entered it. We need scarcely say that all the paths of the

mountain were known to Vampa; he therefore went forward

without a moment's hesitation, although there was no beaten

track, but he knew his path by looking at the trees and

bushes, and thus they kept on advancing for nearly an hour

and a half. At the end of this time they had reached the

thickest of the forest. A torrent, whose bed was dry, led

into a deep gorge. Vampa took this wild road, which,

enclosed between two ridges, and shadowed by the tufted

umbrage of the pines, seemed, but for the difficulties of

its descent, that path to Avernus of which Virgil speaks.

Teresa had become alarmed at the wild and deserted look of

the plain around her, and pressed closely against her guide,

not uttering a syllable; but as she saw him advance with

even step and composed countenance, she endeavored to

repress her emotion. Suddenly, about ten paces from them, a

man advanced from behind a tree and aimed at Vampa. -- `Not

another step,' he said, `or you are a dead man.' -- `What,

then,' said Vampa, raising his hand with a gesture of

disdain, while Teresa, no longer able to restrain her alarm,

clung closely to him, `do wolves rend each other?' -- `Who

are you?' inquired the sentinel. -- `I am Luigi Vampa,

shepherd of the San-Felice farm.' -- `What do you want?' --

`I would speak with your companions who are in the glade at

Rocca Bianca.' -- `Follow me, then,' said the sentinel; `or,

as you know your way, go first.' -- Vampa smiled

disdainfully at this precaution on the part of the bandit,

went before Teresa, and continued to advance with the same

firm and easy step as before. At the end of ten minutes the

bandit made them a sign to stop. The two young persons

obeyed. Then the bandit thrice imitated the cry of a crow; a

croak answered this signal. -- `Good!' said the sentry, `you

may now go on.' -- Luigi and Teresa again set forward; as

they went on Teresa clung tremblingly to her lover at the

sight of weapons and the glistening of carbines through the

trees. The retreat of Rocca Bianca was at the top of a small

mountain, which no doubt in former days had been a volcano

-- an extinct volcano before the days when Remus and Romulus

had deserted Alba to come and found the city of Rome. Teresa

and Luigi reached the summit, and all at once found

themselves in the presence of twenty bandits. `Here is a

young man who seeks and wishes to speak to you,' said the

sentinel. -- `What has he to say?' inquired the young man

who was in command in the chief's absence. -- `I wish to say

that I am tired of a shepherd's life,' was Vampa's reply. --

`Ah, I understand,' said the lieutenant; `and you seek

admittance into our ranks?' -- `Welcome!' cried several

bandits from Ferrusino, Pampinara, and Anagni, who had

recognized Luigi Vampa. -- `Yes, but I came to ask something

more than to be your companion.' -- `And what may that be?'

inquired the bandits with astonishment. -- `I come to ask to

be your captain,' said the young man. The bandits shouted

with laughter. `And what have you done to aspire to this

honor?' demanded the lieutenant. -- `I have killed your

chief, Cucumetto, whose dress I now wear; and I set fire to

the villa San-Felice to procure a wedding-dress for my

betrothed.' An hour afterwards Luigi Vampa was chosen

captain, vice Cucumetto deceased."

 

"Well, my dear Albert," said Franz, turning towards his

friend; "what think you of citizen Luigi Vampa?"

 

"I say he is a myth," replied Albert, "and never had an

existence."

 

"And what may a myth be?" inquired Pastrini.

 

"The explanation would be too long, my dear landlord,"

replied Franz.

 

"And you say that Signor Vampa exercises his profession at

this moment in the environs of Rome?"

 

"And with a boldness of which no bandit before him ever gave

an example."

 

"Then the police have vainly tried to lay hands on him?"

 

"Why, you see, he has a good understanding with the

shepherds in the plains, the fishermen of the Tiber, and the

smugglers of the coast. They seek for him in the mountains,

and he is on the waters; they follow him on the waters, and

he is on the open sea; then they pursue him, and he has

suddenly taken refuge in the islands, at Giglio, Guanouti,

or Monte Cristo; and when they hunt for him there, he

reappears suddenly at Albano, Tivoli, or La Riccia."

 

"And how does he behave towards travellers?"

 

"Alas! his plan is very simple. It depends on the distance

he may be from the city, whether he gives eight hours,

twelve hours, or a day wherein to pay their ransom; and when

that time has elapsed he allows another hour's grace. At the

sixtieth minute of this hour, if the money is not

forthcoming, he blows out the prisoner's brains with a

pistol-shot, or plants his dagger in his heart, and that

settles the account."

 

"Well, Albert," inquired Franz of his companion, "are you

still disposed to go to the Colosseum by the outer wall?"

 

"Quite so," said Albert, "if the way be picturesque." The

clock struck nine as the door opened, and a coachman

appeared. "Excellencies," said he, "the coach is ready."

 

"Well, then," said Franz, "let us to the Colosseum."

 

"By the Porta del Popolo or by the streets, your

excellencies?"

 

"By the streets, morbleu, by the streets!" cried Franz.

 

"Ah, my dear fellow," said Albert, rising, and lighting his

third cigar, "really, I thought you had more courage." So

saying, the two young men went down the staircase, and got

into the carriage.