الفصل الفصل 34 · Roman Bandits（2）
“‘Now, then,’ cried Carlini, rising in his turn, and approaching the
corpse, his hand on the butt of one of his pistols, ‘does anyone
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.’
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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 embraced 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, everyone 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 everyone, 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.
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“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’Épinay 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
Deianira.
“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
clenched 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.’
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“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 Léopold 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
part 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.”
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“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,
Giannutri, 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.
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