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    Chapter 33

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    Chapter 33
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    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

    "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?"


    "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

    "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

    "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

    "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

    "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."


    "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?"


    "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

    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

    "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

    "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

    "'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

    "'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

    "'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

    "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

    "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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    Chapter 33
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