silence, and then a voice, in excellent French, although, with a
foreign accent, said, "Welcome, sir. I beg you will remove your
bandage." It may be supposed, then, Franz did not wait for a
repetition of this permission, but took off the handkerchief, and
found himself in the presence of a man from thirty-eight to forty
years of age, dressed in a Tunisian costume — that is to say, a red
cap with a long blue silk tassel, a vest of black cloth embroidered
with gold, pantaloons of deep red, large and full gaiters of the
same color, embroidered with gold like the vest, and yellow
slippers; he had a splendid cashmere round his waist, and a small
sharp and crooked cangiar was passed through his girdle. Although
of a paleness that was almost livid, this man had a remarkably
handsome face; his eyes were penetrating and sparkling; his nose,
quite straight, and projecting direct from the brow, was of the
pure Greek type, while his teeth, as white as pearls, were set off
to admiration by the black mustache that encircled them.
His pallor was so peculiar, that it seemed to pertain to one who
had been long entombed, and who was incapable of resuming the
healthy glow and hue of life. He was not particularly tall, but
extremely well made, and, like the men of the south, had small
hands and feet. But what astonished Franz, who had treated
Gaetano's description as a fable, was the splendor of the apartment
in which he found himself. The entire chamber was lined with
crimson brocade, worked with flowers of gold. In a recess was a
kind of divan, surmounted with a stand of Arabian swords in silver
scabbards, and the handles resplendent with gems; from the ceiling
hung a lamp of Venetian glass, of beautiful shape and color, while
the feet rested on a Turkey carpet, in which they sunk to the
instep; tapestry hung before the door by which Franz had entered,
and also in front of another door, leading into a second apartment
which seemed to be brilliantly illuminated. The host gave Franzwhich seemed to be brilliantly illuminated. The host gave Franz
time to recover from his surprise, and, moreover, returned look for
look, not even taking his eyes off him. "Sir," he said, after a
pause, "a thousand excuses for the precaution taken in your
introduction hither; but as, during the greater portion of the
year, this island is deserted, if the secret of this abode were
discovered. I should doubtless, find on my return my temporary
retirement in a state of great disorder, which would be exceedingly
annoying, not for the loss it occasioned me, but because I should
not have the certainty I now possess of separating myself from all
the rest of mankind at pleasure. Let me now endeavor to make you
forget this temporary unpleasantness, and offer you what no doubt
you did not expect to find here — that is to say, a tolerable
supper and pretty comfortable beds."
"Ma foi, my dear sir," replied Franz, "make no apologies. I have
always observed that they bandage people's eyes who penetrate
enchanted palaces, for instance, those of Raoul in the `Huguenots,'
and really I have nothing to complain of, for what I see makes me
think of the wonders of the `Arabian Nights.'"
"Alas, I may say with Lucullus, if I could have anticipated the
honor of your visit, I would have prepared for it. But such as is
my hermitage, it is at your disposal; such as is my supper, it is
yours to share, if you will. Ali, is the supper ready?" At this
moment the tapestry moved aside, and a Nubian, black as ebony, and
dressed in a plain white tunic, made a sign to his master that all
was prepared in the dining-room. "Now," said the unknown to Franz,
"I do not know if you are of my opinion, but I think nothing is
more annoying than to remain two or three hours together without
knowing by name or appellation how to address one another. Pray
observe, that I too much respect the laws of hospitality to ask
your name or title. I only request you to give me one by which I
may have the pleasure of addressing you. As for myself, that I maymay have the pleasure of addressing you. As for myself, that I may
put you at your ease, I tell you that I am generally called `Sinbad
the Sailor.'"
"And I," replied Franz, "will tell you, as I only require his
wonderful lamp to make me precisely like Aladdin, that I see no
reason why at this moment I should not be called Aladdin. That will
keep us from going away from the East whither I am tempted to think
I have been conveyed by some good genius."
"Well, then, Signor Aladdin," replied the singular amphitryon,
"you heard our repast announced, will you now take the trouble to
enter the dining-room, your humble servant going first to show the
way?" At these words, moving aside the tapestry, Sinbad preceded
his guest. Franz now looked upon another scene of enchantment; the
table was splendidly covered, and once convinced of this important
point he cast his eyes around him. The dining-room was scarcely
less striking than the room he had just left; it was entirely of
marble, with antique bas-reliefs of priceless value; and at the
four corners of this apartment, which was oblong, were four
magnificent statues, having baskets in their hands. These baskets
contained four pyramids of most splendid fruit; there were Sicily
pine-apples, pomegranates from Malaga, oranges from the Balearic
Isles, peaches from France, and dates from Tunis. The supper
consisted of a roast pheasant garnished with Corsican blackbirds; a
boar's ham with jelly, a quarter of a kid with tartar sauce, a
glorious turbot, and a gigantic lobster. Between these large dishes
were smaller ones containing various dainties. The dishes were of
silver, and the plates of Japanese china.
Franz rubbed his eyes in order to assure himself that this was
not a dream. Ali alone was present to wait at table, and acquitted
himself so admirably, that the guest complimented his host
thereupon. "Yes," replied he, while he did the honors of the supper
with much ease and grace — "yes, he is a poor devil who is much


with much ease and grace — "yes, he is a poor devil who is much
devoted to me, and does all he can to prove it. He remembers that I
saved his life, and as he has a regard for his head, he feels some
gratitude towards me for having kept it on his shoulders." Ali
approached his master, took his hand, and kissed it.
"Would it be impertinent, Signor Sinbad," said Franz, "to ask
you the particulars of this kindness?"
"Oh, they are simple enough," replied the host. "It seems the
fellow had been caught wandering nearer to the harem of the Bey of
Tunis than etiquette permits to one of his color, and he was
condemned by the bey to have his tongue cut out, and his hand and
head cut off; the tongue the first day, the hand the second, and
the head the third. I always had a desire to have a mute in my
service, so learning the day his tongue was cut out, I went to the
bey, and proposed to give him for Ali a splendid double-barreled
gun which I knew he was very desirous of having. He hesitated a
moment, he was so very desirous to complete the poor devil's
punishment. But when I added to the gun an English cutlass with
which I had shivered his highness's yataghan to pieces, the bey
yielded, and agreed to forgive the hand and head, but on condition
that the poor fellow never again set foot in Tunis. This was a
useless clause in the bargain, for whenever the coward sees the
first glimpse of the shores of Africa, he runs down below, and can
only be induced to appear again when we are out of sight of that
quarter of the globe."
Franz remained a moment silent and pensive, hardly knowing what
to think of the half-kindness, half-cruelty, with which his host
related the brief narrative. "And like the celebrated sailor whose
name you have assumed," he said, by way of changing the
conversation, "you pass your life in travelling?"
"Yes. I made a vow at a time when I little thought I should ever
be able to accomplish it," said the unknown with a singular smile;
"and I made some others also which I hope I may fulfil in due"and I made some others also which I hope I may fulfil in due
season." Although Sinbad pronounced these words with much calmness,
his eyes gave forth gleams of extraordinary ferocity.
"You have suffered a great deal, sir?" said Franz
inquiringly.
Sinbad started and looked fixedly at him, as he replied, "What
makes you suppose so?"
"Everything," answered Franz, — "your voice, your look, your
pallid complexion, and even the life you lead."
"I? — I live the happiest life possible, the real life of a
pasha. I am king of all creation. I am pleased with one place, and
stay there; I get tired of it, and leave it; I am free as a bird
and have wings like one; my attendants obey my slightest wish.
Sometimes I amuse myself by delivering some bandit or criminal from
the bonds of the law. Then I have my mode of dispensing justice,
silent and sure, without respite or appeal, which condemns or
pardons, and which no one sees. Ah, if you had tasted my life, you
would not desire any other, and would never return to the world
unless you had some great project to accomplish there."
"Revenge, for instance!" observed Franz.
The unknown fixed on the young man one of those looks which
penetrate into the depth of the heart and thoughts. "And why
revenge?" he asked.
"Because," replied Franz, "you seem to me like a man who,
persecuted by society, has a fearful account to settle with
it."
"Ah," responded Sinbad, laughing with his singular laugh which
displayed his white and sharp teeth. "You have not guessed rightly.
Such as you see me I am, a sort of philosopher, and one day perhaps
I shall go to Paris to rival Monsieur Appert, and the little man in
the blue cloak."
"And will that be the first time you ever took that
journey?"
"Yes; it will. I must seem to you by no means curious, but I
assure you that it is not my fault I have delayed it so long — it
will happen one day or the other."
"And do you propose to make this journey very shortly?"
"I do not know; it depends on circumstances which depend on
certain arrangements.""I do not know; it depends on circumstances which depend on
certain arrangements."
"I should like to be there at the time you come, and I will
endeavor to repay you, as far as lies in my power, for your liberal
hospitality displayed to me at Monte Cristo."
"I should avail myself of your offer with pleasure," replied the
host, "but, unfortunately, if I go there, it will be, in all
probability, incognito."
The supper appeared to have been supplied solely for Franz, for
the unknown scarcely touched one or two dishes of the splendid
banquet to which his guest did ample justice. Then Ali brought on
the dessert, or rather took the baskets from the hands of the
statues and placed them on the table. Between the two baskets he
placed a small silver cup with a silver cover. The care with which
Ali placed this cup on the table roused Franz's curiosity. He
raised the cover and saw a kind of greenish paste, something like
preserved angelica, but which was perfectly unknown to him. He
replaced the lid, as ignorant of what the cup contained as he was
before he had looked at it, and then casting his eyes towards his
host he saw him smile at his disappointment. "You cannot guess,"
said he, "what there is in that small vase, can you?"
"No, I really cannot."
"Well, then, that green preserve is nothing less than the
ambrosia which Hebe served at the table of Jupiter."
"But," replied Franz, "this ambrosia, no doubt, in passing
through mortal hands has lost its heavenly appellation and assumed
a human name; in vulgar phrase, what may you term this composition,
for which, to tell the truth, I do not feel any particular
desire?"
"Ah, thus it is that our material origin is revealed," cried
Sinbad; "we frequently pass so near to happiness without seeing,
without regarding it, or if we do see and regard it, yet without
recognizing it. Are you a man for the substantials, and is gold
your god? taste this, and the mines of Peru, Guzerat, and Golconda
are opened to you. Are you a man of imagination — a poet? taste


are opened to you. Are you a man of imagination — a poet? taste
this, and the boundaries of possibility disappear; the fields of
infinite space open to you, you advance free in heart, free in
mind, into the boundless realms of unfettered revery. Are you
ambitious, and do you seek after the greatnesses of the earth?
taste this, and in an hour you will be a king, not a king of a
petty kingdom hidden in some corner of Europe like France, Spain,
or England, but king of the world, king of the universe, king of
creation; without bowing at the feet of Satan, you will be king and
master of all the kingdoms of the earth. Is it not tempting what I
offer you, and is it not an easy thing, since it is only to do
thus? look!" At these words he uncovered the small cup which
contained the substance so lauded, took a teaspoonful of the magic
sweetmeat, raised it to his lips, and swallowed it slowly with his
eyes half shut and his head bent backwards. Franz did not disturb
him whilst he absorbed his favorite sweetmeat, but when he had
finished, he inquired, — "What, then, is this precious stuff?"
"Did you ever hear," he replied, "of the Old Man of the
Mountain, who attempted to assassinate Philip Augustus?"
"Of course I have."
"Well, you know he reigned over a rich valley which was overhung
by the mountain whence he derived his picturesque name. In this
valley were magnificent gardens planted by Hassen-ben-Sabah, and in
these gardens isolated pavilions. Into these pavilions he admitted
the elect, and there, says Marco Polo, gave them to eat a certain
herb, which transported them to Paradise, in the midst of
ever-blooming shrubs, ever-ripe fruit, and ever-lovely virgins.
What these happy persons took for reality was but a dream; but it
was a dream so soft, so voluptuous, so enthralling, that they sold
themselves body and soul to him who gave it to them, and obedient
to his orders as to those of a deity, struck down the designated
victim, died in torture without a murmur, believing that the deathvictim, died in torture without a murmur, believing that the death
they underwent was but a quick transition to that life of delights
of which the holy herb, now before you had given them a slight
foretaste."
"Then," cried Franz, "it is hashish! I know that — by name at
least."
"That is it precisely, Signor Aladdin; it is hashish — the
purest and most unadulterated hashish of Alexandria, — the hashish
of Abou-Gor, the celebrated maker, the only man, the man to whom
there should be built a palace, inscribed with these words, `A
grateful world to the dealer in happiness.'"
"Do you know," said Franz, "I have a very great inclination to
judge for myself of the truth or exaggeration of your
eulogies."
"Judge for yourself, Signor Aladdin — judge, but do not confine
yourself to one trial. Like everything else, we must habituate the
senses to a fresh impression, gentle or violent, sad or joyous.
There is a struggle in nature against this divine substance, — in
nature which is not made for joy and clings to pain. Nature subdued
must yield in the combat, the dream must succeed to reality, and
then the dream reigns supreme, then the dream becomes life, and
life becomes the dream. But what changes occur! It is only by
comparing the pains of actual being with the joys of the assumed
existence, that you would desire to live no longer, but to dream
thus forever. When you return to this mundane sphere from your
visionary world, you would seem to leave a Neapolitan spring for a
Lapland winter — to quit paradise for earth — heaven for hell!
Taste the hashish, guest of mine — taste the hashish."
Franz's only reply was to take a teaspoonful of the marvellous
preparation, about as much in quantity as his host had eaten, and
lift it to his mouth. "Diable!" he said, after having swallowed the
divine preserve. "I do not know if the result will be as agreeable
as you describe, but the thing does not appear to me as palatable
as you say."
"Because your palate his not yet been attuned to the sublimityas you say."
"Because your palate his not yet been attuned to the sublimity
of the substances it flavors. Tell me, the first time you tasted
oysters, tea, porter, truffles, and sundry other dainties which you
now adore, did you like them? Could you comprehend how the Romans
stuffed their pheasants with assafoetida, and the Chinese eat
swallows' nests? Eh? no! Well, it is the same with hashish; only
eat for a week, and nothing in the world will seem to you to equal
the delicacy of its flavor, which now appears to you flat and
distasteful. Let us now go into the adjoining chamber, which is
your apartment, and Ali will bring us coffee and pipes." They both
arose, and while he who called himself Sinbad — and whom we have
occasionally named so, that we might, like his guest, have some
title by which to distinguish him — gave some orders to the
servant, Franz entered still another apartment. It was simply yet
richly furnished. It was round, and a large divan completely
encircled it. Divan, walls, ceiling, floor, were all covered with
magnificent skins as soft and downy as the richest carpets; there
were heavy-maned lion-skins from Atlas, striped tiger-skins from
Bengal; panther-skins from the Cape, spotted beautifully, like
those that appeared to Dante; bear-skins from Siberia, fox-skins
from Norway, and so on; and all these skins were strewn in
profusion one on the other, so that it seemed like walking over the
most mossy turf, or reclining on the most luxurious bed. Both laid
themselves down on the divan; chibouques with jasmine tubes and
amber mouthpieces were within reach, and all prepared so that there
was no need to smoke the same pipe twice. Each of them took one,
which Ali lighted and then retired to prepare the coffee. There was
a moment's silence, during which Sinbad gave himself up to thoughts
that seemed to occupy him incessantly, even in the midst of his
conversation; and Franz abandoned himself to that mute revery, into
which we always sink when smoking excellent tobacco, which seems to


which we always sink when smoking excellent tobacco, which seems to
remove with its fume all the troubles of the mind, and to give the
smoker in exchange all the visions of the soul. Ali brought in the
coffee. "How do you take it?" inquired the unknown; "in the French
or Turkish style, strong or weak, sugar or none, cool or boiling?
As you please; it is ready in all ways."
"I will take it in the Turkish style," replied Franz.
"And you are right," said his host; "it shows you have a
tendency for an Oriental life. Ah, those Orientals; they are the
only men who know how to live. As for me," he added, with one of
those singular smiles which did not escape the young man, "when I
have completed my affairs in Paris, I shall go and die in the East;
and should you wish to see me again, you must seek me at Cairo,
Bagdad, or Ispahan."
"Ma foi," said Franz, "it would be the easiest thing in the
world; for I feel eagle's wings springing out at my shoulders, and
with those wings I could make a tour of the world in four and
twenty hours."
"Ah, yes, the hashish is beginning its work. Well, unfurl your
wings, and fly into superhuman regions; fear nothing, there is a
watch over you; and if your wings, like those of Icarus, melt
before the sun, we are here to ease your fall." He then said
something in Arabic to Ali, who made a sign of obedience and
withdrew, but not to any distance. As to Franz a strange
transformation had taken place in him. All the bodily fatigue of
the day, all the preoccupation of mind which the events of the
evening had brought on, disappeared as they do at the first
approach of sleep, when we are still sufficiently conscious to be
aware of the coming of slumber. His body seemed to acquire an airy
lightness, his perception brightened in a remarkable manner, his
senses seemed to redouble their power, the horizon continued to
expand; but it was not the gloomy horizon of vague alarms, and
which he had seen before he slept, but a blue, transparent,which he had seen before he slept, but a blue, transparent,
unbounded horizon, with all the blue of the ocean, all the spangles
of the sun, all the perfumes of the summer breeze; then, in the
midst of the songs of his sailors, — songs so clear and sonorous,
that they would have made a divine harmony had their notes been
taken down, — he saw the Island of Monte Cristo, no longer as a
threatening rock in the midst of the waves, but as an oasis in the
desert; then, as his boat drew nearer, the songs became louder, for
an enchanting and mysterious harmony rose to heaven, as if some
Loreley had decreed to attract a soul thither, or Amphion, the
enchanter, intended there to build a city.
At length the boat touched the shore, but without effort,
without shock, as lips touch lips; and he entered the grotto amidst
continued strains of most delicious melody. He descended, or rather
seemed to descend, several steps, inhaling the fresh and balmy air,
like that which may be supposed to reign around the grotto of
Circe, formed from such perfumes as set the mind a dreaming, and
such fires as burn the very senses; and he saw again all he had
seen before his sleep, from Sinbad, his singular host, to Ali, the
mute attendant; then all seemed to fade away and become confused
before his eyes, like the last shadows of the magic lantern before
it is extinguished, and he was again in the chamber of statues,
lighted only by one of those pale and antique lamps which watch in
the dead of the night over the sleep of pleasure. They were the
same statues, rich in form, in attraction. and poesy, with eyes of
fascination, smiles of love, and bright and flowing hair. They were
Phryne, Cleopatra, Messalina, those three celebrated courtesans.
Then among them glided like a pure ray, like a Christian angel in
the midst of Olympus, one of those chaste figures, those calm
shadows, those soft visions, which seemed to veil its virgin brow
before these marble wantons. Then the three statues advancedbefore these marble wantons. Then the three statues advanced
towards him with looks of love, and approached the couch on which
he was reposing, their feet hidden in their long white tunics,
their throats bare, hair flowing like waves, and assuming attitudes
which the gods could not resist, but which saints withstood, and
looks inflexible and ardent like those with which the serpent
charms the bird; and then he gave way before looks that held him in
a torturing grasp and delighted his senses as with a voluptuous
kiss. It seemed to Franz that he closed his eyes, and in a last
look about him saw the vision of modesty completely veiled; and
then followed a dream of passion like that promised by the Prophet
to the elect. Lips of stone turned to flame, breasts of ice became
like heated lava, so that to Franz, yielding for the first time to
the sway of the drug, love was a sorrow and voluptuousness a
torture, as burning mouths were pressed to his thirsty lips, and he
was held in cool serpent-like embraces. The more he strove against
this unhallowed passion the more his senses yielded to its thrall,
and at length, weary of a struggle that taxed his very soul, he
gave way and sank back breathless and exhausted beneath the kisses
of these marble goddesses, and the enchantment of his marvellous
dream.When Franz returned to himself, he seemed still to be in a
dream. He thought himself in a sepulchre, into which a ray of
sunlight in pity scarcely penetrated. He stretched forth his hand,
and touched stone; he rose to his seat, and found himself lying on
his bournous in a bed of dry heather, very soft and odoriferous.
The vision had fled; and as if the statues had been but shadows
from the tomb, they had vanished at his waking. He advanced several
paces towards the point whence the light came, and to all the
excitement of his dream succeeded the calmness of reality. He found
that he was in a grotto, went towards the opening, and through a
kind of fanlight saw a blue sea and an azure sky. The air and water
were shining in the beams of the morning sun; on the shore the
sailors were sitting, chatting and laughing; and at ten yards from
them the boat was at anchor, undulating gracefully on the water.
There for some time he enjoyed the fresh breeze which played on his
brow, and listened to the dash of the waves on the beach, that left
against the rocks a lace of foam as white as silver. He was for
some time without reflection or thought for the divine charm which
is in the things of nature, specially after a fantastic dream; then
gradually this view of the outer world, so calm, so pure, so grand,
reminded him of the illusiveness of his vision, and once more
awakened memory. He recalled his arrival on the island, his
presentation to a smuggler chief, a subterranean palace full of
splendor, an excellent supper, and a spoonful of hashish. It
seemed, however, even in the very face of open day, that at least a
year had elapsed since all these things had passed, so deep was the
impression made in his mind by the dream, and so strong a hold had
it taken of his imagination. Thus every now and then he saw in
fancy amid the sailors, seated on a rock, or undulating in the
vessel, one of the shadows which had shared his dream with looks
and kisses. Otherwise, his head was perfectly clear, and his body


and kisses. Otherwise, his head was perfectly clear, and his body
refreshed; he was free from the slightest headache; on the
contrary, he felt a certain degree of lightness, a faculty for
absorbing the pure air, and enjoying the bright sunshine more
vividly than ever.
He went gayly up to the sailors, who rose as soon as they
perceived him; and the patron, accosting him, said, "The Signor
Sinbad has left his compliments for your excellency, and desires us
to express the regret he feels at not being able to take his leave
in person; but he trusts you will excuse him, as very important
business calls him to Malaga."
"So, then, Gaetano," said Franz, "this is, then, all reality;
there exists a man who has received me in this island, entertained
me right royally, and his departed while I was asleep?"
"He exists as certainly as that you may see his small yacht with
all her sails spread; and if you will use your glass, you will, in
all probability, recognize your host in the midst of his crew." So
saying, Gaetano pointed in a direction in which a small vessel was
making sail towards the southern point of Corsica. Franz adjusted
his telescope, and directed it towards the yacht. Gaetano was not
mistaken. At the stern the mysterious stranger was standing up
looking towards the shore, and holding a spy-glass in his hand. He
was attired as he had been on the previous evening, and waved his
pocket-handkerchief to his guest in token of adieu. Franz returned
the salute by shaking his handkerchief as an exchange of signals.
After a second, a slight cloud of smoke was seen at the stern of
the vessel, which rose gracefully as it expanded in the air, and
then Franz heard a slight report. "There, do you hear?" observed
Gaetano; "he is bidding you adieu." The young man took his carbine
and fired it in the air, but without any idea that the noise could
be heard at the distance which separated the yacht from the
shore.
"What are your excellency's orders?" inquired Gaetano.
"In the first place, light me a torch.""What are your excellency's orders?" inquired Gaetano.
"In the first place, light me a torch."
"Ah, yes, I understand," replied the patron, "to find the
entrance to the enchanted apartment. With much pleasure, your
excellency, if it would amuse you; and I will get you the torch you
ask for. But I too have had the idea you have, and two or three
times the same fancy has come over me; but I have always given it
up. Giovanni, light a torch," he added, "and give it to his
excellency."
Giovanni obeyed. Franz took the lamp, and entered the
subterranean grotto, followed by Gaetano. He recognized the place
where he had awaked by the bed of heather that was there; but it
was in vain that he carried his torch all round the exterior
surface of the grotto. He saw nothing, unless that, by traces of
smoke, others had before him attempted the same thing, and, like
him, in vain. Yet he did not leave a foot of this granite wall, as
impenetrable as futurity, without strict scrutiny; he did not see a
fissure without introducing the blade of his hunting sword into it,
or a projecting point on which he did not lean and press in the
hopes it would give way. All was vain; and he lost two hours in his
attempts, which were at last utterly useless. At the end of this
time he gave up his search, and Gaetano smiled.
When Franz appeared again on the shore, the yacht only seemed
like a small white speck on the horizon. He looked again through
his glass, but even then he could not distinguish anything. Gaetano
reminded him that he had come for the purpose of shooting goats,
which he had utterly forgotten. He took his fowling-piece, and
began to hunt over the island with the air of a man who is
fulfilling a duty, rather than enjoying a pleasure; and at the end
of a quarter of an hour he had killed a goat and two kids. These
animals, though wild and agile as chamois, were too much like
domestic goats, and Franz could not consider them as game.
Moreover, other ideas, much more enthralling, occupied his mind.Moreover, other ideas, much more enthralling, occupied his mind.
Since, the evening before, he had really been the hero of one of
the tales of the "Thousand and One Nights," and he was irresistibly
attracted towards the grotto. Then, in spite of the failure of his
first search, he began a second, after having told Gaetano to roast
one of the two kids. The second visit was a long one, and when he
returned the kid was roasted and the repast ready. Franz was
sitting on the spot where he was on the previous evening when his
mysterious host had invited him to supper; and he saw the little
yacht, now like a sea-gull on the wave, continuing her flight
towards Corsica. "Why," he remarked to Gaetano, "you told me that
Signor Sinbad was going to Malaga, while it seems he is in the
direction of Porto-Vecchio."
"Don't you remember," said the patron, "I told you that among
the crew there were two Corsican brigands?"
"True; and he is going to land them," added Franz.
"Precisely so," replied Gaetano. "Ah, he is one who fears
neither God nor Satan, they say, and would at any time run fifty
leagues out of his course to do a poor devil a service."
"But such services as these might involve him with the
authorities of the country in which he practices this kind of
philanthropy," said Franz.
"And what cares he for that," replied Gaetano with a laugh, "or
any authorities? He smiles at them. Let them try to pursue him!
Why, in the first place, his yacht is not a ship, but a bird, and
he would beat any frigate three knots in every nine; and if he were
to throw himself on the coast, why, is he not certain of finding
friends everywhere?"
It was perfectly clear that the Signor Sinbad, Franz's host, had
the honor of being on excellent terms with the smugglers and
bandits along the whole coast of the Mediterranean, and so enjoyed
exceptional privileges. As to Franz, he had no longer any
inducement to remain at Monte Cristo. He had lost all hope of
detecting the secret of the grotto; he consequently despatched his


detecting the secret of the grotto; he consequently despatched his
breakfast, and, his boat being ready, he hastened on board, and
they were soon under way. At the moment the boat began her course
they lost sight of the yacht, as it disappeared in the gulf of
Porto-Vecchio. With it was effaced the last trace of the preceding
night; and then supper, Sinbad, hashish, statues, — all became a
dream for Franz. The boat sailed on all day and all night, and next
morning, when the sun rose, they had lost sight of Monte Cristo.
When Franz had once again set foot on shore, he forgot, for the
moment at least, the events which had just passed, while he
finished his affairs of pleasure at Florence, and then thought of
nothing but how he should rejoin his companion, who was awaiting
him at Rome.
He set out, and on the Saturday evening reached the Eternal City
by the mail-coach. An apartment, as we have said, had been retained
beforehand, and thus he had but to go to Signor Pastrini's hotel.
But this was not so easy a matter, for the streets were thronged
with people, and Rome was already a prey to that low and feverish
murmur which precedes all great events; and at Rome there are four
great events in every year, — the Carnival, Holy Week, Corpus
Christi, and the Feast of St. Peter. All the rest of the year the
city is in that state of dull apathy, between life and death, which
renders it similar to a kind of station between this world and the
next — a sublime spot, a resting-place full of poetry and
character, and at which Franz had already halted five or six times,
and at each time found it more marvellous and striking. At last he
made his way through the mob, which was continually increasing and
getting more and more turbulent, and reached the hotel. On his
first inquiry he was told, with the impertinence peculiar to hired
hackney-coachmen and inn-keepers with their houses full, that there
was no room for him at the Hotel de Londres. Then he sent his card
to Signor Pastrini, and asked for Albert de Morcerf. This planto Signor Pastrini, and asked for Albert de Morcerf. This plan
succeeded; and Signor Pastrini himself ran to him, excusing himself
for having made his excellency wait, scolding the waiters, taking
the candlestick from the porter, who was ready to pounce on the
traveller and was about to lead him to Albert, when Morcerf himself
appeared.
The apartment consisted of two small rooms and a parlor. The two
rooms looked onto the street — a fact which Signor Pastrini
commented upon as an inappreciable advantage. The rest of the floor
was hired by a very rich gentleman who was supposed to be a
Sicilian or Maltese; but the host was unable to decide to which of
the two nations the traveller belonged. "Very good, signor
Pastrini," said Franz; "but we must have some supper instantly, and
a carriage for tomorrow and the following days."
"As to supper," replied the landlord, "you shall be served
immediately; but as for the carriage" —
"What as to the carriage?" exclaimed Albert. "Come, come, Signor
Pastrini, no joking; we must have a carriage."
"Sir," replied the host, "we will do all in our power to procure
you one — this is all I can say."
"And when shall we know?" inquired Franz.
"To-morrow morning," answered the inn-keeper.
"Oh, the deuce! then we shall pay the more, that's all, I see
plainly enough. At Drake's or Aaron's one pays twenty-five lire for
common days, and thirty or thirty-five lire a day more for Sundays
and feast days; add five lire a day more for extras, that will make
forty, and there's an end of it."
"I am afraid if we offer them double that we shall not procure a
carriage."
"Then they must put horses to mine. It is a little worse for the
journey, but that's no matter."
"There are no horses." Albert looked at Franz like a man who
hears a reply he does not understand.
"Do you understand that, my dear Franz — no horses?" he said,
"but can't we have post-horses?"
"They have been all hired this fortnight, and there are none
left but those absolutely requisite for posting."left but those absolutely requisite for posting."
"What are we to say to this?" asked Franz.
"I say, that when a thing completely surpasses my comprehension,
I am accustomed not to dwell on that thing, but to pass to another.
Is supper ready, Signor Pastrini?"
"Yes, your excellency."
"Well, then, let us sup."
"But the carriage and horses?" said Franz.
"Be easy, my dear boy; they will come in due season; it is only
a question of how much shall be charged for them." Morcerf then,
with that delighted philosophy which believes that nothing is
impossible to a full purse or well-lined pocketbook, supped, went
to bed, slept soundly, and dreamed he was racing all over Rome at
Carnival time in a coach with six horses.The next morning Franz woke first, and instantly rang the bell.
The sound had not yet died away when Signor Pastrini himself
entered.
"Well, excellency," said the landlord triumphantly, and without
waiting for Franz to question him, "I feared yesterday, when I
would not promise you anything, that you were too late — there is
not a single carriage to be had — that is, for the last three days
of the carnival."
"Yes," returned Franz, "for the very three days it is most
needed."
"What is the matter?" said Albert, entering; "no carriage to be
had?"
"Just so," returned Franz, "you have guessed it."
"Well, your Eternal City is a nice sort of place."
"That is to say, excellency," replied Pastrini, who was desirous
of keeping up the dignity of the capital of the Christian world in
the eyes of his guest, "that there are no carriages to be had from
Sunday to Tuesday evening, but from now till Sunday you can have
fifty if you please."
"Ah, that is something," said Albert; "to-day is Thursday, and
who knows what may arrive between this and Sunday?"
"Ten or twelve thousand travellers will arrive," replied Franz,
"which will make it still more difficult."
"My friend," said Morcerf, "let us enjoy the present without
gloomy forebodings for the future."
"At least we can have a window?"
"Where?"
"In the Corso."
"Ah, a window!" exclaimed Signor Pastrini, — "utterly
impossible; there was only one left on the fifth floor of the Doria
Palace, and that has been let to a Russian prince for twenty
sequins a day."
The two young men looked at each other with an air of
stupefaction.
"Well," said Franz to Albert, "do you know what is the best
thing we can do? It is to pass the Carnival at Venice; there we are
sure of obtaining gondolas if we cannot have carriages."
"Ah, the devil, no," cried Albert; "I came to Rome to see the
Carnival, and I will, though I see it on stilts."
"Bravo! an excellent idea. We will disguise ourselves as monster
pulchinellos or shepherds of the Landes, and we shall have complete
success."


pulchinellos or shepherds of the Landes, and we shall have complete
success."
"Do your excellencies still wish for a carriage from now to
Sunday morning?"
"Parbleu!" said Albert, "do you think we are going to run about
on foot in the streets of Rome, like lawyer's clerks?"
"I hasten to comply with your excellencies' wishes; only, I tell
you beforehand, the carriage will cost you six piastres a day."
"And, as I am not a millionaire, like the gentleman in the next
apartments," said Franz, "I warn you, that as I have been four
times before at Rome, I know the prices of all the carriages; we
will give you twelve piastres for to-day, tomorrow, and the day
after, and then you will make a good profit."
"But, excellency" — said Pastrini, still striving to gain his
point.
"Now go," returned Franz, "or I shall go myself and bargain with
your affettatore, who is mine also; he is an old friend of mine,
who has plundered me pretty well already, and, in the hope of
making more out of me, he will take a less price than the one I
offer you; you will lose the preference, and that will be your
fault."
"Do not give yourselves the trouble, excellency," returned
Signor Pastrini, with the smile peculiar to the Italian speculator
when he confesses defeat; "I will do all I can, and I hope you will
be satisfied."
"And now we understand each other."
"When do you wish the carriage to be here?"
"In an hour."
"In an hour it will be at the door."
An hour after the vehicle was at the door; it was a hack
conveyance which was elevated to the rank of a private carriage in
honor of the occasion, but, in spite of its humble exterior, the
young men would have thought themselves happy to have secured it
for the last three days of the Carnival. "Excellency," cried the
cicerone, seeing Franz approach the window, "shall I bring the
carriage nearer to the palace?"
Accustomed as Franz was to the Italian phraseology, his first
impulse was to look round him, but these words were addressed to
him. Franz was the "excellency," the vehicle was the "carriage,"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 excellencies
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"It is much more convenient at Paris, — when anything cannot be
done, you pay double, and it is done directly."
"That is what all the French say," returned Signor Pastrini,
somewhat piqued; "for that reason, I do not understand why they
travel."
"But," said Albert, emitting a volume of smoke and balancing his
chair on its hind legs, "only madmen, or blockheads like us, ever
do travel. Men in their senses do not quit their hotel in the Rue
du Helder, their walk on the Boulevard de Gand, and the Cafe de
Paris." It is of course understood that Albert resided in the
aforesaid street, appeared every day on the fashionable walk, and
dined frequently at the only restaurant where you can really dine,
that is, if you are on good terms with its frequenters. Signor
Pastrini remained silent a short time; it was evident that he was
musing over this answer, which did not seem very clear. "But," said
Franz, in his turn interrupting his host's meditations, "you had
some motive for coming here, may I beg to know what it was?"
"Ah, yes; you have ordered your carriage at eight o'clock
precisely?"
"I have."
"You intend visiting Il Colosseo."
"You mean the Colosseum?"
"It is the same thing. You have told your coachman to leave the
city by the Porta del Popolo, to drive round the walls, and
re-enter by the Porta San Giovanni?"
"These are my words exactly."
"Well, this route is impossible."
"Impossible!"
"Very dangerous, to say the least."
"Dangerous! — and why?"
"On account of the famous Luigi Vampa."
"Pray, who may this famous Luigi Vampa be?" inquired Albert; "he
may be very famous at Rome, but I can assure you he is quite
unknown at Paris."
"What! do you not know him?"
"I have not that honor."
"You have never heard his name?"
"Never."
"Well, then, he is a bandit, compared to whom the Decesaris and
the Gasparones were mere children."
"Now then, Albert," cried Franz, "here is a bandit for you at
last."
"I forewarn you, Signor Pastrini, that I shall not believe one
word of what you are going to tell us; having told you this,
begin."


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 ahis 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 isunintelligible words.
"Well, Signor Pastrini," said Franz, "now that my companion is
quieted, and you have seen how peaceful my intentions are, tell me
who is this Luigi Vampa. Is he a shepherd or a nobleman? — young or
old? — tall or short? Describe him, in order that, if we meet him
by chance, like Bugaboo John or Lara, we may recognize him."
"You could not apply to any one better able to inform you on all
these points, for I knew him when he was a child, and one day that
I fell into his hands, going from Ferentino to Alatri, he,
fortunately for me, recollected me, and set me free, not only
without ransom, but made me a present of a very splendid watch, and
related his history to me."
"Let us see the watch," said Albert.
Signor Pastrini drew from his fob a magnificent Breguet, bearing
the name of its maker, of Parisian manufacture, and a count's
coronet.
"Here it is," said he.
"Peste," returned Albert, "I compliment you on it; I have its
fellow" — he took his watch from his waistcoat pocket — "and it
cost me 3,000 francs."
"Let us hear the history," said Franz, motioning Signor Pastrini
to seat himself.
"Your excellencies permit it?" asked the host.
"Pardieu!" cried Albert, "you are not a preacher, to remain
standing!"
The host sat down, after having made each of them a respectful
bow, which meant that he was ready to tell them all they wished to
know concerning Luigi Vampa. "You tell me," said Franz, at the
moment Signor Pastrini was about to open his mouth, "that you knew
Luigi Vampa when he was a child — he is still a young man,
then?"
"A young man? he is only two and twenty; — he will gain himself
a reputation."
"What do you think of that, Albert? — at two and twenty to be
thus famous?"
"Yes, and at his age, Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon, who have
all made some noise in the world, were quite behind him."
"So," continued Franz, "the hero of this history is only two and
twenty?"
"Scarcely so much."
"Is he tall or short?"
"Of the middle height — about the same stature as his


"Scarcely so much."
"Is he tall or short?"
"Of the middle height — about the same stature as his
excellency," returned the host, pointing to Albert.
"Thanks for the comparison," said Albert, with a bow.
"Go on, Signor Pastrini," continued Franz, smiling at his
friend's susceptibility. "To what class of society does he
belong?"
"He was a shepherd-boy attached to the farm of the Count of
San-Felice, situated between Palestrina and the lake of Gabri; he
was born at Pampinara, and entered the count's service when he was
five years old; his father was also a shepherd, who owned a small
flock, and lived by the wool and the milk, which he sold at Rome.
When quite a child, the little Vampa displayed a most extraordinary
precocity. One day, when he was seven years old, he came to the
curate of Palestrina, and asked to be taught to read; it was
somewhat difficult, for he could not quit his flock; but the good
curate went every day to say mass at a little hamlet too poor to
pay a priest and which, having no other name, was called Borgo; he
told Luigi that he might meet him on his return, and that then he
would give him a lesson, warning him that it would be short, and
that he must profit as much as possible by it. The child accepted
joyfully. Every day Luigi led his flock to graze on the road that
leads from Palestrina to Borgo; every day, at nine o'clock in the
morning, the priest and the boy sat down on a bank by the wayside,
and the little shepherd took his lesson out of the priest's
breviary. At the end of three months he had learned to read. This
was not enough — he must now learn to write. The priest had a
writing teacher at Rome make three alphabets — one large, one
middling, and one small; and pointed out to him that by the help of
a sharp instrument he could trace the letters on a slate, and thus
learn to write. The same evening, when the flock was safe at the
farm, the little Luigi hastened to the smith at Palestrina, took a
large nail, heated and sharpened it, and formed a sort of stylus.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)(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


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 hadVampa 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 tookhim 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


repeated his question. One of the bandits rose, and offered him a
glass filled with Orvietto, saying, `To the health of the brave
Cucumetto and the fair Rita.' At this moment Carlini heard a
woman's cry; he divined the truth, seized the glass, broke it
across the face of him who presented it, and rushed towards the
spot whence the cry came. After a hundred yards he turned the
corner of the thicket; he found Rita senseless in the arms of
Cucumetto. At the sight of Carlini, Cucumetto rose, a pistol in
each hand. The two brigands looked at each other for a moment — the
one with a smile of lasciviousness on his lips, the other with the
pallor of death on his brow. A terrible battle between the two men
seemed imminent; but by degrees Carlini's features relaxed, his
hand, which had grasped one of the pistols in his belt, fell to his
side. Rita lay between them. The moon lighted the group.
"`Well,' said Cucumetto, `have you executed your
commission?'
"`Yes, captain,' returned Carlini. `At nine o'clock to-morrow
Rita's father will be here with the money.' — `It is well; in the
meantime, we will have a merry night; this young girl is charming,
and does credit to your taste. Now, as I am not egotistical, we
will return to our comrades and draw lots for her.' — `You have
determined, then, to abandon her to the common law?" said
Carlini.
"`Why should an exception be made in her favor?'
"`I thought that my entreaties' —
"`What right have you, any more than the rest, to ask for an
exception?' — `It is true.' — `But never mind,' continued
Cucumetto, laughing, `sooner or later your turn will come.'
Carlini's teeth clinched convulsively.
"`Now, then,' said Cucumetto, advancing towards the other
bandits, `are you coming?' — `I follow you.'
"Cucumetto departed, without losing sight of Carlini, for,
doubtless, he feared lest he should strike him unawares; but
nothing betrayed a hostile design on Carlini's part. He was
standing, his arms folded, near Rita, who was still insensible.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 Diavolacciothey 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.


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,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 twobird 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.'


"`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 brilliantlythe 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 slowlylooked 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


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,
—took Teresa quite away, and as he left her at her home, he said,
—
"`Teresa, what were you thinking of as you danced opposite the
young Countess of San-Felice?' — `I thought,' replied the young
girl, with all the frankness of her nature, `that I would give half
my life for a costume such as she wore.'
"`And what said your cavalier to you?' — `He said it only
depended on myself to have it, and I had only one word to say.'
"`He was right,' said Luigi. `Do you desire it as ardently as
you say?' — `Yes.' — `Well, then, you shall have it!'
"The young girl, much astonished, raised her head to look at
him, but his face was so gloomy and terrible that her words froze
to her lips. As Luigi spoke thus, he left her. Teresa followed him
with her eyes into the darkness as long as she could, and when he
had quite disappeared, she went into the house with a sigh.
"That night a memorable event occurred, due, no doubt, to the
imprudence of some servant who had neglected to extinguish the
lights. The Villa of San-Felice took fire in the rooms adjoining
the very apartment of the lovely Carmela. Awakened in the night by
the light of the flames, she sprang out of bed, wrapped herself in
a dressing-gown, and attempted to escape by the door, but the
corridor by which she hoped to fly was already a prey to the
flames. She then returned to her room, calling for help as loudly
as she could, when suddenly her window, which was twenty feet from
the ground, was opened, a young peasant jumped into the chamber,
seized her in his arms, and with superhuman skill and strength
conveyed her to the turf of the grass-plot, where she fainted. When
she recovered, her father was by her side. All the servants
surrounded her, offering her assistance. An entire wing of the
villa was burnt down; but what of that, as long as Carmela was safe
and uninjured? Her preserver was everywhere sought for, but he did
not appear; he was inquired after, but no one had seen him. Carmela
was greatly troubled that she had not recognized him. As the countwas 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


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 twowill 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 hisfeet 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


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 onpath 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 citywhen Remus and Romulus had deserted Alba to come and found the city
of Rome. Teresa and Luigi reached the summit, and all at once found
themselves in the presence of twenty bandits. `Here is a young man
who seeks and wishes to speak to you,' said the sentinel. — `What
has he to say?' inquired the young man who was in command in the
chief's absence. — `I wish to say that I am tired of a shepherd's
life,' was Vampa's reply. — `Ah, I understand,' said the
lieutenant; `and you seek admittance into our ranks?' — `Welcome!'
cried several bandits from Ferrusino, Pampinara, and Anagni, who
had recognized Luigi Vampa. — `Yes, but I came to ask something
more than to be your companion.' — `And what may that be?' inquired
the bandits with astonishment. — `I come to ask to be your
captain,' said the young man. The bandits shouted with laughter.
`And what have you done to aspire to this honor?' demanded the
lieutenant. — `I have killed your chief, Cucumetto, whose dress I
now wear; and I set fire to the villa San-Felice to procure a
wedding-dress for my betrothed.' An hour afterwards Luigi Vampa was
chosen captain, vice Cucumetto deceased."
"Well, my dear Albert," said Franz, turning towards his friend;
"what think you of citizen Luigi Vampa?"
"I say he is a myth," replied Albert, "and never had an
existence."
"And what may a myth be?" inquired Pastrini.
"The explanation would be too long, my dear landlord," replied
Franz.
"And you say that Signor Vampa exercises his profession at this
moment in the environs of Rome?"
"And with a boldness of which no bandit before him ever gave an
example."
"Then the police have vainly tried to lay hands on him?"
"Why, you see, he has a good understanding with the shepherds in
the plains, the fishermen of the Tiber, and the smugglers of the
coast. They seek for him in the mountains, and he is on the waters;
they follow him on the waters, and he is on the open sea; then they
pursue him, and he has suddenly taken refuge in the islands, at