name of its maker, of Parisian manufacture, and a count's coronet.
"Here it is," said he.
"Peste," returned Albert, "I compliment you on it; I have its
fellow"--he took his watch from his waistcoat pocket--"and it cost me
3,000 francs."
"Let us hear the history," said Franz, motioning Signor Pastrini to seat
himself.
"Your excellencies permit it?" asked the host.
"Pardieu!" cried Albert, "you are not a preacher, to remain standing!"
The host sat down, after having made each of them a respectful bow,
which meant that he was ready to tell them all they wished to know
concerning Luigi Vampa. "You tell me," said Franz, at the moment Signor
Pastrini was about to open his mouth, "that you knew Luigi Vampa when he
was a child--he is still a young man, then?"
"A young man? he is only two and twenty;--he will gain himself a
reputation."
"What do you think of that, Albert?--at two and twenty to be thus
famous?"
"Yes, and at his age, Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon, who have all made
some noise in the world, were quite behind him."
"So," continued Franz, "the hero of this history is only two and
twenty?"
"Scarcely so much."
"Is he tall or short?"
"Of the middle height--about the same stature as his excellency,"
returned the host, pointing to Albert.
"Thanks for the comparison," said Albert, with a bow.
"Go on, Signor Pastrini," continued Franz, smiling at his friend's
susceptibility. "To what class of society does he belong?"
"He was a shepherd-boy attached to the farm of the Count of San-Felice,
situated between Palestrina and the lake of Gabri; he was born at
Pampinara, and entered the count's service when he was five years old;
his father was also a shepherd, who owned a small flock, and lived by
the wool and the milk, which he sold at Rome. When quite a child, the
little Vampa displayed a most extraordinary precocity. One day, when he
was seven years old, he came to the curate of Palestrina, and asked to
be taught to read; it was somewhat difficult, for he could not quit his
flock; but the good curate went every day to say mass at a little hamlet
too poor to pay a priest and which, having no other name, was called
Borgo; he told Luigi that he might meet him on his return, and that then
he would give him a lesson, warning him that it would be short, and that
he must profit as much as possible by it. The child accepted joyfully.
Every day Luigi led his flock to graze on the road that leads from
Palestrina to Borgo; every day, at nine o'clock in the morning, the
priest and the boy sat down on a bank by the wayside, and the little
shepherd took his lesson out of the priest's breviary. At the end of
three months he had learned to read. This was not enough--he must now
learn to write. The priest had a writing teacher at Rome make three
alphabets--one large, one middling, and one small; and pointed out to
him that by the help of a sharp instrument he could trace the letters on
a slate, and thus learn to write. The same evening, when the flock was
safe at the farm, the little Luigi hastened to the smith at Palestrina,
took a large nail, heated and sharpened it, and formed a sort of stylus.
The next morning he gathered an armful of pieces of slate and began. At
the end of three months he had learned to write. The curate, astonished
at his quickness and intelligence, made him a present of pens, paper,
and a penknife. This demanded new effort, but nothing compared to the
first; at the end of a week he wrote as well with this pen as with the
stylus. The curate related the incident to the Count of San-Felice,
who sent for the little shepherd, made him read and write before him,
ordered his attendant to let him eat with the domestics, and to give him
two piastres a month. With this, Luigi purchased books and pencils.
He applied his imitative powers to everything, and, like Giotto, when
young, he drew on his slate sheep, houses, and trees. Then, with his
knife, he began to carve all sorts of objects in wood; it was thus that
Pinelli, the famous sculptor, had commenced.
"A girl of six or seven--that is, a little younger than Vampa--tended
sheep on a farm near Palestrina; she was an orphan, born at Valmontone
and was named Teresa. The two children met, sat down near each other,
let their flocks mingle together, played, laughed, and conversed
together; in the evening they separated the Count of San-Felice's
flock from those of Baron Cervetri, and the children returned to their
respective farms, promising to meet the next morning. The next day they
kept their word, and thus they grew up together. Vampa was twelve, and
Teresa eleven. And yet their natural disposition revealed itself. Beside
his taste for the fine arts, which Luigi had carried as far as he
could in his solitude, he was given to alternating fits of sadness and
enthusiasm, was often angry and capricious, and always sarcastic. None
of the lads of Pampinara, Palestrina, or Valmontone had been able
to gain any influence over him or even to become his companion. His
disposition (always inclined to exact concessions rather than to make
them) kept him aloof from all friendships. Teresa alone ruled by a look,
a word, a gesture, this impetuous character, which yielded beneath the
hand of a woman, and which beneath the hand of a man might have broken,
but could never have been bended. Teresa was lively and gay, but
coquettish to excess. The two piastres that Luigi received every month
from the Count of San-Felice's steward, and the price of all the little
carvings in wood he sold at Rome, were expended in ear-rings, necklaces,
and gold hairpins. So that, thanks to her friend's generosity, Teresa
was the most beautiful and the best-attired peasant near Rome. The two
children grew up together, passing all their time with each other, and
giving themselves up to the wild ideas of their different characters.
Thus, in all their dreams, their wishes, and their conversations, Vampa
saw himself the captain of a vessel, general of an army, or governor of
a province. Teresa saw herself rich, superbly attired, and attended by a
train of liveried domestics. Then, when they had thus passed the day in
building castles in the air, they separated their flocks, and descended
from the elevation of their dreams to the reality of their humble
position.
"One day the young shepherd told the count's steward that he had seen a
wolf come out of the Sabine mountains, and prowl around his flock. The
steward gave him a gun; this was what Vampa longed for. This gun had
an excellent barrel, made at Breschia, and carrying a ball with the
precision of an English rifle; but one day the count broke the stock,
and had then cast the gun aside. This, however, was nothing to a
sculptor like Vampa; he examined the broken stock, calculated what
change it would require to adapt the gun to his shoulder, and made a
fresh stock, so beautifully carved that it would have fetched fifteen or
twenty piastres, had he chosen to sell it. But nothing could be farther
from his thoughts. For a long time a gun had been the young man's
greatest ambition. In every country where independence has taken the
place of liberty, the first desire of a manly heart is to possess a
weapon, which at once renders him capable of defence or attack, and, by
rendering its owner terrible, often makes him feared. From this moment
Vampa devoted all his leisure time to perfecting himself in the use of
his precious weapon; he purchased powder and ball, and everything served
him for a mark--the trunk of some old and moss-grown olivetree, that
grew on the Sabine mountains; the fox, as he quitted his earth on some
marauding excursion; the eagle that soared above their heads: and thus
he soon became so expert, that Teresa overcame the terror she at first
felt at the report, and amused herself by watching him direct the ball
wherever he pleased, with as much accuracy as if he placed it by hand.
"One evening a wolf emerged from a pine-wood hear which they were
usually stationed, but the wolf had scarcely advanced ten yards ere
he was dead. Proud of this exploit, Vampa took the dead animal on his
shoulders, and carried him to the farm. These exploits had gained Luigi
considerable reputation. The man of superior abilities always finds
admirers, go where he will. He was spoken of as the most adroit, the
strongest, and the most courageous contadino for ten leagues around; and
although Teresa was universally allowed to be the most beautiful girl of
the Sabines, no one had ever spoken to her of love, because it was known
that she was beloved by Vampa. And yet the two young people had never
declared their affection; they had grown together like two trees whose
roots are mingled, whose branches intertwined, and whose intermingled
perfume rises to the heavens. Only their wish to see each other had
become a necessity, and they would have preferred death to a day's
separation. Teresa was sixteen, and Vampa seventeen. About this time,
a band of brigands that had established itself in the Lepini mountains
began to be much spoken of. The brigands have never been really
extirpated from the neighborhood of Rome. Sometimes a chief is wanted,
but when a chief presents himself he rarely has to wait long for a band
of followers.
"The celebrated Cucumetto, pursued in the Abruzzo, driven out of the
kingdom of Naples, where he had carried on a regular war, had crossed
the Garigliano, like Manfred, and had taken refuge on the banks of the
Amasine between Sonnino and Juperno. He strove to collect a band of
followers, and followed the footsteps of Decesaris and Gasperone,
whom he hoped to surpass. Many young men of Palestrina, Frascati, and
Pampinara had disappeared. Their disappearance at first caused much
disquietude; but it was soon known that they had joined Cucumetto. After
some time Cucumetto became the object of universal attention; the most
extraordinary traits of ferocious daring and brutality were related of
him. One day he carried off a young girl, the daughter of a surveyor of
Frosinone. The bandit's laws are positive; a young girl belongs first
to him who carries her off, then the rest draw lots for her, and she is
abandoned to their brutality until death relieves her sufferings. When
their parents are sufficiently rich to pay a ransom, a messenger is sent
to negotiate; the prisoner is hostage for the security of the messenger;
should the ransom be refused, the prisoner is irrevocably lost. The
young girl's lover was in Cucumetto's troop; his name was Carlini. When
she recognized her lover, the poor girl extended her arms to him, and
believed herself safe; but Carlini felt his heart sink, for he but too
well knew the fate that awaited her. However, as he was a favorite with
Cucumetto, as he had for three years faithfully served him, and as he
had saved his life by shooting a dragoon who was about to cut him down,
he hoped the chief would have pity on him. He took Cucumetto one side,
while the young girl, seated at the foot of a huge pine that stood in
the centre of the forest, made a veil of her picturesque head-dress to
hide her face from the lascivious gaze of the bandits. There he told
the chief all--his affection for the prisoner, their promises of mutual
fidelity, and how every night, since he had been near, they had met in
some neighboring ruins.
"It so happened that night that Cucumetto had sent Carlini to a village,
so that he had been unable to go to the place of meeting. Cucumetto had
been there, however, by accident, as he said, and had carried the maiden
off. Carlini besought his chief to make an exception in Rita's favor, as
her father was rich, and could pay a large ransom. Cucumetto seemed to
yield to his friend's entreaties, and bade him find a shepherd to send
to Rita's father at Frosinone. Carlini flew joyfully to Rita, telling
her she was saved, and bidding her write to her father, to inform
him what had occurred, and that her ransom was fixed at three hundred
piastres. Twelve hours' delay was all that was granted--that is, until
nine the next morning. The instant the letter was written, Carlini
seized it, and hastened to the plain to find a messenger. He found a
young shepherd watching his flock. The natural messengers of the bandits
are the shepherds who live between the city and the mountains, between
civilized and savage life. The boy undertook the commission, promising
to be in Frosinone in less than an hour. Carlini returned, anxious to
see his mistress, and announce the joyful intelligence. He found the
troop in the glade, supping off the provisions exacted as contributions
from the peasants; but his eye vainly sought Rita and Cucumetto among
them. He inquired where they were, and was answered by a burst of
laughter. A cold perspiration burst from every pore, and his hair stood
on end. He repeated his question. One of the bandits rose, and offered
him a glass filled with Orvietto, saying, 'To the health of the brave
Cucumetto and the fair Rita.' At this moment Carlini heard a woman's
cry; he divined the truth, seized the glass, broke it across the face of
him who presented it, and rushed towards the spot whence the cry came.
After a hundred yards he turned the corner of the thicket; he found Rita
senseless in the arms of Cucumetto. At the sight of Carlini, Cucumetto
rose, a pistol in each hand. The two brigands looked at each other for
a moment--the one with a smile of lasciviousness on his lips, the other
with the pallor of death on his brow. A terrible battle between the
two men seemed imminent; but by degrees Carlini's features relaxed,
his hand, which had grasped one of the pistols in his belt, fell to his
side. Rita lay between them. The moon lighted the group.
"'Well,' said Cucumetto, 'have you executed your commission?'
