Chapter 22 of Tales of a Traveler by Washington Irving. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Greg Giordano. Part III The Italian Banditi. In Eteresina. Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack. Here comes the Estefet from Naples, said mine host of the inn at Eteresina. Bring out the relay.  He was a tight, square-set young fellow, in the customary uniform, a smart blue coat ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked up not unlike the tail of a wren, a cocked hat edged with gold lace, a pair of stiff riding boots, but instead of the usual leathern breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of drawers that scarcely ferned an apology for modesty to hide behind. The Estefet galloped up to the door and jumped from his horse. A glass of Rosolio, a fresh horse on a pair of breeches, said he, and quickly I am behind my time and must be off. San Gennaro replied the host, Why, where hest thou left thy garment? Among the robbers between this and Fondi. What? Rob an Estefet? I never heard of such folly. What could they hope to get from thee? My leather breeches, replied the Estefet, They were brand new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of the captain. Well, those fellows grow worse and worse, too metal with an Estefet, and that merely for the sake of a pair of leather breeches. The robbing of a government messenger seemed to strike the host, with more astonishment than any other enormity, that had taken place on the road. And indeed it was the first time so wanton and outrage had been committed. The robbers generally taking care not to meddle with anything belonging to government. The Estefet was by this time equipped, for he had not lost an instant in making his preparations while talking. The relay was ready. The Rosolio tossed off. He grasped the reins in the stirrup. Were there many robbers in the band? said a handsome, dark young man, stepping forward from the door of the inn. As formidable a band as ever I saw, said the Estefet, springing into the saddle. Are they cruel to travelers? said a beautiful young Venetian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's arm. Cruel senora echoed the Estefet, giving a glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. Corpo del Baco, they still had to wall the men, and as to the women. Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack. The last words were drowned in the smacking of the whip, and away galloped the Estefet along the road to the pontine marshes. Holy virgin, ejaculated the fair Venetian, what will become of us? The inn of Teresina stands just outside of the walls of the old town of that name, on the frontiers of the Roman territory. A little, lazy Italian town, the inhabitants of which, apparently heedless and listless, are said to be little better than the brigands which surround them, and indeed are half of them supposed to be in some way or other connected with the robbers. A vast, rocky height rises perpendicularly above it, with the ruins of the castle, a theodoric the goth, crowning its summit. Before it spreads the wide bosom of the Mediterranean, that sea without flux or reflux, there seems an idle pause in everything about this place. The port is without a sail, except that once in a while a solitary faluca may be seen, disgorging its holy cargo of Bacala, the meager provisions for the caribisima or lint. The naked watchtowers, rising here and there along the coast, speak of pirates and corsairs which hover about these shores, while the low huts as stations for soldiers, which dot the distant road as it winds through an olive grove, intimate that in the ascent there is danger for the traveller and facility for the bandit. Indeed it is between this town and Fondi that the road to Naples is mostly infested by Bandidi. The winds among rocky and solitary places, where the robbers are enabled, see the traveller from a distance, from the prowls of hills or impending precipices, and to lie and wait for them at the lonely and difficult passes. At the time the estaphat made the sudden appearance, almost in Carpo, the audacity of the robbers had risen to an unparalleled height. They had their spies and emissaries in every town, village and austere, to give them notice of the quality and movements of travellers. They did not scruple to send messages into the country towns and villas, demanding certain sums of money or articles of dress and luxury, with menaces of vengeance and case of refusal. They had plundered carriages, carried people of rank and fortune into the mountains, and obliged them to write for heavy ransoms, and had committed outrages on females who had fallen in their power. The police exerted rigor and vain. The brigands were too numerous, and powerful for a weak police. They were countenanced and cherished by several of the villages, and though now and then the limbs of malefactors hung blackening in the trees, in which they had committed some atrocity, or their heads stuck upon posts in iron cages made some dreary part of the road, still more dreary. Still they seemed to strike this may into no bosom but that of the traveller. The dark, handsome young man and the Venetian lady, whom I have mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon in a private carriage, drawn by mules and attended by a single servant. They had been recently married, were spending the honeymoon and travelling through these delicious countries, and were on their way to visit a rich aunt of the young ladies at Naples. The lady was young and tender and timid. The stories she had heard along the road had filled her with apprehension, not more for herself than for her husband, for though she had been married almost a month, she still loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached Teresina, the rumours of the road had increased to an alarming magnitude, and the sight of two robbers' skulls grinning in iron cages on each side of the old gateway of the town brought her to a pause. Her husband had tried in vain to reassure her. They had lingered all the afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of starting that evening, and the parting words of the estafette completed her affright. "'Let us return to Rome,' said she, putting her arm within her husbands, and drawing towards him as if for protection. "'Let us return to Rome, and give up this visit to Naples.' "'And give up the visit to your aunt, too?' said the husband. "'Nay, what is my aunt in comparison with your safety?' said she, looking up tenderly in his face. There was something in her tone and manner that showed she really was thinking more of her husband's safety at that moment than of her own, and being recently married and a match of pure affection too. It is very possible that she was. At least her husband thought so. Indeed, anyone who has heard the sweet, musical tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian eye, would not wonder at the husband's believing whatever they professed.  "'This night, at least,' said he, will pass at Teresina.' "'Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack!' Another apparition of the road attracted the attention of mine host and his guests. From the road across the pontine marshes, a carriage drawn by half a dozen horses came driving in a furious pace, the postillians smacking their whips like mad, and is the case when conscious of the greatness, or the beneficence of their fare. It was a launderlet with a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly finished, yet proudly simple construction of the carriage, the quantity of neat, well-arranged trunks and conveniences, the loaves of box-coats and upper Benjamins on the dickey, and the fresh, burly, gruff-looking face at the window, proclaimed at once that it was the equipage of an Englishman. Fresh horses to fondee, said the Englishman, as the landlord came bowing to the carriage door. "'Would not his Excellency I light and take some refreshments?' "'No. He'd not mean to eat until he got to fondee.' "'But the horses will be some time in getting ready.' "'Ah, that's always the case. Nothing but delay in this cursed country.' "'If his Excellency would only walk into the house.' "'No. No. No. I tell you no. I want nothing but horses. And as quick as possible. Job, see that the horses are got ready and don't let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed over that time I'll lodge a complaint with the postmaster.' John touched his hat and set off to obey his master's orders, with the taciturn obedience of an English servant. He was a ruddy, round-faced fellow, with hair cropped short, a short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters, and appeared to have almost as much contempt as his master for everything around him. In the meantime the Englishman got out of the carriage and walked up and down before the inn, with his hands in his pockets, taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who were gazing at him in his eclipage. He was tall, stout, and well-made, dressed with neatness and precision, wore a traveling cap of the color of gingerbread, and had rather an unhappy expression about the corners of his mouth, partly from not having yet made his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's usual hurry to get to the end of her journey, or to use the regular phrase to get on. After some time the servant returned from the stable with a sourer look as his master. Are the horses ready, John? No, sir. I never saw such a place. There's no getting anything done. I think your honor had better step into the house and get something to eat. It will be a long while before we get to Fundy. Dang the house, it's a mere trick. I'll not eat anything, just to spite them, said the Englishman, still more crusty at the prospect of being so long without his dinner. They say your honor is very wrong, said John, to set off at this late hour, the roads full of highwaymen. Mere tales to get custom. The estaphat which passed us was stopped by a whole gang, said John, increasing his emphasis with each additional piece of information. I don't believe a word of it. They robbed him of his breeches, said John, giving at the time a hitch to his own waistband. All humbug! Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward and addressing the Englishman, very politely in broken English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about to make. Minky, said the Englishman, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side glance of suspicion at the young man, as if he thought from his civility he must have a design upon his purse. We shall be most happy if you will do us that favor, said the lady and her soft Venetian dialect. There was a sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The Englishman cast a look upon her countenance. Her beauty was still more eloquent. His features instantly relaxed. He made an attempt at a civil bow. With great pleasure, senora, said he. In short, the eagerness to get on was suddenly slackened. The determination to famish himself as far as fondee by way of punishing the landlord was abandoned. John chose the best apartment in the inn for his master's reception, and preparations were made to remain there until morning. The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as were indispensable for the night. There was the usual parade of trunks and writing desks and portfolios and dressing-boxes, and those other oppressive conveniences which burdened a comfortable man. The observant loiterers about the inn door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored cloaks with only a hawk's eye uncovered, made many remarks to each other on this quantity of luggage that seemed enough for an army. The domestics of the inn talked with wonder of the splendid dressing-case with its gold and silver furniture that was spread out on the toilet-table, and the bag of gold that chinked as it was taken out of the trunk. The strange millor's wealth and the treasures he carried about him were the talk that evening over all Teresina. The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions and arrange his dress for table, and after considerable labor and effort in putting himself at ease, made his appearance with stiff white cravat, his clothes free from the least speck of dust, and adjusted with precision. He made a formal bow on entering, which no doubt he meant to be cordial, by which any one else would have considered cool, and took his seat. The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner, as the Englishman called it, was now served. Even on earth, and the waters under the earth, had been moved to furnish it, for there were birds of the air, and beasts of the earth, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's servant, too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy in his zeal to cook his master a beef-stake, and made his appearance loaded with ketchup and soy and cayenne-pepper and harvey-sauce, and a bottle of port wine, from that warehouse, the carriage in which his master seemed a desirous of caring England about the world with him. Everything, however, according to the Englishman, was extroble. The torrine of soup was a black sea, with livers and limbs and fragments of all kinds of birds and beasts floating like wrecks about it. A meager, winged animal, which my host called a delicate chicken, was too delicate for his stomach, for it had evidently died of a consumption. The macaroni was cooked. The beef-stake was tough buffalo's flesh, and the countenance of my host confirmed the assertion. Nothing seemed to hit his palate but a dish of stewed eels, of which he ate with great relish, but it nearly refunded them when told they were vipers, caught among the rocks of Teresina, and esteemed a great delicacy. In short, the Englishman ate and growled, and ate and growled, like a cat eating in company, pronouncing himself poisoned by every dish, yet eating on in defiance of death and the doctor. The Venetian lady, not accustomed to English travellers, almost repented having persuaded him to the meal, for though very gracious to her, he was so crusty to all the world beside that she stood in awe of him. There is nothing, however, that conquers John Bull's crustiness sooner than eating, whatever may be the cookery, and I think brings him into good humor with his company sooner than eating together. The Englishman, therefore, had not half finished his repast in his bottle, before he began to think the Venetian, a very tolerable fellow for a foreigner, and his wife almost handsome enough to be an Englishwoman. In the course of the repast the tales of robbers which harassed the mind of the fair Venetian were brought into discussion. The landlord and the waiter served up such a number of them as he served up the dishes that they almost frightened away the poor lady's appetite. Among these was the story of the School of Teresina, still fresh in every mind, where the students were carried up the mountains by the Banditi, and hopes of ransom, and one of them massacred, to bring the parents to terms for the others. There was a story also of a gentleman of Rome who delayed remitting the ransom demanded for his son, detained by the Banditi, and received one of his son's ears in the letter, with information that the other would be remitted to him soon, if the money were not forthcoming, and that in this way he would receive the boy by installments until he came to terms. The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales. The landlord, like a true storyteller, doubled the dose when he saw how it operated. He was just proceeding to relate the misfortunes of a great English lord and his family. When the Englishman, tired of his volubility, testily interrupted him and pronounced these accounts mere traveller's tales, with the exaggerations of peasants and innkeepers. The landlord was indignant at the doubt leveled at his stories, and the innuendo leveled at his cloth. He cited half a dozen stories, still more terrible to corroborate those he had already told. "'I don't believe a word of them,' said the Englishman. "'But the robbers have been tried and executed. All a farce! But their heads were stuck up along the road. Old skulls accumulated during a century.' The landlord muttered to himself as he went out the door. "'Sanginero, com sono, sigolari, queste inglesi.' A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival of more traveller's, and from the variety of voices were rather clamors, the clattering of horses hooves, the rattling of wheels, and the general uproar both within and without. The arrival seemed to be numerous. It was, in fact, the Procaccio, in its convoy, a kind of caravan of merchandise, that sets out on stated days under an escort of soldiery to protect it from the robbers. Travellers availed themselves of the occasion, and many carriages accompanied the Procaccio. It was a long time before either landlord or waiter returned, being hurried away by the tempest of new custom. When wine-host appeared, there was a smile of triumph on his countenance. "'Perhaps,' said he, as he cleared away the table, perhaps the senor has not heard of what has happened.' "'What?' said the Englishman, dryly. "'Oh, the Procaccio has arrived, and has brought to counts the fresh exploits of the robbers, senor. "'Hish! There is more news of the English Milor and his family,' said the host emphatically. "'And English Lord?' "'What English Lord?' "'Milor Popkin.' "'Lord Popkin? I never heard of such a title. "'Oh, Securo, a great nobleman that passed through here lately with his milady and daughters. "'Magnifico, one of the Grand Counselors of London, "'Un Elmano.' "'Elmano? "'Elmano?' "'Tut,' he means, Alderman. "'Securo, Aldermano, Popkin, and the Principies of Popkin, and the Senorina of Popkin,' said mine-host, triumphantly. He would now have entered into a full detail, but was thwarted by the Englishman, who seemed determined not to credit or indulge him in his stories. An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked. That of mine-host continued to run on, with increasing volubility, as he conveyed the fragments of the repast out of the room. And the last that could be distinguished of his voice, as it died away along the corridor, was the constant recurrence of the favorite word Popkin, Popkin, Popkin, Pop, Pop, Pop. The arrival of the Procaccio had indeed filled the house with stories, as it had with guests. The Englishman and his companions walked out after supper into the great hall, or common room of the inn, which runs through the center building, a gloomy, dirty-looking apartment, the tables placed in various parts of it, at which some of the travelers receded in groups, or others strolled about and famished in patience for their evening's meal. As the Procaccio was a kind of caravan of travelers, there were people of every class and country who had come in all kinds of vehicles, although they kept in some measure and separate parties. Yet the being united under one common escort had jumbled them into companionship on the road. Their formidable number and the formidable guard that accompanied them, had prevented any molestation from the Banditi. But every carriage had its tail of wonder, and one vied with another in the recital, not at one, but had seen groups of robbers peering over the rocks, or their guns peeping out from among the bushes, or had been reconnoitred by some suspicious-looking fellow, the scowling eye, who disappeared on seeing the guard. The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that eager curiosity with which we seek to pamper any feeling of alarm. Even the Englishman began to feel interested in the subject, and desirous of gaining more correct information than these mere flying reports. He mingled in one of the groups which appeared to be the most respectable, in which was assembled around a tall, thin person, with long, Roman nose, a high forehead, and lively prominent eye, beaming from under a green velvet traveling cap, with gold tassel. He was holding forth with all the fluency of a man who talks well, and likes to exert his talent. He was of Rome, a surgeon by profession, a poet by choice, and one who was something of an improvistator. He soon gave the Englishman abundance of information respecting the Banditi. "'The fact is,' said he. "'The many of the people in the villages among the mountains are robbers, but rather the robbers find perfect asylum among them. They range over a vast extent of wild and practical country, along the chain of Apennines, bordering on different states. They know all the difficult passes, the shortcuts and strong holds. They are secure of the good will of the poor and peaceful inhabitants of these regions, whom they never disturb, and whom they often enrich. Indeed, they are looked upon as a sort of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and some of the frontier towns, where they dispose of their plunder. From these mountains they keep a lookout upon the plains and valleys, and meditate their descents. The road to Fondi, which you were about to travel, is one of the places most noted for their exploits. It is overlooked from some distance by little hamlets, perched upon heights. From hence the brigands, like hawks in their nests, keep on the watch for such travelers as are likely to afford either booty or ransom. The windings of the road enable them to see carriages long before they pass, so they have time to get to some advantageous lurking-place from whence they pounce upon their prey. But why does not the police interfere and root them out, to the Englishman? The police is too weak, and the banditry are too strong," replied the improvisateur. To root them out would be more difficult, a task than you imagine. They are connected and identified with the people of the villages, and the peasantry generally. The numerous bands have an understanding with each other, and with the people of various conditions in all parts of the country. They know all that is going on, a genre d'arm cannot stir without their being aware of it. They have their spies and emissaries in every direction. They lurk about towns, villages, inns, mingle in every crowd, pervade every place of resort. I should not be surprised," said he, if someone should be supervising us at this moment. The fare of Venetian looked round fearfully and turned pale. One peculiarity of the Italian banditry, continued the improvisateur, is that they wear a kind of uniform, or rather costume, which designates their profession. This is probably done to take away from its skulking, lawless character, and to give it something of a military air in the eyes of the common people, or perhaps to catch by outward dash and show the fancies of the young men of the villages. These dresses or costumes are often rich and fanciful, some wear jackets and breeches of bright colors, richly embroidered, hard belts of cloth or sashes of silk net, broad, high-crowned hats, decorated with feathers of variously colored ribbons and silk nets for their hair. Many of the robbers are peasants who follow ordinary occupations in the villages for a part of the year, and take to the mountains for the rest. Some only go out for a season, as it were, on a hunting expedition, and then resume the dress and habits of common life. Many of the young men of the villages take to this kind of life occasionally, from a mere love of adventure, the wild, wandering spirit of youth, and the contagion of bad example, but it is remarked that they can never after brook a long continuance in subtle life, to get fond of the unbounded freedom and rude license they enjoy, and there is something in this wild mountain life checkered by adventure and peril that is wonderfully fascinating, independent of the gratification of cupidity by the plunder of the wealthy traveler. Here the improvisator was interrupted by a lively, neapolitan lawyer. You were a mention of the younger robbers, said he, puts me in mind of an adventure of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened in his very neighborhood. He wished was, of course, expressed to hear the adventure of the doctor, by all except the improvisator, who, being fond of talking and of hearing himself talk, and accustomed, moreover, to harangue without interruption, looked rather annoyed at being checked when in full career. The neapolitan, however, took no notice of his chagrin, but related the following anecdote. CHAPTER XXI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTOQUERY My friend the doctor was a thorough antiquery. A little rusty musty old fellow, always groping among ruins. He relished a building, as you Englishmen relish a cheese. The more moldy and crumbling it was, the more it was to his taste. A shell of an old, nameless temple, or the cracked walls of a broken-down amphitheater, would throw him into raptures, and he took more delight in these crusts-and-cheese pairings of antiquity than in the best-conditioned modern edifice. He had taken a maggot into his brain at one time, to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi, which are said to exist to this day among the mountains of the Abruzzi, but the condition of which is strangely unknown to the antiquaries. It is said that he had made a great many valuable notes and memorandums on the subject, which he always carried about with him, either for the purpose of frequent reference, or because he feared the precious documents might fall into the hands of brother antiquaries. He had therefore a large pocket behind in which he carried them, banging against his rear as he walked. Be this as it may, happening to pass a few days at Teresina, in the course of his researches, he one day mounted the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theodoric. He is groping about these ruins towards the hour of sunset, buried in his reflections, his wits no doubt wool-gathering among the Goths and Romans, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned and beheld five or six young fellows of rough saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half peasant, half huntsman, with fossils in their hands. Their whole appearance and carriage left him in no doubt into what company he had fallen. The doctor was a feeble little man, poor and look and poorer in purse. He had but little money in his pocket. But he had certain valuables, such as an old silver watch, as a turnip, with figures on it, large enough for a clock, and a set of seals at the end of a steel chain, that dangled half down to his knees, all of which were of precious esteem, being family relics. He had also a seal-ring, a veritable antique intoglio, that covered half his knuckles. But what he most valued was the precious treatise on the Pellaskian cities, which he would gladly have given all the money in his pocket to have had safe at the bottom of his trunk in Teresina. However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout a heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little man at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a buon giorno. They returned to salutation, giving the old gentleman a sociable slap on the back, that made his heart leap into his throat. They fell into conversation, and walked for some time together among the heights, the doctor wishing them all the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At length they came to a small austeria on the mountain, where they proposed to enter, and have a cup of wine together. The doctor consented, though he would as soon have been invited to drink hemlock. One of the gang remained sentinel at the door. The others swaggered into the house, stood their fusils in the corner of the room, and each, drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it, with some emphasis on the table. They now called lustily for wine, drew benches around the table, inhaling the doctors, though he had been a boon companion of longstanding, insisted upon his sitting down and making merry. He complied with forced grimace, but with fear and trembling, sitting on the edge of his bench, supping down heartburn with every drop of liquor, eyeing ruefully the black muzzled pistols and cold naked stilettos. They pushed the bottle bravely and plied him vigorously, sang, laughed, told excellent stories of robberies and combats, and the little doctor was feigned to laugh at these cutthroat pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his bosom. By their own account they were young men from the villages, who had recently taken up this line of life in the mere wild caprice of youth. They talked of their exploits as a sportsman, talks of his amusements. To shoot down to travel there seemed a little more consequence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture of the glorious roving life they led. We as birds, here to-day, gone to-morrow, ranging the forests, climbing the rocks, scouring the valleys, the world their own wherever they could lay hold of it. Full purses, merry companions, pretty women! The little antiquary got fuddled with their talk and their wine, for they did not spare bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal-ring, and his family watch, and the treatise on the Pelestian cities which was warming under him, for a time faded from his memory, and the glowing picture which they drew. He declares that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this Robrimania among the mountains, for he felt at the time that had he been a young man, and a strong man, and had there been no danger of the galleys in the background, he should have been half tempted himself to turn bandit. At length the fearful hour of separating arrived. The doctor is suddenly called to himself in his fears. By seeing the robbers resume their weapons, he now quaked for his valuables, and above all for his antiquarian treatise. He endeavored, however, to look cool and unconcerned, and drew from out of his deep pocket a long, lank, leather and purse, far gone in consumption, at the bottom of which a few coins shinked with the trembling of his hand. The chief of the party observed this movement, laying his hand upon Tantecuerre's shoulder. "'Hark ye, Senor de Torre,' said he. "'We have drank together as friends and comrades. Let us part as such. We understand you. We know who and what you are, for we know who everybody is that sleeps at Teresina, or that puts foot upon the road.  We can't get at it, and we should not know what to do with it, if we could. I see you are uneasy about your ring. But don't worry your mind. It is not worth taking. You think it an antique, but it's a counterfeit, a mere sham. Here the doctor would have put in a word, for his antiquarian pride was touched. "'Nay, nay,' continued the other. "'We have no time to dispute about it. Value it as you please.  One more cup of wine, and we'll pay the reckoning. No compliments. I insist on it. So now make the best of your way back to Teresina. It's growing late. We'll know Viagio. Then Hark ye, take care, how you wander among these mountains.' They shouldered their fussles, sprang galey up the rocks, and the little doctor hobbled back to Teresina. The king of the robbers had let his seal ring, his watch, and his treatise escaped unmolested, though rather netdled, that they should have pronounced his veritable intaglio a counterfeit. The improvisatory had shown many symptoms of impatience during this recital. He saw his theme in danger of being taken out of his hands by a rival storyteller, which to enable talker is always a serious grievance. It was also in danger of being taken away by a Neapolitan, that was still more vexatious, as the members of the different Italian states have an incessant jealousy of each other in all things, great and small. He took advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold again of the thread of the conversation. As I was saying, resumed he, the prevalence of these bandities were so extensive, their power so combined, and interwoven with other ranks of society. For that matter, said the Neapolitan, I have heard that your government has had some understanding with these gentry, or at least winked at them. My government, said the Roman impatiently.  Hey! I only repeat what I heard commonly rumoured in Rome, replied the other, sturdily. It was whispered that the Cardinal had been up to the mountain, and had an interview with some of the chiefs, and I have been told that when honest people have been kicking their heels in the Cardinal's antechamber, waiting by the hour for admittance, one of these stiletto-looking fellows was elbowed his way through the crowd, and entered, without ceremony, into the Cardinal's presence. I know, replied the Roman, that there have been such reports, and it is not impossible that governments may have made use of these men at particular periods, such as at the time of your abortive revolution, when your carbonari were so busy with their machinations all over the country. The information that men like these could collect, who were familiar, not merely with all the recesses and secret places of the mountains, but also with all the dark and dangerous recesses of society, and knew all that was plotting in the world of mischief. The utility of such instruments in the hands of government was too obvious to be overlooked, and Cardinal Gonzalvi, as a politic statesman, may perhaps have made use of them, for it is well known the robbers, with all their atrocities, are respectful towards the church, and devout in their religion. RELIGION? echoed the Englishman. Yes, RELIGION! repeated the Impravistore. Scarce one of them, but will cross himself and say his prayers, when he hears in his mountain-fastness the matin, or the Ave Mariabells sounding from the valleys. They will often confess themselves to the village priests, to obtain absolution, and occasionally visit the village churches, to pray at some favorite shrine. I recollect an instance in point. I was one evening in the village of Frascati, which lies below the mountains of Abruzzi. The people, as usual in fine evenings in our Italian towns and villages, were standing about in groups in the public square, conversing and amusing themselves. I observed a tall, muscular fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, dancing across the square, but skulking along in the dark, as if avoiding notice. The people, too, seemed to draw back as he passed. It was whisper to me that he was a notorious bandit. But why was he not immediately seized? said the Englishman. Because there was nobody's business. Because nobody wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades. Because there were not sufficient genre-arm near to ensure security against the numbers of desperados he might have at hand. Because the genre-arm might not have received particular instructions to respect to him, and might not feel disposed to engage in the hazardous conflict without compulsion. In short, I might give you a thousand reasons, rising out of the state of our government in manners, not one of which, after all, might appear satisfactory. The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an air of contempt. I have been told, added the Roman, rather quickly, that even in your metropolis of London, notorious thieves, well known to the police as such, walk the streets at noonday in search of their prey, and are not molested and less caught in the very act of robbery. The Englishman gave another shrug, though with a different expression. Somehow, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf thus prowling through the fold, and saw him enter a church. I was curious to witness his devotions. You know our spacious, magnificent churches, the one in which he entered was vast and shrouded in the dusk of evening, at the extremity of the long aisles, a couple of tapers vaguely glimmered on the grand altar, and one of the side chapels was a votive candle placed before the image of a saint. Before this image the robber had prostrated himself. His mantle partly falling off from his shoulders as he knelt, revealed a form of herchelion strength. A stiletto and pistol glittered in his belt, and the light falling on his countenance showed features not unhansome, but strongly and fiercely a character. As he prayed he became vehemently agitated. His lips quivered, sighs and murmurs almost groans burst from him. He beat his breast with violence, then clasped his hands and wrung them convulsively as he extended them towards the image.  I felt fearful of being discovered by him, and withdrew. Shortly after I saw him issue from the church, wrapped in his mantle, he recrossed the square, and no doubt returned to his mountain, with disburdened conscience ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime. The conversation was here taken up by two other travelers. Recently arrived. Mr. Hobbes and Mr. Dobbes, a linen draper and a green grocer, just returning from a tour in Greece and the Holy Land, and who were full of the story of alderman-popkins. They were astonished that the robber should dare to molest the man of his importance on change. He being an eminent dry solter of Throgmorton Street, and a magistrate to boot. In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too true. It was attested by too many present to be for a moment doubted, and from the contradictory and concordant testimony of half a score, all eager to relate it, the company were enabled to make out all the particulars. CHAPTER XXII THE ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS' FAMILY It was but a few days before that the carriage of alderman-popkins had driven up to the inn of Teresina. Those who have seen an English family carriage on the continent must know the sensation it produces. It is an epitome of England, a little morsel of the old island rolling about the world. Everything so compact, so snug, so finished and fitting. The wheels that roll on patent axles without rattling. The body that hangs so well on its springs. Yielding to every motion. Yet proof against every shock. The ruddy faces gaping out of the windows. Sometimes of a portally old citizen. Sometimes of a voluminous dowager. And sometimes of a fine fresh hoiden. Just from boarding school. And then the dickies loaded with well-dressed servants, beef fed and bluff, looking down from their heights with contempt on all the world around, profoundly ignorant of the country and the people, and devoutly certain that everything not English must be wrong. Such was the carriage of alderman-popkins, as it made its appearance at Teresina. The courier who had preceded it to order horses and who was in the apolleton, had given a magnificent account of the riches and greatness of his master, blundering with all an Italian splendor of imagination about the alderman's titles and dignities. The host had added his usual share of exaggeration, so that by the time the alderman drove up to the door, he was amylore, magnifico, principe, the lord knows what. The alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi and Ytri, but he refused. It was as much as a man's life was worth, he said, to stop him on the king's highway. He would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples. He would make a national affair of it. The principeza-popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure in the protection of her husband, so omnipotent a man in the city. As Srini-popkins, two fine, bouncing girls, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken lessons in boxing, and as to the dandy himself, he was sure no scarer mooch of an Italian robber but dared to meddle with an Englishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders and turned out the palms of his hands with a true Italian grimace, and the carriage of me-lord-popkins rolled on. They passed through several very suspicious places without any molestation. The Mrs. Popkins, who were very romantic, and had learned to draw on water-colors, were enchanted with the savage scenery around. It was so like what they had read in Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. They should like, of all things, to make sketches. At length the carriage arrived at a place, where the road wound up a long hill. As Popkins had sunk into asleep, the young ladies were reading the last works of Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron, and the dandy was hectoring the postillians from the coach-box. The alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs up the hill. It was a long, winding assent, and obliged him every now and then to stop and blow and wipe his forehead with many yippish and a foo, being rather percy and short of wind. As the carriage, however, was far behind him, and toiling slowly under the weight of so many well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed travelers, he had plenty of time to walk at leisure. An adjutting point of rock that overhung the road nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the routes began again to descend, he saw a solitary man seated, who appeared to be tending goats. Alderman Popkins was one of your shrew travelers that always like to be picking up small information along the road. So he thought he'd just scramble up to the honest man and have a little talk with him by way of learning the news and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the peasant, he did not have like his looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with his slouched hat, only left a part of his swarthy visage with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and a fierce mustache to be seen. He had whistled several times to his dog, which was roving about the side of the hill. As the Alderman approached, he rose and greeted him. When standing erect, he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins, who, however, being a short man, might be deceived. The latter would gladly now have been back in the carriage, or even on change in London, for he was by no means well pleased with his company. However, he determined to put the best face on matters, and was beginning a conversation about the state of the weather, the badishness of the crops, and the price of goats in that part of the country. When he heard a violent screaming, he ran to the edge of the rock, and looking over, saw a way down the road his carriage surrounded by robbers.  One was rummaging a portmanteau, another rummaging the Principiza's pockets, while the two Mrs. Popkins were screaming from each window of the carriage, and their waiting made squalling from the diki. Then Popkins felt all the fury of the parent, and the magistrate roused within him. He grasped his cane, and was on the point of scrambling down the rocks, either to assault the robbers, or to read the riot act, when he was suddenly grasped by the arm. It was by his friend the goat herd, whose cloak, falling partly off, discovered a belt stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he found himself in the clutches of the Captain of the Band, who had stationed himself on the rock to look out for travelers, and to give notice to his men. A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned inside out, and all the finery and the frippery of the Popkins family scattered about the road. Such a chaos of Venice, beads and Roman mosaics, and Paris bonnets of the young ladies, mingled with the alderman's nightcaps and lamb's wool stockings, and the dandy's hairbrushes, stays, and starch cravats. The gentlemen were eased of their purses and their watches, the ladies of their jewels, and the whole party were on the point of being carried up into the mountain, when fortunately the appearance of soldiery at a distance obliged the robbers to make off with the spoils they had secured, and leave the Popkins family to gather together the remnants of their effects, and make the best of their way to Fondi. When safe arrived, the alderman made a terrible blustering at the inn, threatened to complain to the ambassador at Naples, and was ready to shake his cane at the whole country. The dandy had many stories to tell of his scuffles with the brigands, who overpowered him merely by numbers. As to the Mrs. Popkins, they were quite delighted with the adventure, and were occupied the whole evening in writing it in their journals. They declared the captain of the band to be a most romantic-looking man. They dared to say some unfortunate lover, or exiled nobleman, and several of the band to be very handsome young men. Quite a picturesque. "'In verity,' said my host of Teresina, they say the captain of the band is Un Galantuamo.  "'To dare to meddle with Englishmen,' said Mr. Hobbes. "'And such a family as the Popkins's,' said Mr. Dobbes. "'They ought to come upon the country for damages,' said Mr. Hobbes. "'Our ambassador should make a complaint to the government of Naples,' said Mr. Dobbes. "'They should be requested to drive these rascals out of the country,' said Hobbes. "'If they did not, we should declare war against them,' said Dobbes. The Englishman was a little wearied by this story, and by the ultra-zeal of his countrymen, and was glad when a summons to their supper relieved him from a crowd of travelers. He walked out with his Venetian friends and a young Frenchman of an interesting demeanor, who had become sociable with them in the course of the conversation. They directed their steps toward the sea, which was lit up by the rising moon. The Venetian, out of politeness, left his beautiful wife to be escorted by the Englishman. The latter, however, either from shyness or reserve, did not avail himself of the civility, but walked on without offering his arm. The fair Venetian, with all her devotion to her husband, was a little nettle at a want of gallantry, to which her charms had rendered her unaccustomed, and took the pro-offered arm of the Frenchman with a pretty air of peak, which, however, was entirely lost upon the phlegmatic delinquent. Not far distant from the inn, they came to where there was a body of soldiers on the beach, encircling and guarding a number of galley slaves, who were permitted to refresh themselves in the evening breeze, and to sport and roll upon the sand. It was difficult, the Frenchman observed, to conceive a more frightful mass of crime than was here collected. The pariside, the fratricide, the infanticide, who had first fled from justice, and turned mountain-banded, and then, by betraying his brother Desperados, had bought a commutation of punishment, and the privilege of wallowing on the shore for an hour a day, with his wretched crew of miscreants. The remark of the Frenchman had a strong effect upon the company, particularly upon the Venetian lady, who shuddered as she cast a timid look at this horde of wretches at their evening relaxation. They seemed, she said, like so many serpents, wreathing and twisting together. The Frenchman now adverted to the stories they had been listening to at the inn, adding, that if they had any further curiosity on the subject he could recount an adventure which happened to himself among the robbers, in which might give them some idea of the habits and manners of those beings. There was an error of modesty and frankness about the Frenchman, who had gained the goodwill of the whole party. Not even accepting the Englishman. They all gladly accepted his proposition, and as they strolled slowly up and down the seashore, he related the following adventure. End of Chapter XXIV Recording by Greg Giardano Newport Ritchie, FL Chapter XXIII Of Tales of a Traveller by Washington Irving This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Greg Giardano The Painter's Adventure I am an historical painter by a profession, and resided for some time in the family of a foreign prince, at his villa about fifteen miles from Rome, among some of the most interesting scenery of Italy. It is situated on the heights of ancient Tuscalum. In this neighborhood are the ruins of the villas of Cicero, Sulla, Lasoulas, Wuffines and other illustrious Romans, who sought refuge here occasionally, from their toils in the bosom of a soft and luxurious repose. From the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed by the pure mountain breeze, the eye looks over a romantic landscape full of poetical and historical associations. The Albanian mountains, Tivoli, once the favorite residents of Horus and Massennaeus, the vast-deserved Campania with the Tiber running through it, and St. Peter's Dome swelling in the midst, the monument, as it were, over the grave of ancient Rome. I assisted the prince in the research as he was making among the classic ruins of his vicinity. His exertions were highly successful. Many wrecks of admirable statues and fragments of exquisite sculpture were dug up, monuments of the taste and magnificence that reigned in the ancient Tuscalyn abodes. He had studded his villa and its grounds with statues, reliefos, vases, and sarcophagi, thus retreated from the bosom of the earth. The mode of life pursued at the villa was delightfully serene, diversified by interesting occupations and elegant leisure. Everyone passed the day according to his pleasure or occupation, and we all assembled in a cheerful dinner-party at sunset. It was, on the 4th of November, a beautiful serene day that we had assembled in a saloon at the sound of the first dinner bell. The family were surprised at the absence of the prince's confessor. They waited for him in vain, and at length placed themselves at the table. They first attributed his absence to his having prolonged his customary walk, and the first part of the dinner passed without any uneasiness. When the dessert was served, however, without his making his appearance, they began to feel anxious. They feared you might have taken ill in some alley of the woods, or that you might have fallen into the hands of robbers. At the interval of a small valley rose the mountains of the De Bruci, the stronghold of Banditi. Indeed, the neighborhood had, for some time, been infested by them, and Barbone, a notorious bandit chief, had often been met prowling about the solitudes of Tuscalum. The daring enterprises of these Ruffians were well known. The objects of their cupidity or vengeance were insecure even in palaces. As yet they had respected the possessions of the prince, but the idea of such dangerous spirits hovering about the neighborhood was sufficient to occasion alarm. The fears of the company increased as evening closed in. The prince ordered out forest guards and domestics with flambeau to search for the confessor. They had not departed long when a slight noise was heard in the corridor of the ground floor. The family were dining on the first floor, and the remaining domestics were occupied in attendance. There is no one on the ground floor of this moment but the housekeeper, the laundress, and three field laborers who were resting themselves and conversing with the women. I heard the noise from below, and presuming it to be occasioned by the return of the absentee. I left the table and hastened downstairs, eager to gain intelligence that might relieve the anxiety of the prince and princess. I had scarcely reached the last step when I beheld before me a man dressed as a bandit, a carbine in his hand, and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His countenance had a mingled expression of ferocity and trepidation. He sprang upon me and exclaimed exultingly, Ico ill principi. I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but endeavored to summon up coolness and presence of mind. I glanced towards the lower end of the corridor, show me several ruffians, clothed and armed in the same manner with the one who had seized me. They were guarding the two females and the field laborers. The robber, who helped me firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly whether or not I were the prince. His object evidently was to carry off the prince and extort an immense ransom. He was enraged at receiving none but vague replies, for I felt the importance of misleading him. A sudden thought struck me how I might extricate myself from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, but I was vigorous. His companions were at a distance. By a sudden exertion I might rest myself from him and spring up the staircase, whether he would not dare to follow me singly. The idea was put in execution as soon as conceived. The ruffians threw it was bare. With my right hand I seized him by it, just between the mastoids. With my left hand I grasped the arm which held the carbine. The suddenness of my attack took him completely on the shoulders, and the strangling nature of my grasp paralyzed him. He choked and faltered. I felt his hand relaxing its hold and was on the point of jerking myself away and darting up the staircase before he could recover himself when I was suddenly seized by someone from behind. I had to let go of my grasp. The bandit, once more released, fell upon me with fury and gave me several blows with the butt end of his carbine, one of which wounded me severely in the forehead and covered me with blood. He took advantage of my being stunned to rifle me of my watch and whatever valuables I had about my person. When I recovered from the effects of the blow, I heard the voice of the chief of the bandit who exclaimed, Quello e il principi siamo contente odiamo! It is the prince enough, let us be off. The band immediately closed round me and dragged me out of the palace, bringing off the three laborers likewise. I had no hat on and the blood was flowing from my wound. I managed to staunch it, however, with my pocket handkerchief, which I bound round my forehead. The captain of the band conducted me in triumph, supposing me to be the prince. We had gone some distance before he learned his mistake from one of the laborers. His rage was terrible. It was too late to return to the villa and endeavor to retrieve his error, for by this time the alarm must have been given and everyone in arms. He darted at me a furious look, swore I had deceived him and caused him to miss his fortune, and told me to prepare for death. The rest of the robbers were equally furious. I saw their hands upon their poignards, and I knew that death was seldom an empty menace with these ruffians. The laborers saw the peril to which their information had betrayed me, and eagerly assured the captain that I was a man for whom the prince would pay a great ransom. This produced a pause. For my part I cannot say that I had been much dismayed by their menaces. I mean not much to make any boast of courage, but I have been so schooled to hardship during the late revolutions and have beheld death around me in so many perilous and disastrous scenes that I have become, in some measure, callous to its terrors. The frequent hazard of life makes a man at length as reckless of it as a gambler of his money. To their threat of death I replied that the sooner it was executed the better. This reply seemed to astonish the captain, and the prospect of ransom held out by the laborers had, no doubt, a still greater effect on him. He considered for a moment, assumed a calmer manner, and made a sign to his companions, who had remained waiting for my death warrant. Forward, said he, we will see about this matter by and by. We descended rapidly towards the road of La Malara, which leads to Roca Priori, and the midst of this road is a solitary inn. The captain ordered the troop to halt at the distance of a pistol shot from it, and enjoined profound silence. He then approached the threshold alone, with noiseless steps. He examined the outside of the door very narrowly. And then returning, precipitously, made a sign for the troop to continue its march in silence. It has since been ascertained, this is one of the infamous ins which are the secret resorts of Banditi. The innkeeper had an understanding with the captain, as he most probably had with the chiefs of the different bands. When any of the patrols and gendarmes recorded at his house, the brigands were warned of it by a pre-conserved signal on the door. When there was no such signal, they might enter with safety and be sure of welcome. Many an isolated inn among the lonely parts of the Roman territories, and especially on the skirts of the mountains, have the same dangerous and suspicious character. Their places were the Banditi's gatherer in Formation, where they concert their plans, and where the unwary traveler, remote from hearing or assistance, is sometimes betrayed to the stiletto of the midnight murderer. After pursuing our road a little farther, we struck off towards the woody mountains which envelop Rocco Priori. Our march was long and painful, with many circuits and windings. At length we clambered a steep ascent, covered with a thick forest, and when we had reached the center, I was told to seat myself on the earth. The sooner had I done so, then I had a sign from their chief, the robbers surrounded me, and spreading the great cloaks from one to the other, from the kind of pavilion of mantles to which their bodies might be said to seem as columns. The captain then struck a light, and the flambeau was lit immediately. The mantles were extended to prevent the light of the flambeau from being seen through the forest. Anxious as was my situation, I could not look around upon the screen of dusky drapery, relieved by the bright colors of the robbers underdresses, the gleaming of their weapons, and the variety of strong-marked countenances, lit up by the flambeau, without admiring the picturesque effect of the scene. It was quite theatrical. The captain now held an ink-horn, and giving me pen and paper, ordered me to write what he should dictate. I obeyed. It was a demand, hatched in the style of robber eloquence, quote, that the prince should send three thousand dollars for my ransom, or that my death should be the consequence of a refusal, end quote. I knew enough of the desperate character of these beings to feel assured this was not an idle menace. Their only motive in ensuring attention to their demands is to make the infliction of the penalty inevitable. I saw it once, however, that the demand was preposterous and made in improper language. I told the captain so, and assured him that so extravagant a sum would never be granted. That was neither friend nor relative of the prince, but a mere artist, employed to execute certain paintings. That I had nothing to offer as a ransom but the price of my labors. If this were not sufficient, my life was at their disposal. It was a thing on which I sat but little value. I was the more hearty in my reply, because I saw that coolness and heartyhood had an effect upon the robbers. It is true, as I finished speaking in the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto. But he restrained himself, and snatching the letter folded it and ordered me into preemptory tone to address it to the prince. He then dispatched one of the labors with it to Tuscaloam, who promised to return with all possible speed. The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and I was told that I might do the same. They spread their great cloaks on the ground and lay down around me. One was stationed at a little distance to keep watch, and was relieved every two hours. The strangeness and wildness of this mountain, Bwivwak, among lawless beings whose hands seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and with whom life was so trivial and insecure, was enough to banish repose. The coldness of the earth and of the Jew, however, had a still greater effect than mental causes in disturbing my rest. The air is wafted to these mountains from the distant Mediterranean, diffused at great slayness as the night advanced. The expedient suggested itself. I called one of my fellow prisoners, the labors, and made him lie down beside me. Whenever one of my limbs became chilled, I approached it to the robust limb of my neighbor and borrowed some of his warmth. In this way I was able to obtain a little sleep. Day it lengthened on, and I was roused from my slumber by the voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise and follow him. I obeyed.  He even assisted me in scrambling up the steep forest among rocks and brambles. Habit had made him a vigorous mountaineer, but I found it excessively toilsome to climb those rugged heights. We arrived at length the summit of the mountain. Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art suddenly awakened, and I forgot, in an instant, all perils and fatigues at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the midst of the mountains of Ebruzzi. I was on these heights that Hannibal first pitched his camp and pointed out Rome to his followers. The eye embraces a vast extent of country. The minor height of Tuscalim, with its villas and its sacred ruins, lie below. The Sabine hills and the Albanian mountains stretch on either hand, and beyond Tuscalim and Frascati spreads out the immense Copania, with its line of tombs, and here and there a broken aqueduct stretching across it and the towers and domes of the central city in the midst. Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun and bursting upon my sight as I looked forth from among the majestic forests of the Ebruzzi. Fancy too the savage foreground, made still more savage by groups of the Banditi, armed and dressed in their wild, picturesque manner, and you will not wonder the enthusiasm of the painter for a moment overpowered all his other feelings. The Banditi were astonished at my admiration of a scene, which familiarity had made so common in their eyes. I took advantage of their halting at this spot, drew forth a choir of drawing paper, and began to sketch the features of the landscape. The height, on which I was seated, was wild and solitary, separated from the ridge of Tuscalum by a valley nearly three miles wide, though the distance appeared less from the purity of the atmosphere. This height was one of the favorite retreats of the Banditi, commanding a lookout over the country, while at the same time it was covered with forests and distant from the populist haunts of men. While I was sketching, my attention was called off for a moment by the cries of birds and the bleatings of sheep. I looked around, but could see nothing of the animals that uttered them. They were repeated and appeared to come from the summits of the trees. On looking more narrowly, I perceived six of the robbers perched on the tops of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest of the mountain, and commanded an uninterrupted prospect. From hence they were keeping a lookout, like so many vultures, casting their eyes into the depths of the valley below us, communicating with each other by signs, or holding discourse and sounds, which might be mistaken by the wayfarer for the cries of hawks and crows with the bleating of the mountain flocks. After they had reconnoitred the neighborhood and finished a singular discourse, they descended from their airy perch and returned to their prisoners. The captain posted three of them as three naked sides of the mountain, while he remained to guard us with what appeared his most trusty companion. I had my book of sketches in my hand. He requested to see it, and after having run his eye over it, expressed himself convinced of the truth of my assertion that I was a painter. I thought I saw a gleam of good feeling dawning in him, and he turned me to avail myself of it. I knew that the worst of men have their good points and their accessible sides, if one would but study them carefully. Indeed, there was a singular mixture in the character of the Italian robber, with reckless ferocity often mingles traits of kindness and good humor. He is often not radically bad, but driven to his course of life by some unpremeditated crime. The effect of those sudden bursts of passion to which the Italian temperament is prone. This has compelled him to take to the mountains, or, as it is technically termed among them, andere in campagna. He has become a robber by profession, but like a soldier, not in action, he can lay aside his weapon and his fierceness and become like other men. I took occasion from the observations of the captain on my sketches to fall into conversation with him. I found him sociable and communicative. By degrees I became completely at my ease with him. I advanced that I perceived about him a degree of self-love, which I determined to make use of. I assumed an air of careless frankness, and told him that, as artist, I pretended to the power of judging with his ennemy, that I thought I perceived something in his features and demeanor which announced him worthy of higher fortunes, that he was not formed to exercise the profession to which he had abandoned himself, that he had talents and qualities fitted for a nobler sphere of action, that he had but to change his course of life, and, in a legitimate career, the same courage and endowments which now make him an object of terror would ensure him the applause and admiration of society. I had not mistaken my man. My discourse both touched and excited him. He seized my hand, pressed it, and replied with strong emotion. You have guessed the truth. You have judged me rightly. He remained for a moment silent, and with the kind of effort he resumed. I will tell you some particulars of my life, and you will perceive that it was the oppression of others rather than my own crimes that drove me to the mountains. I sought to serve my fellow men, and they have persecuted me from among them. We seated ourselves on the grass, and the robber gave me the following anecdotes of his history. End of Chapter 23 Recording by Greg Giordano, Newport Richie, Florida. Chapter 26 Of Tales of a Traveller by Washington Irving This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Greg Giordano. Story of the Bandit Chieftain. I am a native of the village of Procetti. My father was easy enough, in circumstances, and we lived peaceably and independently, cultivating our fields. All went on well with us, until a new chief of the Spurry was sent to our village to take command of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying into everything, and practicing all sorts of vexations and oppressions in the discharge of his office. I was at that time eighteen years of age, and had a natural love of justice and good neighborhood. I had also a little education, and knew something of history, so as to be able to judge a little of men and their actions. All this inspired me with hatred for this paltry despot. My own family also became the object of his suspicion, or dislike, and felt more than once the arbitrary abuse of his power. These things worked together on my mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My character was always ardent and energetic, and acted upon by my love of justice, determined me by one blow to rid the country of the tyrant. Full of my project, I rose one morning before peep of day, and concealing a stiletto under my waistcoat. There you see it. And he drew forth a long, keen, horniard. I lay in wait for him in the outskirts of the village. I knew all his haunts, and his habit of making his rounds, and prowling about like a wolf, in the gray of the morning. At length I met him, and attacked him with fury. He was armed, but I took him unawares, and was full of youth and vigor. I gave him repeated blows to make sure work, and laid him lifeless at my feet. When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I returned with all haste to the village, but had the ill luck to meet two of the spurry as I entered it. They accosted me, and asked if I had seen their chief. I assumed an air of tranquility, and told them I had not. They continued on their way, and within a few hours brought back the dead body to Prusetti. Their suspicions of me being already awakened, I was arrested, and thrown into prison. Here I lay several weeks, when the Prince, who was Senor of Prusetti, directed judicial proceedings against me. I was brought to trial, and a witness was produced, who pretended to have seen me not far from the bleeding body, and flying with precipitation, so I was condemned to the galleys for thirty years. Curse on such laws, was suffirated the bandit, filming with rage. Curse on such a government, and ten thousand curses on the Prince, who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, while so many other Roman princes harbour and protect assassins, a thousand times more cupable. What had I done, though that was inspired by a love of justice, and my country? Why was my act more cupable than that of Brutus, when he sacrificed Caesar to the cause of liberty and justice? There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous in the rhapsody of this robber-chief, thus associating himself with one of the great names of antiquity. It showed, however, that he had at least the merit of knowing the remarkable facts in the history of his country. He became more calm, and resumed his narrative. I was conducted to Zavita, Vichia, and Fedders. My heart was burning with rage. I had been married scare six months to a woman whom I passionately loved, and who was pregnant. My family was in despair. For a long time I made unsuccessful efforts to break my chain. At length I found a morsel of iron, which I had carefully endeavored with a pointed flint to fashion it into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this work during the night time, and when it was finished, I made out, after a long time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My flight was successful. I wandered for several weeks in the mountains, which surrounded Procetti, and found means to inform my wife of the place where I was concealed. She came often to see me. I had determined to put myself at the head of an armed band. She endeavored for a long time to dissuade me. By finding my resolution fixed, she at length united in my project of vengeance, and brought me, herself, my poignard. By her means I communicated with several brave fellows of the neighboring villages, who I knew to be ready to take to the mountains, and only panting for an opportunity to exercise their daring spirits. We soon formed a combination, procured arms, and we have had ample opportunities of revenging ourselves for the wrongs and injuries which most of us have suffered. Everything has succeeded with us until now, and had it not been for our blunder and mistaking you for the prince, our fortunes would have been made. Here the robber concluded his story. He had talked himself into companionship, and assured me he no longer bore me any grudge for the error of which I had been the innocent cause. He even professed a kindness for me, and wished me to remain some time with them. He promised to give me a sight of certain grottoes, which they occupied beyond veletry, and whether they resorted during the intervals of their expeditions. He assured me that they had led a jovial life there, had plenty of good cheer, stepped on beds of moss, and were weighted upon by young and beautiful females, whom I might take for models. I confess I felt my curiosity rouse by his descriptions of these grottoes and their inhabitants. They realized those scenes in robber's story which I had always looked upon as mere creations of the fancy. I should gladly have accepted his invitation and paid a visit to those caravans, could I have felt more secure in my company. I began to find my situation less painful. I had evidently propitiated the good will of the chieftain and hoped that he might release me for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, however, awaited me, while the captain was looking out with impatience for the return of the messenger, who had been sent to the prince, the sentinel who had been posted on the side of the mountain, facing the plain of La Molara, and running towards us with precipitation. We are betrayed, exclaimed he. The police of Frascati are after us. A party of carabiners have just stopped at the inn below the mountain. Then laying his hand on his stiletto, he swore, with a terrible oath, that if they made the least movement towards the mountains, my life and the lives of my fellow prisoners should answer for it. The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demeanor and approved of what his companion said, but when the latter had returned to his post, he turned to me with a softened air. I must act as chief, said he, and humor my dangerous subalterns.  But do not be alarmed, in case we are surprised, keep by me, fly with us, and I will consider myself responsible for your life. There is nothing very consolatory in this arrangement which would have placed me between two dangers. I scarcely knew, in case of flight, which I should have most to apprehend from, the carbines of the pursuers, or the stilettos of the pursued. I remained silent, however, in endeavor to maintain a look of tranquility. For an hour was I kept in the state of peril and anxiety. The robbers, crouching among their leafy coverts, kept an eagle watch upon the caribuners below as they loitered about the inn. Sometimes lolling about the portal, sometimes disappearing for several minutes, then saling out, examining their weapons, pointing in different directions, and apparently asking questions about the neighborhood. Not a movement or gesture was last upon the keen eyes of the brigands. At length we were relieved from our apprehensions. The caribuners, having finished their refreshment, seized their arms, continued along the valley towards the gray road, and gradually left the mountain behind them. I felt almost certain, said the chief, that they could not be sent after us. They know too well how prisoners have fared in our hands on similar occasions. Our laws in this respect are inflexible, and are necessary for our safety. If we once flinched from them, there would no longer be such a thing as a ransom to be procured. There were no signs yet of the messenger's return. I was preparing to resume my sketching when the captain drew a choir of paper from his knapsack.  Take my likeness. The leaves of your portfolio are small. Draw it on this. I gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom presents itself to a painter. I recollected that Salvatore Rosa, in his youth, had voluntarily sojourned for a time among the Banditi of Calibria, and had filled his mind with the savage scenery and savage associates by which he was surrounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the thought. I found the captain the most docile of subjects, and after various shifting of positions I placed him in attitude to my mind. Picture to yourself a stern, muscular figure, and fanciful bandit costume, with pistols and poignards and belt, his brawny neck-bearer, a handkerchief loosely thrown around it, and the two ends in front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of travelers, relics, and metals hung on his breast, his hat decorated with various colored ribbons, as vast and short breaches of bright colors and finally embroidered, his legs and bustkins or leggings, fancy him on a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks, leaning on his carbine as if meditating some exploit, while far below are beheld villages and villas, the scene of his maraudings, with the wide compagnya dilly extending in the distance. The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to admire himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished when the laborer arrived, whom had been sent from my ransom. He had reached Testulum two hours after midnight. He brought me a letter from the Prince, who was in bed at the time of his arrival. As I had predicted, he treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five hundred dollars for my ransom. Having no money by him at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, payable to whomever should conduct me safe and sound to Rome. I had presented the note of hand to the chieftain. He received it with a shrug. Of what use are notes of hand to us? said he. Who can we send with you to Rome to receive it? We are all marked men, known and described at every gate and military post, in village church door. No. It must have gold and silver, let the sun be paid in cash, and you shall be restored to liberty. The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to communicate his determination to the Prince. When I had finished the letter and took the sheet from the choir, I found on the opposite side of it the portrait which I had just been tracing. I was about to tear it off and give it to the chief. Hold! said he. Let it go to Rome. Let them see what kind of looking fellow I am. Perhaps the Prince and his friends may form as good an opinion of me from my face as you have done. This was said sportively, yet it was evident there was vanity lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful chief of Banditi forgot for a moment his usual foresight and precaution and the common wish to be admired. He never reflected what use might be made of this portrait and his pursuit and conviction. The letter was folded and directed and the messenger departed again for Tuscaloam. It was now eleven o'clock in the morning, and as yet we had eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety, I began to feel a craving appetite. I was glad, therefore, to hear the Captain talk something of eating. He observed that for three days and nights they had been lurking about among rocks and woods, meditating their expedition to Tuscaloam, during which all their provisions had been exhausted. He should now take measures to procure a supply. Leaving me, therefore, in the charge of his comrade, in whom he appeared to have implicit confidence, he departed, assuring me that in less than two hours we should make a good dinner. Where it was to come from wasn't enigma to me, though it was evident these beings had their secret friends and agents throughout the country. Indeed, the inhabitants of these mountains and of the valleys which they, in bosom, are a rude, half-civilized set. The towns and villages among the forests of the Uruzzi, shut up from the rest of the world, are almost like savage dens. It is wonderful that such rude abodes, so little known and visited, should be embusmed in the midst of one of the most traveled and civilized countries of Europe. Among these regions the robber prowls unmolested. Not a mountaineer hesitates to give him secret harbor and assistance. The shepherds, however, who tend their flocks among the mountains, are the favorite emissaries of the robbers. When they would send messages down to the valleys, either for ransom or supplies, the shepherds of the Uruzzi are as wild as the scenes they frequent. They are clad in a rude garb of black or brown sheepskin. They have high conical hats and coarse sandals of cloth, bound round their legs with thongs, similar to those worn by the robbers. They carry long staffs, of which as they lean they form picturesque objects in the lonely landscape, and they are followed by their ever-constant companion, the dog. They are a curious, questioning set, glad at any time to relieve the monotony of their solitude by the conversation of the passer-by, and the dog will then an attentive ear, and put on a sagacious and inquisitive look as his master. But I am wandering from my story. I was now left alone with one of the robbers, the confidential companion of the chief. He was the youngest and was vigorous of the band. And those countenance had something of that disillute fierceness, which seemed natural to this desperate, lawless mode of life. Yet there were traits of manly beauty about it, as an artist that could not but admire it. I had remarked in him an air of abstraction and reverie, and at times a movement of inward suffering and impatience. He now sat on the ground, his elbows on his knees, his head resting between his clenched fists, and his eyes fixed on the earth with an expression of sad and bitter rumination. I had grown familiar with him from repeated conversations, and had found him superior in mind to the rest of the band. I was anxious to seize every opportunity of sounding the feelings of these singular beings. I fancied I read in the countenance of this one, traces of self-condemnation and remorse, and the ease with which I had drawn forth the confidence of the chieftain encouraged me to hope the same with his followers. After a little preliminary conversation, I ventured to ask him if he did not feel regret having abandoned his family and taken to this dangerous profession. I feel, replied he, but one regret, and that will end only with my life. As he said this, he pressed his clenched fists upon his bosom, drew his breath through his set teeth, and added with deep emotion. I have something within here that stifles me. It's like a burning iron consuming my very heart. I could tell you a miserable story, but not now, another time. He relapsed into his former position and sat with his head between his hands, muttering to himself in broken ejaculations and what appeared at times to be curses and maledictions. I saw he was not in the mood to be disturbed, so I left him to himself. In a little time the exhaustion of his feelings and probably the fatigue he had undergone in his expedition began to produce drowsiness. He struggled with it for a time, but the warmth and sultriness of midday made it irresistible, and he at length stretched himself upon the herbage and fell asleep. I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. My guard lay before me at my mercy. His vigorous limbs relaxed by sleep. His bosom opened for the blow. His carbines tipped from his nerveless grasp and lying by his side, his stiletto half out of the pocket in which it was usually carried. But two of his comrades were in sight, and those at a considerable distance, on the edge of the mountain, their backs turned to us, and their attention occupied in keeping a look out upon the plain. Through a strip of intervening forest and at the foot of a steep descent, I beheld the village of Roka Priori. To have secured the carbine and the sleeping brigand, to have seized upon his poignard and have plunged it in his heart, would have been the work of an instant. Should he die without noise, I might dart through the forest and down to Roka Priori before my flight might be discovered. In case of alarm, I should still have a fair start of the robbers and a chance of getting beyond the reach of their shot. Here, then, was an opportunity for both escape and vengeance, perilous indeed, but powerfully tempting. Have a situation been more critical, I could not have resisted it. I reflected, however, for a moment. The attempt is successful, will be followed by the sacrifice of my two fellow prisoners, who were sleeping profoundly and could not be awakened in time to escape, the laborer who had gone after the ransom, but also followed victim to the rage of the robbers, without the money which he brought being saved. Besides, conduct of the chief towards me made me feel certain of speedy deliverance. These reflections overcame the first powerful impulse, and I calmed the turbulent agitation which it had awakened. I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused myself with sketching the magnificent prospect. It was now about noon, and everything seemed sunken to repose, like the bandit that lay sleeping before me. The noontide stillness that reigned over these mountains, the vast landscape below, gleaming with distant towns undoubted with various habitations and signs of life, yet also silent. Had a powerful effect upon my mind. The intermediate valleys, too, the lie among mountains, have a peculiar air of solitude. Few sounds are heard at midday to break the quiet of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a solitary mule-tear, lagging with this lazy animal along the road that winds through the center of the valley.  I had continued to sketch for some time among my sleeping companions, when at length I saw the captain of the band approaching, followed by a peasant leading a mule, on which was a well-filled sack. I had first apprehended that this was some new prey falling into the hands of the robbers. But the contented look of the peasant soon relieved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that it was our promised repast. The brigands now came running from the three sides of the mountain, having the quick scent of vultures. And busied himself in unloading the mule and relieving the sack of its contents. The first thing that made its appearance was an enormous ham of a color and plumpness that would have inspired the pencil of tenures.  Everything was arranged on the grass with a degree of symmetry, and the captain presenting me his knife, requested me to help myself. We all seated ourselves round the vines, and nothing was heard for a time but the sound of vigorous mastication, or the gurgling of the barrel of wine, as it revolved riskily about the circle. My long fasting in the mountain air and exercise had given me a keen appetite, and never did repast appear to me more excellent or picturesque. From time to time one of the bands was dispatched to keep a look out upon the plain. No enemy was at hand, and the dinner was undisturbed. The peasant received nearly twice the value of his provisions, and set off down the mountain, highly satisfied with his bargain. I felt invigorated by the hearty meal I had made, and notwithstanding that the wound I had received the evening before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely interested and gratified by the singular scenes continually presented to me. Everything seemed pictured about these wild beings and their haunts, their bivouacs, their groups on guard, their mingled, noontide repose on the mountain brow, their rude repast on the herbage among the rocks and trees. Everything presented a study for a painter, but it was towards the approach of evening that I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened. The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Campania, shed its rich yellow beams on the woody summits of the Abruzzi. Several mountains crowned with snow, shone brilliantly in the distance, contrasting their brightness with others. Each, thrown into shade, assumed deep tints of purple and violet. As the evening advanced, the landscape darkened into a sterner character. The immense solitude around, the wild mountains broken into rocks and precipices, intermingled with vast oak, cork, and chestnuts, and the groups of Banditi in the foreground, reminded me of those savage scenes of Salvatore Rosa. It beguiled the time, the captain proposed to his comrade to spread before me their jewels and cameos, as there must doubtless be a judge of such articles, and able to inform them of their nature. He set the example, the others followed it, and in a few moments I saw of the grass before me, sparkling with jewels and gems, that would have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine lady. Among them were several precious jewels and antique intoglios, and cameos of great value, the spoils doubtless of travelers of distinction. I found that they were in the habit of selling their booty in the frontier towns, as these in general were thinly and poorly peopled, and little frequented by travelers they could offer no market for such valuable articles of taste and luxury. I suggested to them the certainty of their readily obtaining great pieces for these gems among the rich strangers with which Rome was thronged. The impression made upon their greedy minds was immediately apparent. One of the band, a young man, and the least known, requested permission of the captain to depart the following day in disguise for Rome, for the purpose of traffic, promising on the faith of a bandit, a sacred pledge amongst them, to return in two days to any place he might appoint. The captain consented, and a curious scene took place. The robbers crowded round him eagerly, confiding to him such of their jewels as they wished to dispose of, and giving him instructions what to demand, there was bargaining and exchanging and selling of trinkets among themselves, and I beheld my watch, which had a chain and valuable seals, purchased by the young robber-merchant of the Ruffian who had plundered me for sixty dollars. I now conceived of a fate and hope that if it went to Rome I might somehow or other regain possession of it. In the meantime, day declined, and no messenger returned from Tuscalum. The idea of passing another night in the woods was extremely disheartening, for I began to be satisfied with what I had seen of robber life. The chief then now ordered his men to follow him, that he might station them at their posts, adding that if the messenger did not return before night they must shift their quarters to some other place. I was again left alone with the young bandit, who had before guarded me. He had the same gloomy air and haggard eye, with now and then a bitter, sardonic smile. I was determined to probe this ulcerated heart, and reminded him of a kind of promise he had given me to tell me the cause of his suffering. It seemed to me as if these troubled spirits were glad of an opportunity to disperse in themselves, and of having some fresh, un-diseased mind which they could communicate. It hardly made the request, but he seated himself by my side, and gave me his story, as nearly as I can recollect the following words.