serve one who takes so flattering an interest in our poor affairs. If
your Excellency will but wait a moment and read the local newspapers,
one of which he will discover to be religious, the other of contrary
tone, the Brigand shall shortly be introduced to you."
Heartened by this promise, the young journalist read with some care
the leading articles of the greasy rags before him, and maintained his
dignity and his apparent attention to the text in spite of occasional
openings of the door accompanied by the giggling and elbowing of the
curious who, in out-of-the-way places, infest a stranger.
At last the door opened wide before the sweeping gesture and the
advancing stride of one accustomed to command, and the Brigand of
Radicofani stood before the traveller.
His dress was picturesque in the extreme: he had on knee breeches
ornamented with parti-coloured ribbons, his calves were swathed round
with crisscross bands, a rustic pipe hung from his belt, which also
sheathed four knives of different dimensions with variegated and
curious carved handles. Aslant across these he wore a naked dagger
quite eighteen inches long; a gloomy cloak depended from one shoulder;
upon his head was a steeple-crowned hat, very tall and pointed, and
adorned, like the rest of his person, with ribbons of gay hue. In
either ear he wore an enormous ring of gold, and black ringlets which
shone with some oily substance depended in profusion from either side
of his head. This extraordinary figure was completed by a gigantic
blunderbuss with a bore about the size of a duck gun and ending in a
huge bell mouth quite nine inches across.
The Brigand (for it was he) startled the journalist by asking in a
terrible voice what he wanted with him, and bidding him be brief and
to the point in his interrogations or demands. As he so spoke he tapped
with his left hand the curious handle of his dagger, keeping his fist
clenched upon his haunch and his right arm akimbo, while his left leg
and foot were advanced in a martial and even in a threatening manner.
The young Colonial, who was acquainted--by his reading--with many
situations of danger, summoned all his firmness, begged the Brigand to
share the wine which stood before him, and assured him that he had only
disturbed his leisure in order to hear from the lips of one so justly
prominent in the ancient and noble town of Radicofani memories of its
great past intermingled, as he hoped, with records of the Brigand's
individual career.
Mollified by such an address, the great man sank into the rickety chair
opposite the journalist, assumed the attitude of the warrior at ease,
and began with plentiful and dramatic gesture the recital of many
things.
Brigandage, he assured his companion, was now by no means the trade it
had been; he had himself taken to the road at the early age of fifteen,
having been persuaded to that industry by an uncle of his, a Canon of
Viterbo. "For in the old days" (he was careful to add) "this country
was very easily administered, and the clergy in especial defended and
encouraged the picturesque customs which such an ease of administration
bred. Often after a hard night upon the highway, or after some
successful business in the brushwood above the city, I would make it my
business to call upon my revered uncle to press upon him some trinket
as a mark of my esteem, or if the day had been exceptionally lucky,
some piece of foreign gold which a tourist (for they were even then
numerous in these parts) might have left in my possession. The old man
died," continued the Brigand with a sigh, "in the year '68, during the
reign of the late Pope Pius IX, and it was perhaps as well, for great
changes were impending which, had he lived to see them, would have
broken his heart. For myself," the Brigand went on thoughtfully, "I am
too much of a patriot to complain of the unification of my country, and
I had some hopes on the establishment of a new government of obtaining
a permanent situation under it which, as I was now approaching middle
age, would be more consonant to my years than the precarious though
active and healthy career I had hitherto pursued. For some moments in
the year 1873 I hoped I might be appointed receiver of the taxes, a
post for which my intimate knowledge of the whole countryside and my
many connections with the farmers of the locality seemed singularly
to fit me. A former chief of mine, for whom I had always preserved a
reverent attachment, was very powerful in this department, and assured
me that I might look for a regular post so soon as he was himself
installed in the office of the Fisc at Orvieto. But there!" continued
the Brigand, sighing, "loyalty and gratitude are sentiments soon
dissipated in the atmosphere of politics, and though I had the pleasure
of seeing my old chief installed as the head of his department, no such
post as he had hinted at came my way. Meanwhile trade sank: artists,
literary men, and poor fowl of that sort still thought it an eccentric
and therefore a desirable thing to approach the Eternal City by road,
and these I would not infrequently be at the pains of carrying off for
ransom; but it was a dwindling and a most unsatisfactory trade. The
wealthy took more and more to the railway; the new government at the
Quirinal, after a certain amount of hesitation, definitely decided
upon a policy inimical to our profession, if not actually hostile to
it. My advancing years, and the various circumstances I have detailed,
made the dear old life less and less possible, until one day" (here he
sighed again profoundly) "in '93, just ten years ago, I was constrained
to accept a situation as a model under an agency which provides such
individuals for the entertainment of foreigners. I was already old (I
am over seventy as you see me here and now), but I often think with
bitterness as I poise upon one leg in an attitude of flight, or shield
my eyes with my hands with a gesture that is very much applauded by
the ladies who sketch me--I often think with bitterness, I say, as I
adopt these various attitudes to order, of the days when I was known as
the Lion of the Amiata, when my name was a terror from far beyond the
Tiber to the marshes that border the Mediterranean Sea."
The old man was silent, and the journalist, who had been busy taking
notes, and was profoundly moved by the recital he had heard, asked the
Brigand most deferentially and in a gentle tone whether these memories
did not stir him to some particular story, and whether he could not
recite before the stranger left some especially telling incident of his
great past.
"Why," mused the vigorous old man, rising slowly from his chair, "I
think I can reconstruct for you that famous occasion which the old
wives still tell as a winter story, when I held up the Syndic of
Montefiascone, and without the trouble of binding him to a tree nor
of inflicting the slightest mutilation, I acquired for the purposes
of my expenditure all that was movable upon his person. Come, let us
reconstruct the scene." He put a heavy hand upon the young journalist's
shoulder, looking round the room as he did so for a favourable stage
upon which to order the drama.
The Colonial rose at the same time, and the Brigand, shaking his head,
and growling like a monarch of the forest, muttered deeply: "No, no,
this place is too small!"
With the moving of the chairs many had come into the little inn
parlour and followed the pair out into the blazing market square, and
the brigand led the now dubious journalist into that public place.
Their appearance in the open was the signal for a great gathering;
children ran from narrow alleys, market women rushed up with shrill
voices, farmers engaged in bargaining left their sport for the superior
attractions of the scene, and loud cries of "The Brigand is going
to work--come and see the Brigand" were heard upon every side. The
journalist maintained his dignity, and even allowed a faint smile to
flicker upon his anxious lips as the Brigand, pacing the cobblestones
of the market-place in a thoughtful manner, decided the spot where his
companion should stand.
"Here," he said, stamping with his foot, "this was about the distance."
The journalist found himself alone, the crowd retired at some fifty
yards; before him was the street leading northward out of the town
towards Sienna; it was empty. He turned and saw facing him the large
concourse of people recounting to each other the interest of the
proceedings; and he further perceived that the Brigand, who stood a
little in front of them all, was slowly disembarrassing his blunderbuss
from the innumerable details of his costume.
"Thus," shouted the old giant in a terrible voice, "stood I. There
where you are stood the Syndic. Come, look slightly away and upwards
as though you did not perceive me, for such was the Syndic's attitude
upon the occasion in question. Make as though you were walking
leisurely, but do not actually take a step, for that would destroy
the reconstruction of the scene which I am arranging for your
entertainment."
With great deliberation the Brigand of Radicofani next proceeded to
pour into the huge bell mouth of his blunderbuss a measure of gunpowder
from a horn; next he rammed in a piece of the anticlerical newspaper
with the rusty ramrod which he had with difficulty drawn from its
rings; he replaced the ramrod, and as deliberately dropped into the
mouth of his deadly instrument a number of large leaden slugs.
"Thus," said he as he made these preparations, "did I carefully load
while the unsuspecting Syndic leisurely crossed before my line of fire."
As he said these words the Brigand slowly raised the blunderbuss to his
shoulder, leaned his great body forward, and bent his head until an
eye of extraordinary brilliance and power was gleaming down the top of
the barrel. The concourse was now silent, and the journalist, with an
admirable sense of what was required of him, adopted the attitude of a
man walking at a leisurely pace, and acted to perfection the part of
the Syndic.
"Halt!" roared the Brigand in startling and quite novel tones. The
journalist instinctively started, and the Brigand bitterly added:
"Must I fire, or will you spare me that expense by laying carefully
upon the ground at your feet your watch, your purse, your rings, your
pocket-book, and such valuables as you may have about you?"
The journalist with no little hesitation (for he found this too
realistic) threw down a coin byway of _simulacrum_.
"He mocks me!" bellowed the Brigand, while all the crowd applauded. "He
hesitates to obey (thus did I speak to the Syndic). Come, empty all
your pockets and turn them inside out that I may see them."
The journalist, excusing his pride by the reflection that the whole
thing was but a game, with some reluctance did as he was bid. There
lay at his feet upon the market square of Radicofani a little heap of
valuables, a quantity of private correspondence, a handkerchief and a
note-book.
"Now," shouted the Brigand, still carefully aiming at the foreigner's
head, "go! Go warily, and step backward if you choose, to assure
yourself that I shall not lower my gun."
For some few steps the journalist so walked toward the northern gate,
and step by step, keeping his distance, the immense old man pursued,
while the crowd with subdued applause, encouraged his action, and with
rising menaces bade the stranger not cross the Brigand's purpose,
since upon these occasions he was terrible if he was thwarted. When he
had nearly reached the limits of the town the unfortunate traveller
began to protest that the joke should end. To his horror the reply
which reached him, not from the Brigand alone but from many of his
supporters, was given in tones of increasing sincerity, and he
shuddered to see, or to think he saw, the pressure of the finger upon
the trigger. He hesitated for a moment, and then suddenly he ran....
The northern road out of Radicofani is steep: its steepness aided his
flight, and when he was well down toward the valley he heard (and that
increased his determination) a loud report, and high over his head sung
a covey of slugs. He neither looked back nor attempted to order his
confused mind, but ran without ceasing until from sheer exhaustion he
dropped at the roadside.
To his delight he saw two mounted policemen in splendid uniforms. He
recounted his tale; they looked at him severely, and one of them,
beckoning with his finger, said, "Follow us."
He followed them for miles and miles. Of how he was subsequently
examined, disbelieved, threatened with fine and imprisonment, and at
last escaped only by an appeal to his consul in Sienna, you may read in
the interesting memoirs which he is about to publish under the title of
"Etruscan Wine and Song."
Meanwhile in Radicofani the Brigand drinks and sings.
THE HONEST MAN AND THE DEVIL
A man who prided himself very justly upon his uncompromising temper and
love of truth had the misfortune the other night to wake at about three
o'clock in the morning and to see the Devil standing by his bedside,
who begged him that he (the Honest Man) should sell him (the Devil) his
soul.
"I will do nothing of the kind," said the Honest Man in a mixture of
sleepiness and alarm.
"Very well," said the Devil, quite obviously put out, "you shall go
your own way; but I warn you, if you will have nothing to do with me I
will have nothing to do with you!"
"I ask for nothing better," said the Honest Man, turning over on his
right side to get to sleep again, "I desire to follow Truth in all
her ways, and to have nothing more to do with you." With these words
he began a sort of regular and mechanical breathing which warned the
Devil that the interview was now at an end. The Devil, therefore, with
a grunt, went out of the bedroom and shut the door smartly behind him,
shaking all the furniture; which was a rude thing to do, but he was
very much annoyed.
Next morning the Honest Man, before going out to business, dictated
his letters as was his wont into a phonograph; this little instrument
(which, by the way, had been invented by the Devil though he did not
know it) is commonly used in the houses of the busy for the reception
of dictated correspondence, comic verse, love sonnets, and so forth;
and if the busy also live by their pen, the phonograph spares them
the use of this instrument. The Honest Man of whom I speak had no
such profession; he used the phonograph for his daily correspondence,
which was enormous; he dictated his answers into it before leaving his
private house, and during the forenoon his secretary would take down
those answers by reversing the machine and putting it at a slower pace
so that what it said could easily go down upon the typewriter.
At about half-past five the Honest Man came back from his business, and
was met by his secretary in a very nervous fashion.
"I fear, sir," said the secretary, "that there must be some mistake
about your correspondence. I have taken it down literally as was my
duty, and certainly the voice sounded like yours, but the letters are
hardly such as I would post without your first reading them. I have
therefore forborne to sign them in your name, and have kept them to
show you upon your return. Here they are. Pray, pray read them in
seclusion, and advise me at the earliest moment." With these words the
secretary handed the documents to his bewildered employer, and went out
of the room with his eyes full of nervous tears.
The Honest Man put on a pair of gold spectacles, exchanged these for
some gold pince-nez, hummed twice, then began to read. This is what he
read--
I
_The Laurels,
Putney Heath, S. W.
November 9._
DEAR LADY WHERNSIDE,
Yes, I will come to Whernside House next Thursday. I do not know
you well, and I shall feel out of place among your friends,
but I need not stop long. I think that to be seen at such a
gathering, even for but a few moments, is of general advantage to
my business; otherwise I should certainly not come. One thing I
beg of you, which is that you will not ask me a number of private
questions under the illusion that you are condescending. The habit
is very offensive to me, and it is the chief drawback I feel in
visiting your house. I may add that though I am of the middle
classes, like your late father, I have a very pretty taste in
furniture, and the inside of your house simply makes me sick.
I am,
Very faithfully yours,
JOHN ROE.
II
_The Laurels,
Putney Heath, S. W.
November 9._
DEAR SIR,
No; I will not entertain your proposal to use the Imperial British
Suction Apparatus upon my ships. It may be a very good apparatus,
and it might possibly increase my profits by £2000 in the year, but
the fact is that I am so well to do it is hardly worth my while to
bother about these little things. The bother of arranging the new
installation, and the risk that, after all, my men might not know
how to use it, has decided me. I note what you say, that the
French, the German, the Italian, the Russian, and the United States
Governments have all bought your patent for use in their Navies;
but it does not influence me one jot. What are they, after all, but
foreigners? Besides which, it is my experience that somehow or
other I muddle through, and I hate having to think.
We are,
Your obedient Servants,
JOHN ROE & COMPANY.
III
_The Laurels,
Putney Heath, S. W.
November 9._
DEAR DOCTOR BURTON,
I wish you would come round this afternoon or to-morrow morning
and see my eldest child, James. There is nothing whatever the
matter with him, but his mother is in a flurry, because some
children with whom he went out to a party the other evening have
developed mumps, and his voice is husky, which she idiotically
believes to be a symptom of that disease. Your visit will cost me
two guineas; but it is well worth my while to spend that sum if
only to avoid her intolerable fussing. My advice to you as man to
man is, to look at the child's tongue, give him some plain water
by way of medicine, and go off again as quick as you can. Your fee
will be the same in any case, and it is ridiculous to waste time
over such business.
I am,
Your sincere friend,
JOHN ROE.
IV
_The Laurels,
Putney Heath, S. W.
November 9._
DEAR DOCTOR MILLS,
I enclose five guineas and a subscription for your new church. I
confess that I do not clearly see what advantage this expenditure
will do me, and I should have some hesitancy in setting down in
black and white my reasons for sending you the money at all.
Your style of preaching is monotonous, your doctrines (if they
are really your doctrines) are particularly offensive to me; and
after all we could get along perfectly well with the old church.
At bottom I think this kind of thing is a sort of blackmail; you
know I cannot afford to have my name left out of your subscription
list, and probably the same motive is causing many another
sensible neighbour of mine to part most reluctantly with a portion
of his property. Perhaps the best way out of it would be to form a
sort of union and to strike all together against your exactions;
but I cannot be at the pains of wasting any more time upon the
matter, so here's your five guineas and be hanged to you!
Very faithfully and respectfully yours,
JOHN ROE.
V
_The Laurels,
Putney Heath, S. W.
November 9._
DEAR SIR,
I have received your estimate for the new conservatory; I have
figured it out and undoubtedly you will lose upon the contract.
I therefore accept it without reserve and beg you to begin work
as soon as possible. I fully appreciate your motive in making
so extraordinary a bargain: you know that I shall make further
alterations to the house, and you hope by throwing away a sprat
to catch a whale. Do not imagine that I shall be misled in this
regard. The next alteration I have to make I will accept the
tender of some other builder as gullible as yourself, and so forth
to the end of the chapter. And I am,
Your obedient servant,
JOHN ROE.
VI
_The Laurels,
Putney Heath, S. W.
November 9._
MY DEAR ALICE,
I will not send the small sum which you ask me as a brother to
afford you, though I am well aware that it would save you very
poignant anxiety. My reason for acting thus is that a little
annoyance is caused me when I have to disburse even a small
sum without the chance of any possible return, and especially
when I have to do it to benefit some one who cannot make things
uncomfortable for me if I refuse. I have a sort of sentimental
feeling about you, because you are my sister, and to that extent
my refusal does give me a slight, though a passing sense of
irrision. But that will very soon disappear, and when I balance it
against the definite sacrifice of a sum of money, however small, I
do not hesitate for a moment. Please do not write to me again.
Your affectionate brother,
JOHN ROE.
VII
_The Laurels,
Putney Heath, S. W.
November 9._
DEAR SIR,
I enclose a cheque for £250, my annual subscription to the local
War Chest of the Party. I beg you particularly to note that this
subscription makes me the creditor of the Party to the extent of
over £3000, counting interest at one above bank rate from the first
subscription. I have carefully gone into this and there can be no
error. I would further have you note that I desire no reward or
recognition for my disbursement of this sum beyond the baronetcy of
which we spoke the last time I visited you, in the presence of a
third party; and I must conclude by assuring you that any lengthy
negotiation would be extremely distasteful to me. You need not fear
my attitude in the approaching election; I am quite indifferent to
parliamentary honours, I will take the chair five times and no
more; I am good for one large garden party, three dinners, and a
set of fireworks. I will have absolutely nothing to do with the
printing, and I am,
Always at your service,
JOHN ROE.
When the Honest Man had perused these letters he decided that they
should not be posted in their present form; but upon attempting to
amend them he found himself singularly lacking in those phrases
which he could usually discover so readily for the purposes of his
correspondence.
He sent, therefore, for his secretary, and told him to re-write the
letters himself according to his own judgment, which that gentleman did
with singular skill and dispatch, maintaining the cheques as drafted
and putting every matter in its proper light.
That night the Honest Man, who was sleeping soundly, was more annoyed
than ever at the reappearance of the Devil at his bedside in the middle
of the night.
"Now," said the Devil, "have I brought you to your senses?"
"No," said the Honest Man, composing himself for sleep as before, "you
have not. You should have remembered that I have a secretary."
"Oh, the devil!" said the Devil impatiently, "one cannot be thinking of
everything!" And he went out even more noisily than the night before.
In this way the Honest Man saved his soul and at the same time his
face, which, if it were the less valuable of the two organs, was none
the less of considerable moment to him in this mundane sphere.
COMPIÈGNE
[_The Main Room over the Terrace of the Palace in Compiègne. An
autumn night in 1782. The room is lit with many candles, and there
is dancing. The Queen of France is present, the Court, and some
few of the neighbouring gentry, among whom a Lady called Madame
d'Escurolles, about forty, silent, and rather timid. A gentleman
about the Court, a trifle older than herself, stands by and talks
to her as she sits and looks at the dancing. He takes his title
from Noirétable in the Forèz, but he has never been there._]
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. I cannot see anything in the Queen of
what you say, M. de Noirétable. She seems to be a little violent, but
not vulgar.
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. It is precisely as you will, but I
confess she spoils a room for me. The truth is that if she jostled and
elbowed she would please me better; she always looks as though she
would. I am disappointed in my amusement.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. M. de Noirétable, she is a good woman. I
can see it in her eyes. They are very frank.
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Oh! Yes! Madame, they are frank
enough. They are being frank just now to half the room. Ugh! I have
seen market women looking so, but only at the return from market (_he
pauses_). Have you ridden to-day?