Captain Piccinino, and, despite all the evil people might say of him, it
would have been impossible to shake her confidence in him. She had taken
him for a prince; was he not a prince's son and Michel's brother? She
had taken him for a hero, for the future liberator of his country; might
he not become so, had he not that ambition? His soft speech, his
charming manners had fascinated her; and why not? Had she not an even
more intense infatuation for Princess Agatha, and was the one less
legitimate and less pure than the other?
All this did not prevent Mila from loving Magnani so fervently that she
was always on the point of confessing her love in spite of herself; but
a week had passed since their first quarrel, and the modest and timid
Magnani had not as yet succeeded in extorting that confession.
He would have obtained that victory a little later doubtless, perhaps on
the very next day; but an unforeseen event brought confusion into Mila's
existence and gravely compromised the welfare of all the characters of
this narrative.
One evening, as Michel was walking with his mother and the marquis in
the garden of the villa, engaged all three in forming projects of mutual
devotion and dreaming dreams of happiness, Fra Angelo joined them, and
Michel concluded, from his strange expression and his excited manner,
that he wished to speak to him in secret. They walked away from the
others, as if by chance, and the Capuchin, taking from his breast a
soiled and crumpled paper, handed it to Michel. It contained only these
few words: "I am wounded and a prisoner; help, brother! Malacarne will
tell you the rest. In twenty-four hours it will be too late."
Michel recognized the Piccinino's fine, nervous handwriting. The note
was written in blood.
"I know all that has to be done," said the monk. "I received the letter
six hours ago. Everything is ready. I came to say good-bye to you, for
it may well be that I shall never return."
He paused, as if afraid to say something that was in his mind.
"I understand you, uncle; you relied upon my help," said Michel; "I am
ready. Let me embrace my mother." "If you do that, she will see that you
are going away and will detain you."
"No, but she will be anxious. I will not say good-bye to her: let us go.
On the way we will think up some excuse for my absence, and send her a
messenger."
"That would be very dangerous for her and for us. Leave it to me; it
means five minutes delay, but it can't be helped."
He went back to the princess and said to her in the marquis's presence:
"Carmelo is in hiding in our convent; his sentiments toward your
highness and Michel are all that can be desired. He desires to make his
peace with him before starting on a long journey necessitated by the
Ninfo affair and the suspicious and rigorous measures of the police
since it happened. He also has certain favors to ask at his brother's
hands. Permit us to go away together therefore, and if we are watched,
which is quite possible, I will keep Michel at the convent until he can
safely return. Rely upon the prudence of a man who is well used to
affairs of this sort. It may be that Michel will pass the night at the
convent, and even if he should stay longer do not be alarmed, and above
all things do not send for him; do not send us any message which might
be intercepted and lead to the discovery that we are giving shelter and
protection to the outlaw. I beg your highness to forgive me for being
unable to say anything further to reassure you. Time presses!"
Although greatly alarmed, Agatha concealed her emotion, kissed Michel,
and walked with them to the gate of the park; there she paused.
"You have no money with you," she said; "Carmelo may need some for his
journey. I will go and fetch some."
"Women think of everything," said Fra Angelo; "I had forgotten the most
essential thing of all."
Agatha returned with some gold and a blank draft bearing her signature,
which Michel could fill up as he chose for his brother's use. Magnani
had just arrived. He divined from the princess's agitation and the
leave-taking between her and Michel, accompanied by encouraging words
from the latter, that there was some real danger which they were
concealing from that loving mother.
"Should I be in your way if I accompanied you?" he asked the monk.
"On the contrary," was the reply, "you may be of the greatest service to
us. Come!"
Agatha thanked Magnani with one of those glances laden with maternal
love, which are more eloquent than any words.
The marquis would have joined them, but Michel objected.
"We are dreaming of imaginary dangers," he said with a laugh; "but if I
were in any danger, my mother would be also. Your place is with her, my
friend. I entrust to you what I hold dearest on earth! Is not this
rather a solemn leave-taking for a walk to Bel Passo by moonlight?"
L
A NOCTURNAL JOURNEY
When they were a hundred yards from the park, Michel, who was ready to
risk his own life, but not that of Mila's betrothed, in an affair in
which he had no concern and no duty to his conscience or his family to
fulfil, begged the young artisan to return to Catania. Fra Angelo
thought differently. Fanatical in his friendships as in his patriotism,
he looked upon Magnani as a providential ally. He was one stout and
fearless champion more, and their party was so small! Magnani alone was
worth three men; Heaven had sent him to their assistance, and they must
make the most of his zeal and his devotion to the good cause.
As they walked rapidly along they maintained a hot discussion. Michel
rebuked the monk for his pitiless proselytism under such circumstances;
the monk rebuked Michel for rejecting the means while seeking the end.
Magnani put an end to the dispute by his invincible determination.
"I understood perfectly well at the outset," he said, "that Michel was
engaging in some affair of more serious importance than he chose to
admit to his mother. I made up my mind at once. Some time ago I made
Princess Agatha a sacred promise: that I would never leave her son to
face alone any peril which I could share with him. I am keeping my
promise, and whether Michel is willing or not, I shall follow him
wherever he goes. I know of no other way to prevent me than to blow out
my brains here. Choose whether you will put up with my company or kill
me, Michel."
"All right! all right!" said the monk; "but stop talking, my sons. This
is a thickly settled spot, and we mustn't talk as we pass the houses.
Besides, we can't walk so fast when we are quarrelling. Ah! Magnani, you
are a man!"
Magnani marched to meet danger with cold and melancholy courage. He did
not feel perfectly happy in love; a craving for violent emotions drove
him forward at random toward some extreme goal which appeared to him
vaguely as an entire transformation of his present existence and a
definitive rupture with the hesitations and languor of his heart.
Michel was determined rather than calm. He knew that he was being led by
a fanatic to the succor of a man who was probably no less dangerous than
useful to the good cause. He knew that he himself was staking a happier
and broader existence than that of his companions; but he did not
hesitate to play a manly part under the circumstances. The Piccinino was
his brother, and although the sympathy he felt for him was blended with
suspicion and sadness, he understood his duty. Perhaps too he had become
enough of a _prince_ to be unable to endure the thought that his
father's son might die at the end of a rope, with a sentence of
degradation nailed to his gallows. Still, his heart was sore when he
thought of his mother's grief if he should fall in such a reckless
undertaking; but he resolutely closed his heart to all human weakness,
and walked like the wind, as if he had hoped to wipe out, by forgetting
it, the distance that he made haste to put between Agatha and himself.
The convent was not under suspicion or surveillance, as the Piccinino
was not there, and the police of the Val were well aware that he had
crossed the Garreta and gone into hiding in the interior of the island.
Fra Angelo had invented danger near at hand to prevent the princess from
suspecting the existence of distant but more real dangers. He led his
young companions into his cell and assisted them to disguise themselves
as monks. They divided the money, the sinews of war, as Fra Angelo said,
in order that no one of them might be impeded by the weight of all the
coin. They concealed beneath their frocks weapons, powder and ball.
Their disguise and their outfitting consumed some time; and Fra Angelo,
whose former experience of dangerous undertakings had taught him the
evils of precipitation, examined everything with great care and perfect
self-possession. In truth their freedom of action depended entirely upon
their external aspect. The Capuchin trimmed Magnani's beard, colored
Michel's eyebrows and hands, changed the tint of their cheeks and their
lips by processes learned in his former profession, and with pigments so
prepared as to withstand the action of rain, perspiration, and the
compulsory baths to which the police resort in vain attempts to identify
their prisoners.
So far as he himself was concerned, the Capuchin took no pains to
deceive the eye as to his identity. It mattered little to him whether he
was captured and hanged, provided that he had first saved his former
captain's son. And since, in order to succeed in their undertaking, it
was necessary to travel in the guise of peaceably disposed persons,
nothing could be better suited to the rôle he had assigned to himself
than his genuine features and costume.
When the two young men were all equipped, they gazed at each other in
amazement. They were hardly recognizable, and they realized how the
Piccinino, who was much more expert than Fra Angelo in the art of
disguise, had been able thus far to conceal his real identity throughout
his adventurous life.
And when they found themselves astride two tall mules, gaunt but
willing, of wretched aspect, but of unlimited strength and endurance,
they admired the monk's genius and complimented him upon it.
"I have not done all these things so rapidly without assistance," he
replied, modestly; "I have been energetically and skilfully seconded,
for we are not alone in our expedition. We shall meet pilgrims of divers
sorts on the road we are about to take. Salute most courteously, my
sons, all those persons who salute you; but be careful not to speak a
word to anybody until you have looked at me. If any unforeseen accident
should separate us, you will find other guides and other companions. The
countersign is: _Friends, isn't this the road to Tre-Castagne_? I need
not tell you that it is the road that leads in the opposite direction,
and that nobody but one of your confederates would ask you such an
absurd question. You will answer, however, as a matter of prudence, and
in a jesting tone: _All roads lead to Rome_. And you will not place
absolute confidence in your interlocutor until he has answered: _By the
grace of God the Father_. Don't forget; don't fall asleep on your mules;
and don't spare them. We have relays on the road; not a word except in
whispers to one another."
As soon as they were fairly on the mountains, they urged their mules
forward at a rapid pace, and rode several miles in a very short time. As
Fra Angelo had said, they met various persons with whom they exchanged
the sentences agreed upon. Then the Capuchin would ride up to them and
talk with them in undertones, and they would resume their journey in
company, sufficiently far apart not to seem to be travelling together,
but always within sight and call.
The weather was exceedingly mild and the night superbly bright when they
started up the mountain. The moon lighted up huge masses of rock and
romantic precipices; but as they ascended through that wild country the
cold made itself felt, and the mist veiled the splendor of the stars.
Magnani was lost in his thoughts, but the young prince abandoned himself
to a childlike delight in adventures, and, far from nourishing and
fondling any presentiment of evil, as his friend was doing, he rode
forward overflowing with confidence in his lucky star.
As for the monk, he abstained from thinking of anything whatsoever
unconnected with the enterprise he was directing. With watchful,
penetrating eye, his ear on the alert for the faintest sound, he also
watched closely every movement, every change of position on the part of
his companions. At the slightest sign of relaxation of their hold upon
the reins, at the slightest suspicious swaying of their hooded heads, he
would have rescued them from the danger of dozing and falling from their
mules.
After riding fifteen miles, they changed mounts at a sort of hermitage
which seemed to be deserted, but where they were received in the
darkness by pretended muleteers, of whom they inquired as to the road
leading to the famous village of _Tre-Castagne_, and who answered, as
they grasped their hands and held their stirrups, that _all roads led to
Rome_. Fra Angelo distributed money, powder and bullets, which he
carried in his mendicant's wallet, to all those persons whom he met and
who were provided with that eloquent countersign; and, when they
approached the end of their journey, Michel had counted a score or more
of men, muleteers and peddlers, monks and peasants, who belonged to
their party. There were even three in woman's dress,--young fellows
whose beards had not yet grown nor their voices changed. They were very
well made up, and played their parts to perfection. They were ready to
serve as messengers or scouts at need.
The Piccinino's situation and the circumstances of his capture were as
follows. The murder of Abbé Ninfo had been executed and proclaimed with
an insane audacity altogether contrary to the young chief's habitual
prudence. To kill a man, and to boast of it by an inscription left upon
the very spot where the crime was committed, instead of concealing his
body and removing every trace of the deed--a very simple matter in a
region like that of Ætna--was certainly a desperate performance, a sort
of challenge hurled at destiny in a moment of frantic excitement. But
Carmelo, wishing not to shut himself out forever from his cherished
retreat at Nicolosi, had left it in perfect order, in case of an
investigation which should result in domiciliary visits. He had hastily
stripped his luxurious boudoir and hidden all his treasures in an
excavation under the house, of which it was almost impossible to find
the entrance or to suspect the existence. And about sunrise he had shown
himself in the village of Nicolosi, perfectly placid and in excellent
spirits, thus laying a foundation for an _alibi_, if the police, taking
for true the declaration written on the base of the _Destatore's_ cross,
should conceive suspicions of him and make inquiries as to what he was
doing at that time. The murder of Abbé Ninfo had been committed at
least two hours earlier.
Having taken these precautions, Carmelo had ridden through the village,
making some purchases for a journey of several days, and informing his
acquaintances that he was going to look at some farming lands in the
interior of the island.
He had started for the Nebrodes mountains in the northern part of
Sicily, having determined to pass some days with certain brigands
affiliated to his own band, until the investigations and searching about
Catania had probably come to an end. He knew the methods of the police
of the province; they were zealous and fierce at first, then timid and
knavish, and, finally, tired and slothful.
But the affair at the _Destatore's_ cross had made a deeper impression
on the ruling powers than an ordinary murder. This had a political
bearing, and seemed to be related to the great sensation of the moment,
Agatha's declaration and her son's appearance on the world's stage.
Severe orders were sent out rapidly in all directions. Carmelo was not
safe in the mountains, especially as his acolyte, the false Piccinino,
had joined him, and thus drew upon him all the danger of pursuit.
Carmelo did not choose to abandon that savage, bloodthirsty man, who had
given him abundant proofs of boundless devotion and blind submission,
and who continued to play his part to the end with proud and unwearying
courage.
He determined, therefore, to arrange for his escape before providing for
his own safety. The false Piccinino, whose real name was Massari, and
who was called _Verbum Caro_ because he was a native of the village of
that name, was endowed with a brute courage that nothing could daunt,
but was as stupid as a buffalo in a frenzy. Carmelo went to the seashore
with him, and tried to find a boat to take him to Sardinia. But, despite
the precautions with which he surrounded that step, the owner of the
boat betrayed them as smugglers to the revenue officers on the coast.
Verbum Caro fought like a lion, and was half dead when he finally fell
into the hands of his enemies. Carmelo was slightly wounded, and both
were taken to the nearest fort, to be turned over to a squad of
_campieri_, in which were two men who recognized the false Piccinino
from having seen him during a skirmish at another part of the island.
They so testified before the magistrate at Cefalù, and there was great
rejoicing because the famous chief of the dreaded band was in custody.
The real Piccinino was supposed to be one of his confederates, although
Verbum Caro insisted that he had known him only three days, and that he
was a young fisherman who proposed going to Sardinia with him as he had
business there.
Carmelo replied to the questions that were asked him with a presence of
mind and a talent for deception which would have secured his release at
any other moment; but the country was intensely excited; so they decided
to send him to Catania with his dangerous companion, for further
proceedings, and they were placed in charge of the _campieri_, who
decided to take them to Catania by the road leading through the
mountains to the centre of the island, deeming it the safer way.
But they were attacked in the outskirts of Sperlinga by a few brigands
who had already learned of the arrest of the two Piccininos; but, just
as the prisoners were about to be set free, an unexpected reinforcement
came to the aid of the _campieri_ and put the brigands to flight. It was
during this action that the Piccinino was adroit enough to throw among
the assailants a paper wrapped around a stone, which he had in his hand
ready for the first opportunity. Malacarne, whom he had recognized among
his would-be rescuers, was an active, intelligent man, a former member
of his father's band and a loyal friend to Fra Angelo. He had picked up
the note and carried it to its address with valuable additional
information.
In the fear, well-founded as we have seen, of an attack in the Nebrodes
mountains and an attempted rescue of the Piccinino, the authorities at
Cefalù had tried to conceal the importance of this capture, and the
escort of the prisoners made no display when they set forth. But the
same authorities had despatched an express to Catania to ask that a
detachment of Swiss troops be sent to Sperlinga to meet the escort, and
to say that they would halt there and wait for them. The brigands of the
mountain, who were on the alert, had waylaid and killed the messenger;
and, having ascertained beyond question, by reading his despatches, that
the prisoner was their leader, they had tried, as we have seen, to
rescue him from the hands of his escort.
The ill success of this attempt did not discourage them. Carmelo was the
soul of their lives. His shrewd leadership, his activity, the spirit of
justice, now savage, now chivalrous in its manifestations, which
governed his decisions with respect to them, and the immense prestige
attached to his name and his person, made him no less sacred than
necessary to them. It was the unanimous opinion among them, and among a
great number of mountaineers, who, while they did not know him and were
not immediately under his orders, were very glad to exchange favors with
him and his troop, that when the Piccinino was dead, the bandit's
profession would become impossible, and that there would be no other
resource for the heroes of the mountain than to become beggars.
So Malacarne assembled a few of his comrades near Sperlinga, and
succeeded in sending word to the two Piccininos that they must represent
themselves as being very ill, in order to remain there as long as
possible. It was by no means difficult to act upon the suggestion, for
Verbum Caro was dangerously wounded, and in the desperate efforts he had
made to burst his bonds during the engagement on the mountain, he had
reopened his wound and lost so much blood that they had had to carry him
to Sperlinga. Moreover, the _campieri_ knew that it was of the utmost
importance to take him to Catania alive, so that they might try to
extort from him some information concerning Ninfo's murder and the
whereabouts of his band.
As soon as Malacarne had made his arrangements, he bade his comrades,
who were as yet only eight in number, to be ready for action, mounted
the murdered messenger's horse, after clipping him so as to make him
unrecognizable, and rode across the country in a straight line to Bel
Passo, notifying all those persons upon whom he could rely, to take arms
and await his return. Seconded by Fra Angelo, he passed six hours on
Ætna, collecting other brigands, and at last, on the second night after
the arrival of the prisoners at Sperlinga, a score or more of determined
men, trained to daring enterprises of this sort, encamped at the foot of
the cliff on which it stands.
Fra Angelo, the young Prince of Castro-Reale, and the faithful Magnani
also arrived, to direct the expedition, the first as leader, for he knew
the country generally and the particular locality better than anyone,
having once before carried the paltry stronghold by assault under the
_Destatore_, in better days; the other two as lieutenants, young
noblemen of the patriotic party, forced to conceal their identity, but
rich and powerful. So said Fra Angelo, who knew well that both poetry
and prose are essential to stimulate men who are fighting against the
laws.
When Fra Angelo and his friends left their mules, to plunge in among the
steep cliffs of Sperlinga, they were able to count their men, and found
that there were about twenty peasants posted here and there at some
little distance--prudent auxiliaries who would come to their assistance
as soon as the chances of war seemed to favor them; revengeful and
bloodthirsty men, who had suffered many and grievous wrongs which they
longed to avenge upon their enemies, and who knew how to do justice
speedily and pitilessly when there was not too great a risk to be run.
Nevertheless, a part of the band was beginning to show signs of
demoralization when the monk arrived. The lieutenant of the _campieri_,
who had charge of the prisoners, had sent to Castro-Giovanni during the
day to request reinforcements, which were likely to arrive with the
dawn. This officer was disturbed by the non-appearance of the Swiss,
whom he was awaiting with great impatience. The spirit manifested by the
surrounding population did not tend to allay his fears. Perhaps he had
detected some signs of activity among the brigands in the mountain, and
of their evident understanding with certain people in the village.
However that may be, he was afraid--which fact the monk looked upon as a
pledge of victory--and he issued orders for departure on the following
day, preferring, he said to see a miserable wretch like the Piccinino
die on the highroad, rather than expose brave troops to the risk of
being murdered in a fortress without gates or walls.
Perhaps the officer knew enough Latin to read, over the gateway of the
ancient Norman castle in which he was intrenched, the famous motto which
French tourists go thither to contemplate with love and gratitude: