One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the
newspapers said, “plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of
consternation,” a young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of
Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which
in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with
delicious water. He was accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably
handsome, mounted on a small black horse, the strength and shape of
which would have attracted the admiration of a connoisseur, although, by
some strange accident, one of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching
the village, the girl sprang nimbly to the ground, and, having helped
her comrade to dismount, she unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets
strapped to his saddle-bow. The horses were left in charge of a peasant.
The girl, laden with the wallets, which she had concealed under her
_mezzaro_, and the young man, carrying a double-barrelled gun, took
their way toward the mountain, along a very steep path that did not
appear to lead to any dwelling. When they had climbed to one of the
lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, and sat down on the
grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for they kept perpetually
looking toward the mountain, and the young lady often consulted a
pretty gold watch--as much, it may be, for the pleasure of admiring what
appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as in order to know whether
the hour appointed for some meeting or other had come. They had not long
to wait. A dog ran out of the _maquis_, and when the girl called out
“Brusco!” it approached at once, and fawned upon them. Presently two
bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, cartridge-belts round
their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. Their torn and patched
garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which were brilliantly
polished, and came from a famous Continental factory. In spite of the
apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in this scene
greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship.
“Well, Ors’ Anton’,” said the elder bandit to the young man, “so your
business is settled--the indictment against you has fallen through? I
congratulate you. I’m sorry the lawyer has left the island. I’d like to
see his rage. And how’s your arm?”
“They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight,” said the
young man. “Brando, my good friend, I’m going to Italy to-morrow--I
wanted to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That’s why I asked you to
come here.”
“You’re in a fine hurry,” said Brandolaccio. “Only acquitted yesterday,
and you’re off to-morrow.”
“Business must be attended to,” said the young lady merrily. “Gentlemen,
I’ve brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don’t you forget
my friend Brusco.”
“You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he’s a grateful dog. You
shall see. Here, Brusco,” and he held out his gun horizontally, “jump
for the Barricini!”
The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master.
“Jump for the della Rebbia!” And he leaped two feet higher than he need
have done.
“Look here, my friends,” said Orso, “you’re plying a bad trade; and even
if you don’t end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you
can look for is to die in the _maquis_ by some gendarme’s bullet.”
[*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place.
“Well, well,” said Castriconi, “that’s no more than death, anyhow; and
it’s better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your
heirs snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are
accustomed to the open air like us, there’s nothing so good as to die
‘in your shoes,’ as the village folk say.”
“I should like to see you get out of this country,” said Orso, “and lead
a quieter life. For instance, why shouldn’t you settle in Sardinia, as
several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for
you.”
“In Sardinia!” cried Brandolaccio. “_Istos Sardos!_ Devil take them and
their lingo! We couldn’t live in such bad company.”
“Sardinia’s a country without resources,” added the theologian. “For
my part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their
bandits. That’s a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out
upon Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia,
is that you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have
taken to our life in the _maquis_, after having once tried it, as you
did.”
[*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my
acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of
it. He means that bandits who let themselves be caught by
horse soldiers are idiots, and that soldiers who try to
catch bandits on horseback have very little chance of
getting at them.
“Well,” said Orso, with a smile, “when I was lucky enough to be your
guest, I wasn’t in very good case for enjoying the charms of your
position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one
lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my
good friend Brandolaccio guided.”
“And the delight of escaping from your pursuers,” rejoined Castriconi;
“is that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of
absolute freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to
insure respect,” and he held up his gun, “we are kings of everything
within its range. We can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That’s a
highly moral entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we
don’t deny ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant’s
life, when he has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote
had? Listen! The other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi’s
uncle--old miser that he is--wouldn’t give her a dowry. So I wrote to
him. I didn’t use threats--that’s not my way. Well, well, in one moment
the man was convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people
happy. Believe me, Orso, there’s no life like the bandit’s life! Pshaw!
You’d have joined us, perhaps, if it hadn’t been for a certain young
Englishwoman whom I have scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty
every one in Bastia is talking.”
“My future sister-in-law doesn’t like the _maquis_,” laughed Colomba.
“She got too great a fright in one of them.”
“Well,” said Orso, “you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me
whether there is anything I can do for you?”
“Nothing,” said Brandolaccio. “You’ve heaped kindnesses upon us. Here’s
little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there’ll be no necessity
for my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure
her marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and
powder whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you
back in Corsica one of these days.”
“In case of pressing need,” said Orso, “a few gold coins are very
useful. Now we are such old friends, you won’t refuse this little
_cartouche_.[*] It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind.”
[*] _Cartouche_ means a collection of gold pieces as well as
a cartridge.
“No money between you and me, sir,” said Brandolaccio resolutely.
“In the world money is everything,” remarked Castriconi, “but in the
_maquis_, all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that
carries true.”
“I don’t want to leave you without giving you something to remember me
by,” persisted Orso. “Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?”
The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso’s gun.
“By my faith, if I dared--but no! you’re too fond of it.”
“What would you like?”
“Nothing! ‘Tisn’t anything at all. It’s knowing how to use it as well. I
keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours--and with only one
hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!”
“Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don’t use it
more than you are obliged.”
“Oh, I won’t promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your
mind easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it’s all over
with Brando Savelli.”
“And you, Castriconi--what am I to give you?”
“Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I’ll
simply ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse
me, and prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There’s a little woman
who sells cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she’ll
see I get it.”
“You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to
be one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good
friends, we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of
Sardinia write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on
the mainland.”
“To-morrow, lieutenant,” said Brando, “when you get out in the harbour,
look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we’ll
wave our handkerchiefs to you.”
And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo,
and the bandits departed up the mountain.