I am an historical painter by 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
Tusculum. In its neighborhood are the ruins of the villas of
Cicero, Sulla, Lucullus, Rufinus, 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
residence of Horace and Maecenas; the vast deserted Campagna 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 researches 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 Tusculan abodes. He had
studded his villa and its grounds with statues, relievos, vases,
and sarcophagi; thus retrieved from the bosom of the earth.
The mode of life pursued at the villa was delightfully serene,
diversified by interesting occupations and elegant leisure. Every
one passed the day according to his pleasure or occupation; and
we all assembled in a cheerful dinner party at sunset. It was on
the fourth of November, a beautiful serene day, that we had
assembled in the 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 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 he might have been taken ill in some
alley of the woods; or, that he might have fallen into the hands
of robbers. At the interval of a small valley rose the mountains
of the Abruzzi, the strong-hold of banditti. 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 Tusculum. 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 neighbourhood was sufficient
to occasion alarm.
The fears of the company increased as evening closed in. The
prince ordered out forest guards, and domestics with flambeaux 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 was no one on the
ground floor at this moment but the house keeper, 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
down stairs, 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, “Ecco il principe!”
I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but endeavored to
summon up coolness and presence of mind. A glance towards the
lower end of the corridor showed 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 held 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 wrest
myself from him and spring up the staircase, whither he would not
dare to follow me singly. The idea was put in execution as soon
as conceived. The ruffian’s throat was bare: with my right hand I
seized him by it, just between the mastoides; with my left hand I
grasped the arm which held the carbine. The suddenness of my
attack took him completely unawares; 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 some one from behind.
I had to let go 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 banditti, who exclaimed “Quello e il
principe, siamo contente, audiamo!” (It is the prince, enough,
let us be off.) The band immediately closed round me and dragged
me out of the palace, bearing 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 learnt 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 every one 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
poinards; and I knew that death was seldom an empty menace with
these ruffians.
The laborers saw the peril into 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 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 bye.”
We descended rapidly towards the road of la Molara, which leads
to Rocca Priori. In 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 precipitately, made
a sign for the troop to continue its march in silence. It has
since been ascertained that this was one of those infamous inns
which are the secret resorts of banditti. The innkeeper had an
understanding with the captain, as he most probably had with the
chiefs of the different bands. When any of the patroles and gens
d’armes were quartered at his house, the brigands were warned of
it by a preconcerted 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. They are places where the
banditti gather information; where they concert their plans, and
where the unwary traveller, 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 envelope Rocca 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 centre, I was told to seat myself on the
earth. No sooner had I done so, than at a sign from their chief,
the robbers surrounded me, and spreading their great cloaks from
one to the other, formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to which
their bodies might be said to seem as columns. The captain then
struck a light, and a 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 round upon this screen of dusky drapery, relieved by the
bright colors of the robbers’ under-dresses, 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, couched in the style of robber eloquence, “that the
prince should send three thousand dollars for my ransom, or that
my death should be the consequence of a refusal.”
I knew enough of the desperate character of these beings to feel
assured this was not an idle menace. Their only mode of insuring
attention to their demands, is to make the infliction of the
penalty inevitable. I saw at 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 I was neither friend or 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 hardy in my reply, because I saw that coolness and
hardihood had an effect upon the robbers. It is true, as I
finished speaking the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto,
but he restrained himself, and snatching the letter, folded it,
and ordered me, in a peremptory tone, to address it to the
prince. He then despatched one of the laborers with it to
Tusculum, 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 bivouac, 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 dew, however, had a
still greater effect than mental causes in disturbing my rest.
The airs wafted to these mountains from the distant Mediterranean
diffused a great chilliness as the night advanced. An expedient
suggested itself. I called one of my fellow prisoners, the
laborers, 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 at length dawned, and I was roused from my slumber by the
voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise and follow him. I
obeyed. On considering his physiognomy attentively, it appeared a
little softened. 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 at 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 Abruzzi. It 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 Tusculum,
with its villas, and its sacred ruins, lie below; the Sabine
hills and the Albanian mountains stretch on either hand, and
beyond Tusculum and Frescati spreads out the immense Campagna,
with its line of tombs, and here and there a broken aqueduct
stretching across it, and the towers and domes of the eternal
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 Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made
still more savage by groups of the banditti, armed and dressed in
their wild, picturesque manner, and you will not wonder that the
enthusiasm of a painter for a moment overpowered all his other
feelings.
The banditti 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 quire 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 Tusculum 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 banditti,
commanding a look-out over the country; while, at the same time,
it was covered with forests, and distant from the populous 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 look-out, like so many vultures; casting
their eyes into the depths of the valley below us; communicating;
with each other by signs, or holding discourse in sounds, which
might be mistaken by the wayfarer for the cries of hawks and
crows, or the bleating of the mountain flocks. After they had
reconnoitred the neighborhood, and finished their singular
discourse, they descended from their airy perch, and returned to
their prisoners. The captain posted three of them at 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 determined 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 is a singular mixture in the character
of the Italian robber. With reckless ferocity, he 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, “andare in
Campagna.” He has become a robber by profession; but like a
soldier, when 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
sketchings, to fall into conversation with him. I found him
sociable and communicative. By degrees I became completely at my
ease with him. I had fancied 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 of the physiognomy; 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 made 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; then with a 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.