GASPARE TRUFFI, THE HUNCHBACK.
"Beware! Signor Claude," said the Visconte, as we drove homewards; "you have now made a most deadly enemy in Calabria. Do you know whom you have defeated?"
"An itinerant priest, probably," I answered, with a slight tone of pique.
"A priest, certainly; but, thank Heaven! we have few such either in Naples or Sicily. Though expelled from the brotherhood of San Baldassare, in Friuli, for some irregularities, (which, in the days of the late inquisitor, Tourloni, could only have been cleansed by fire) Gaspare Truffi still wears the garb of a religious order—generally that of St. Peter of Pisa—that he may the more easily impose upon the peasantry; who stand in no little awe of his harsh voice, misshapen figure, and hideous visage. On the mountains I have seen him in a very different garb: with a poniard in his sash, and the brigand's long rifle slung across his back. He is said to be in league with the banditti in the wilderness; and, as the confessor of Francatripa, he has obtained considerable sway over them. On more than one occasion, in the encounters between the brigands and the French, he has given undisputable proofs of valour; though clouded by fearful cruelty. You have heard of the wilderness of La Syla? There the mountains rise in vast ridges abruptly from the sea, shooting upward, peak above peak; their sides clothed with gloomy and impenetrable wood, or jagged with masses of volcanic rock, which overhang and threaten the little villages that nestle in the valleys below. Tremendous cascades and perpendicular torrents—broad sheets of water fringed with snow-white foam—leap from cliff to cliff, and thundering down echoing chasms, seek their way, through mountain gorges, to the ocean. Into one of the frightful valleys of that secluded district, a body of French troops, commanded by the Marchese di Monteleone, were artfully drawn by Francatripa, the brigand chief, Gaspare, his lieutenant and confessor, and all their horde; by whom the whole unhappy battalion, to the number of five hundred rank and file, were utterly exterminated. Thick as hail the rifle balls showered down from all sides; and ponderous masses of rock, dislodged by crowbars, were hurled from the cliffs along the line of march of that doomed regiment. Save the marchese and his aide, every man perished; and the place is yet strewn with their bones for miles—a ghastly array of skeletons, scarce hidden amid the weeds and long rank grass, and bleaching in the sun as the wolves and vultures left them."
"Cruel! horrible!" said Bianca, clasping her hands.
"Benissimo!" continued my enthusiastic friend; "it was a just retribution for those whom they slaughtered hourly in their Golgotha at Monteleone. It was a striking example of Calabrian courage and Italian vengeance! It will be recorded in history like the terrible 'Sicilian Vespers.'"
"A pretty picture of society!" I observed: "and such wretches as that apostate priest are permitted to attend the entertainments of the Prince of St. Agatha?"
"You must not criticise us too severely," replied Luigi. "The truth is, we all perceive that Fra Truffi is not an apostle; but he is the lieutenant and confessor of Francatripa, who is esteemed the greatest patriot in the province, and with whom it is not the prince's interest to quarrel, in the present disorganized state of society. Besides, he has plenty of ducats to spend, and he plays freely and fearlessly; which is the principal, and indeed essential qualification to ensure respect and admittance to the first gambling-tables in the land. Per Baccho! here is the villa—we have arrived at last!" he exclaimed, as the carriage drew up before the dark façade of his ancestral mansion.
Before the Viscontessa retired, I presented her with her ducats and jewels which I had won back from the hunchback: but she would by no means accept of them, and seemed for a moment to be almost incensed at my offer. I apologized, and returned the ducats to my purse: they proved a very seasonable reinforcement to my exchequer; which racing, gambling, and our four-in-hand club at Palermo, had considerably drained. But the jewels I absolutely refused to retain; and a polite contest ensued, which ended by Luigi proposing that Bianca should present them to her patron, St. Eufemio, whose famous shrine stood in the church of the Sylvestrians at Nicastro.
Although aware that by this arrangement these splendid trinkets would become the prey of the greedy priesthood, I could not offer a remonstrance against such a proposition, and only requested permission to present Bianca with the necklace. I beheld with secret joy the beautiful girl blushing and trembling with pleasure: she did not venture, however, to raise her full bright eyes to mine, as I clasped the string of lustrous gems around her "adorable neck."