“Well, that is an amusing story,” said the little contessa. “I had quite forgotten it, so that it is as new to me as to the 'Signorina forestiera,'” smiling at me, whose spirit of inquiry always excited her amazement. “At any rate, he was a harmless sort of creature, this hero of yours, caro marchese, not like that dreadful Passatore who ravaged all Romagna lately.”
This led to an account of many of the feats of this freebooter and his band, who for nearly two years had infested the country, and rendered property and travelling very insecure. His most celebrated exploit was taking possession of the theatre at Forlimpopoli, a small town a few miles to the south of Forli, on the high-road to Cesena.
It was an evening in the Carnival of 1851. The spectators were assembled, the orchestra had tuned their instruments, and the curtain drew up. Instead of the usual performers, the stage was occupied by Passatore and his followers, armed to the teeth. He was as polite, however, as circumstances permitted; and addressing the terrified audience, begged them not to be alarmed, nor to be so rash as to attempt any resistance: a superfluous recommendation, seeing that the whole population could not have mustered a single weapon, offensive or defensive, amongst them.
Passatore then called, one by one, on the principal personages who were present, and requested they would repair to their homes, under the escort of some of his men, and deliver up all their valuables.
While this was going on, none but those he named were permitted to leave the theatre. As the booty was brought in, it was all deposited on the stage at his feet, until every one who had anything to lose had been laid under contribution. He then rose, bowed his thanks, and wishing them a “buon divertimento,” retired.
His career is supposed to have ended in a skirmish with Austrian troops; but his body not having been secured by the conquerors, considerable mystery for a long time hung over his fate. The remnants of his band continued their old calling, and kept up the bad reputation of the roads in Romagna and the Marche. Near Ancona country houses were often attacked; and in some districts, proprietors were fain to compromise with them for the payment of a certain sum annually. Not having any means of defending their property, they were completely at the brigands' mercy.
These facts ought to have furnished more food for melancholy than amusement; but they did not come amiss to the società. And thus laughing, talking, pausing in their play to relate some new evidence of their country's miserable condition, or rallying each other upon an oversight in the game, the evening would pass on, with as many variations as the light and shadow cast by a tree stirred in the autumn wind; and if I seem to shift waywardly from one subject to another in delineating the Italian character, it is that this apparent instability is required to give greater accuracy to my picture, and truthfulness to its details.
CHAPTER XVI.
A visit to Macerata—The journey—The Marziani family—Volunnia the old maid—The Marchesa Gentilina's midnight communications.
I was invited to her house in the ancient and aristocratic city of Macerata, by the Marchesa Gentilina Marziani, a lady well known not only in the provincial circles of the Marche, but in those of Rome, where, in the lifetime of her first husband, who held one of those lucrative monopolies of the necessities of life which the Pontifical Government farms out to its adherents, she had occupied rather a conspicuous position. As a sort of protest against her sexagenarian lord's principles and party, to which and all else pertaining to him she had vowed opposition, the fair Gentilina delighted in assembling numbers of artists and men of letters, both native and foreign, under her roof, where she promoted the discussion of political topics, and the free expression of opinion, by a hardihood and boldness of speech that none of the other members of the coterie would have dared to imitate, and on which the protection of her uncle, a wealthy cardinal, alone enabled her to venture with impunity.