"You smile," said he; "perhaps you are come to mock me?" He folded his arms, and looked at me sternly.
"I had no such intention," I replied. "You call yourself Gasparoni. I thought your name had been Barbone?"
"So they styled me," he answered, "from the long beard which I formerly wore."
"Pray may I ask you how you happened to be taken?" I observed inquiringly.
"Preso!" said he contemptuously; "I was never taken. Not all the troops in the Pontifical states could have taken me. None but eagles could have reached our resorts. There we wanted for nothing, besiege us as they might. The peasants were our friends, and brought us plenty of provisions. We annihilated party after party that they sent against us, till the soldiers would fight no longer. Many of them entered our band, which at one time consisted of nearly one hundred. But I got tired of that savage life. In the summer months it was well enough; but to brave the winter among the mountains,—to sleep on the snows with nothing but our mantles to shelter us,—to be deprived of our wives and children,—not to be able to dispose of our booty without great risk, so that even money was often of no use to us! I could point out where many a napoleon and doppia d'oro is buried. And yet," said he after a pause, "that life, with all its privations and miseries, is preferable to confinement in a prison. Oh! you cannot fancy what the want of liberty is to us mountaineers!—to rot in a dungeon,—not to have the free use of our limbs!" Here he clanked his chains.
After this harangue, which he delivered with great volubility, he folded his arms again, à la Napoleon, and a gloom came over him. He seemed to be lost in thought.
"You have said," I observed, "that you were never taken. How then came you here?"
"Here!" he said with emphasis; "I was trepanned—betrayed! The Pope broke his faith; my confessor, his sacred word. I was promised pardon,—full pardon for myself and my brave brothers. We were betrayed—sold; and yet we live in hopes that the holy father will redeem his promise."
"Yes," thought I; "if he had done you justice, you would not be here."
"Your name," I said flatteringly, "is well known in Europe. You are the Napoleon of bandits, and worthy of being classed with De Cesaris."