 | THE ADVENTURE
OF
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. Tales of a traveller |  |
THE ADVENTURE
OF
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY.
My friend the doctor was a thorough antiquary:
a little rusty, musty old fellow, always groping
among ruins. He relished a building as you Englishmen
relish a cheese, the more mouldy and
crumbling it was, the more it was to his taste.
A shell of an old nameless temple, or the cracked
walls of a broken down amphitheatre, would
throw him into raptures; and he took more delight
in these crusts and cheese parings of antiquity
than in the best conditioned modern edifice.
He had taken a maggot into his brain at one
time to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi
of the Abruzzi; but the condition of which is
strangely unknown to antiquaries. It is said
that he had made a great many valuable notes
and memorandums on the subject, which he always
carried about with him, either for the purpose
of frequent reference, or because he feared
the precious documents might fall into the hands
of brother antiquaries. He had therefore a large
pocket behind, in which he carried them, banging
against his rear as he walked.
Be this as it may; happening to pass a few
days at Terracina, in the course of his researches,
he one day mounted the rocky cliffs which
overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theodoric.
He was groping about these ruins, towards
the hour of sunset, buried in his reflections,—his
wits no doubt wool gathering among
the Goths and Romans, when he heard footsteps
behind him.
He turned and beheld five or six young fellows,
of rough, saucy demeanour, clad in a singular
manner, half peasant, half huntsman, with
and carriage left him in no doubt into what company
he had fallen.
The doctor was a feeble little man, poor in
look and poorer in purse. He had but little money
in his pocket; but he had certain valuables,
such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip,
with figures on it large enough for a clock, and
a set of seals at the end of a steel chain, that
dangled half down to his knees; all which were
of precious esteem, being family reliques. He
had also a seal ring, a veritable antique intaglio,
that covered half his knuckles; but what he most
valued was, the precious treatise on the Pelasgian
cities, which he would gladly have given all the
money in his pocket to have had safe at the bottom
of his trunk in Terracina.
However, he plucked up a stout heart; at least
as stout a heart as he could, seeing that he was
but a puny little man at the best of times. So,
he wished the hunters a “buon giorno.” They
returned his salutation, giving the old gentleman
leap into his throat.
They fell into conversation, and walked for
some time together among the heights, the doctor
wishing them all the while at the bottom of
the crater of Vesuvius. At length they came to
a small osteria on the mountain, where they proposed
to enter and have a cup of wine together.
The doctor consented; though he would as soon
have been invited to drink hemlock.
One of the gang remained sentinel at the door;
the others swaggered into the house; stood their
fusils in a corner of the room; and each drawing
a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it, with
some emphasis on the table. They now called
lustily for wine; drew benches round the table,
and hailing the doctor as though he had been a
boon companion of long standing, insisted upon
his sitting down and making merry. He complied
with forced grimace, but with fear and
trembling; sitting on the edge of his bench;
supping down heartburn with every drop of liquor;
eyeing ruefully the black muzzled pistols,
bravely, and plied him vigorously; sang, laughed,
told excellent stories of robberies and combats,
and the little doctor was fain to laugh at these cutthroat
pleasantries, though his heart was dying
away at the very bottom of his bosom.
By their own account they were young men
from the villages, who had recently taken up this
line of life in the mere wild caprice of youth.
They talked of their exploits as a sportsman talks
of his amusements. To shoot down a traveller
seemed of little more consequence to them than
to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture of
the glorious roving life they led; free as birds;
here to-day, gone to-morrow; ranging the forests,
climbing the rocks, scouring the valleys; the
world their own wherever they could lay hold
of it; full purses, merry companions; pretty
women.—The little antiquary got fuddled with
their talk and their wine, for they did not spare
bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal ring
and his family watch; even the treatise on the
Pelasgian cities which was warming under him,
picture which they drew. He declares that he
no longer wonders at the prevalence of this robber
mania among the mountains; for he felt at
the time, that had he been a young man and a
strong man, and had there been no danger of the
galleys in the back ground, he should have been
half tempted himself to turn bandit.
At length the fearful hour of separating arrived.
The doctor was suddenly called to himself
and his fears, by seeing the robbers resume their
weapons. He now quaked for his valuables,
and above all for his antiquarian treatise. He
endeavoured, however, to look cool and unconcerned;
and drew from our of his deep pocket
a long, lank, leathern purse, far gone in consumption,
at the bottom of which a few coin
chinked with the trembling of his hand.
The chief of the party observed his movement;
and laying his hand upon the antiquary's
shoulder—“Harkee! Signor Dottore!” said he,
“we have drank together as friends and comrades,
let us part as such. We understand you;
who every body is that sleeps at Terracina, or
that puts foot upon the road. You are a rich
man, but you carry all your wealth in your head.
We can't get at it, and we should not know what
to do with it, if we could. I see you are uneasy
about your ring; but don't worry your
mind; it is not taking; you think it an antique,
but it's a counterfeit—a mere sham.”
Here the doctor would have put in a word,
for his antiquarian pride was touched.
“Nay, nay,” continued the other, “we've no
time to dispute about it. Value it as you please.
Come, you are a brave little old signor—one
more cup of wine and we'll pay the reckoning.
No compliments—I insist on it. So—now make
the best of your way back to Terracina; it's
growing late—buono viaggio!—and hark'ee,
take care how you wander among these mountains.”
They shouldered their fusils, sprang gayly up
the rocks, and the little doctor hobbled back to
Terracina, rejoicing that the robbers had let his
though rather nettled that they should
have pronounced his veritable intaglio a counterfeit.
The improvvisatore had shown many symptoms
of impatience during this recital. He saw
his theme in danger of being taken out of his
hands by a rival story teller, which to an able
talker is always a serious grievance; it was also
in danger of being taken away by a Neapolitan,
and that was still more vexatious; as the members
of the different Italian states have an incessant
jealousy of each other in all things, great
and small. He took advantage of the first pause
of the Neapolitan to catch hold again of the
thread of the conversation.
“As I was saying,” resumed he, “the prevalence
of these banditti is so extensive; their power
so combined and interwoven with other ranks
of society”—
“For that matter,” said the Neapolitan, “I
have heard that your government has had some
understanding with these gentry, or at least winked
at them.”
“My government?” said the Roman, impatiently.
“Aye—they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi”—
“Hush!” said the Roman, holding up his finger,
and rolling his large eyes about the room.
“Nay—I only repeat what I heard commonly
rumoured in Rome,” replied the other, sturdily.
“It was whispered that the Cardinal had been
up to the mountain, and had an interview with
some of the chiefs. And I have been told that
when honest people have been kicking their
heels in the Cardinal's anti-chamber, waiting by
the hour for admittance, one of these stiletto
looking fellows has elbowed his way through the
crowd, and entered without ceremony into the
Cardinal's presence.”
“I know,” replied the Roman, “that there
have been such reports; and it is not impossible
that government may have made use of these
men at particular periods, such as at the time of
your abortive revolution, when your carbonari
were so-busy with their machinations all over the
could collect, who were familiar, not merely
with all the recesses and secret places of the
mountains, but also with all the dark and dangerous
recesses of society, and knew all that was
plotting in the world of mischief; the utility of
such instruments in the hands of government was
too obvious to be overlooked, and Cardinal Gonsalvi
as a politic statesman may perhaps have
made use of them; for it is well known the robbers
with all their atrocities are respectful towards
the church, and devout in their religion.”
“Religion!—religion?” echoed the Englishman.
“Yes—religion!” repeated the improvvisatore.
“Scarce one of them but will cross himself and
say his prayers when he hears in his mountain
fastness the matin or the ave maria bells sounding
from the valleys. They will often confess
themselves to the village priests, to obtain absolution;
and occasionally visit the village churches
to pray at some favourite shrine. I recollect
an instance in point: I was one evening in the
of Abruzzi. The people, as usual in fine
evenings in our Italian towns and villages, were
standing about in groups in the public square,
conversing and amusing themselves. I observed
a tall, muscular fellow, wrapped in a great mantle,
passing across the square, but skulking along
in the dark, as if avoiding notice. The people,
too, seemed to draw back as he passed. It was
whispered to me that he was a notorious bandit.”
“But why was he not immediately seized?”
said the Englishman.
“Because it was nobody's business; because
nobody wished to incur the vengeance of his
comrades; because there were not sufficient gens
d'armes near to insure security against the numbers
of desperadoes he might have at hand; because
the gene d'armes might not have received
particular instructions with respect to him, and
might not feel disposed to engage in a hazardous
conflict without compulsion. In short, I might
give you a thousand reasons, rising out of the
which after all might appear satisfactory.”
The Englishman shrugged his shoulders, with
an air of contempt.
“I have been told,” added the Roman, rather
quickly, “that even in your metropolis of London,
notorious thieves, well known to the police
as such, walk the streets at noon-day, in search
of their prey, and are not molested unless caught
in the very act of robbery.”
The Englishman gave another shrug, but
with a different expression.
“Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring
wolf thus prowling through the fold, and saw
him enter a church. I was curious to witness
his devotions. You know our spacious, magnificent
churches. The one in which he entered
was vast and shrowded in the dusk of evening.
At the extremity of the long aisles a couple of
tapers feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In
one of the side chapels was a votive candle
placed before the image of a saint. Before this
image the robber had prostrated himself. His
mantle partly falling off from his shoulders as he
a stiletto and pistol glittered in his belt, and the
light falling on his countenance showed features
not unhandsome, but strongly and fiercely charactered.
As he prayed he became vehemently
agitated; his lips quivered; sighs and murmurs,
almost groans burst from him; he beat his breast
with violence, then clasped his hands and wrung
them convulsively as he extended them towards
the image. Never had I seen such a terrific picture
of remorse. I felt fearful of being discovered
by him, and withdrew. Shortly after I saw
him issue from the church, wrapped in his mantle;
he recrossed the square, and no doubt returned
to his mountain with disburthened conscience,
ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime.”
The conversation was here taken up by two
other travellers, recently arrived, Mr. Hobbs and
Mr. Dobbs, a linen draper and a green grocer,
just returning from a tour in Greece and the
Holy Land: and who were full of the story of
Alderman Popkins. They were astonished that
the robbers should dare to molest a man of his
dry salter of Throgmorton-street, and a magistrate
to boot.
In fact, the story of the Popkins family was
but too true; it was attested by too many present
to be for a moment doubted; and from the contradictory
and concordant testimony of half a
score, all eager to relate it, the company were
enabled to make out all the particulars.
| THE ADVENTURE
OF
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. Tales of a traveller | |