Charles Lever - Paul Gosslett's Confessions in Love, Law, and The Civil Service

Four hours’ walking, occasionally halting for a little rest, brought me to Rocco, a village of about twenty houses, straggling up the side of a vine-clad hill, the crest of which was occupied by a church. The population were all seated at their doors, it being some festa, and were, I am bound to admit, about as ill-favored a set as one would wish to see. In the aspect of the men, and, indeed, still more in that of the women, one could at once recognize the place as a brigand resort. There were, in the midst of all the signs of squalor and poverty, rich scarfs and costly shawls to be seen; while some of the very poorest wore gold chains round their necks, and carried handsomely ornamented pistols and daggers at their waist-belts. I may as well mention here, not to let these worthy people be longer under a severe aspersion than needful, that they were not themselves brigands, but simply the friends and partisans of the gangs, who sold them the different spoils of which they had divested the travellers. The village was, in fact, little else than the receptacle of stolen goods until opportunity offered to sell them elsewhere. I had been directed to put up at a little inn kept by an ex-friar who went by the name of Fra Bartolo, and I soon found the place a very pleasant contrast, in its neatness and comfort, to the dirt and wretchedness around it. The Frate, too, was a fine, jovial, hearty-looking fellow, with far more the air of a Sussex farmer in his appearance than a Calabrian peasant. He set me at ease at once by saying that, of course, I came for the fishing, and added that the lake was in prime order and the fish plenty. This was said with such palpable roguery that I saw it was meant for the bystanders, and knew, at once, he had been prepared for my arrival and expected me. I was, however, more in need of rest and refreshment than of conversation, and, after a hearty but hurried meal, I turned in and fell off to sleep as I had never slept before. Twice or thrice I had a faint consciousness that attempts were made to awaken me, and once, that a candle was held close to my eyes; but these were very confused and indistinct sensations, and my stupor soon conquered them.

“That ‘s pretty well for a nap. Just nine hours of it,” said the Frate, as he jogged my shoulder, and insisted on arousing me.

“I was so tired,” said I, stretching myself, and half turning to the wall for another bout.

“No, no; you mustn’t go to sleep again,” said he, bending over me. “He’s come;” and he made a gesture with his thumb towards an adjoining room. “He’s been there above an hour.”

“Do you mean – ”

“Hush!” he said cautiously. “We name no names here. Get up and see him; he never likes loitering down in these places. One can’t be sure of everybody in this world.” And here he threw up his eyes, and seemed for a moment overwhelmed at the thought of human frailty and corruption.

“He is expecting me, then?” said I.

“Very impatiently, sir. He wanted to arouse you when he arrived, and he has been twice in here to see if you were really asleep.”

Something like a thrill ran through me to think that, as I lay there, this brigand, this man of crimes and bloodshed, – for, of course, he was such – had stood by my bedside, and bent over me. The Frate, however, urging me to activity, left me no time for these reflections, and I arose quickly, and followed him. I was eager to know what manner of man it was to whom I was about to make my approach; but I was hurried along a passage, and half pushed into a room, and the door closed behind me, before I had time for a word.

On a low settle-bed, just in front of me, as I entered, a man lay, smoking a short meerschaum, whose dress and get up, bating some signs of wear and ill-usage, would have made the fortune of a small theatre. His tall hat was wreathed with white roses, from the midst of which a tall feather, spray-like and light, stood up straight. His jacket of bright green, thrown open wide, displayed a scarlet waistcoat perfectly loaded with gold braiding. Leather breeches, ending above the knee, showed the great massive limb beneath to full advantage; while the laced stocking that came up to the calf served, on one side, as belt for a stiletto whose handle was entirely incrusted with precious stones. “You are a good sleeper, Signor Inglese,” said he, in a pleasant, richly toned voice, “and I feel sorry to have disturbed you.” This speech was delivered with all the ease and courtesy of a man accustomed to the world. “You may imagine, however, that I cannot well delay in places like this. Rocco, I believe, is very friendly to me; but where there are three hundred people there may easily be three traitors.”

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