by Jan Potocki
The principino was among the spectators and recognized me as soon as he saw me, crying out, ‘Ecco lo picolu banditu delli Augustini.’13
As he did this, he leapt at me and grabbed me by the hair and scratched my face. Since my hands were tied behind my back, I had difficulty in defending myself.
However, I remembered a trick I had seen done on some English sailors at Livorno. I freed my head and butted the principino in the stomach. He fell over backwards, got up boiling with rage, drew a little knife from his pocket and tried to strike me with it. I dodged and tripped him up, causing him to fall heavily, and even to cut himself on the knife he was holding. The princess arrived on the scene at this moment, and again wanted to have me beaten by her servants, but the sbiri would not allow this and led us off to prison.
The trial of the crew did not take long. The sailors were sentenced to the strappado and then to spend the rest of their days in the galleys. As for me and the other ship’s boy who had survived, we were set free because we were under age. As soon as we were released, I went to the Augustinian monastery but found that my father was no longer there. The brother porter told me that he had died and that my brothers were cabin-boys on a Spanish ship. I asked to speak to the prior. I was taken to him and I told him my little story, not forgetting to mention the head-butt, and the tripping up of the principino.
His Reverence listened to me kindly and said, ‘My son, your father left a considerable sum of money to the monastery on his death. It was ill-gotten gains to which you had no right. It is now in the hands of God and is destined to be used to provide for his servants. However, we have ventured to set aside a few gold pieces which we gave to the Spanish captain who was taking charge of your brothers. As for you, we are unable to give you sanctuary in this house out of respect for la Principessa de Rocca Fiorita, who is our illustrious benefactress. But, my child, you can go to the farm that we have at the foot of Mount Etna, where you can quietly spend your childhood years.’
After these words the prior sent for a lay brother and gave instructions concerning my future.
The next day I set out with the lay brother. We arrived at the farm, where I settled down. From time to time I was sent to town on errands which had to do with the running of the farm. On these trips I did all that I could to avoid the principino. One time, however, as I was buying chestnuts in the street, he happened to pass, recognized me and had me beaten by his lackeys. Soon after, I gained access to his house by means of a disguise and it would probably have been easy for me to kill him. I will never cease to regret not having done so, but I was not then familiar with such procedures and I was content to do no more than thrash him. Throughout my early years, six months did not pass, nor even four, without my meeting that damned principino, who often had the advantage of numbers over me. At last I reached the age of fifteen, still a boy in years and in reason, but almost a man in strength and courage, which is hardly surprising when you think of the sea air and then the mountain air which strengthened my constitution.
So I was fifteen when I first met the brave and worthy Testalunga, the most honourable and virtuous bandit there has ever been in Sicily. Tomorrow, if you will allow me, I will tell you all about this man whose memory will live on for ever in my heart, but now I must leave you. The management of my cavern requires careful supervision to which I must now devote myself.
Zoto left us, and we all discussed his story in ways which reflected our own characters. I confessed that I could not but feel some respect for men as courageous as Zoto described them. Emina maintained that courage is only worthy of our esteem if it is put to ends which bring virtue into good repute. Zubeida said that a little bandit of sixteen years of age was certainly capable of inspiring love.
We had supper and made our way to bed. The two sisters came to me again, catching me unawares.
Emina said to me, ‘Dear Alphonse, would you be able to make a sacrifice for us? It is in your interest more than in ours.’
‘Fair cousin,’ I replied, ‘these preambles are quite unnecessary. Tell me simply what you want.’
‘Dear Alphonse,’ said Emina, ‘we are shocked, even horrified, by the jewel which you carry round your neck and which you call a piece of the true cross.’
‘Oh no, as to that jewel, don’t ask me for it,’ I promptly replied. ‘I promised my mother that I would never be parted from it and I keep my promises, as you very well know.’
My cousins remained silent and sulked a little, but they were soon mollified and that night was spent in much the same way as the night before, which is to say that their belts were left in place.
The Seventh Day
The next morning I woke earlier than the day before and went to see my cousins. Emina was reading the Koran, Zubeida was trying on some pearls and jewels. I interrupted these serious occupations with gentle caresses which were almost as much caresses of friendship as of love. Then we dined. After our meal Zoto came back to continue his story, which he did as follows:
ZOTO’S STORY CONTINUED
I promised to tell you about Testalunga and I will keep my word. My friend was a peaceful inhabitant of Val Castera, a village at the foot of Mount Etna. He had a charming wife. The young Prince of Val Castera, while visiting his estates, met his wife, who had come to greet him with other wives of leading citizens. Far from appreciating the homage offered to him by his vassals in the persons of their beautiful wives, the presumptuous young man had eyes only for the charms of Signora Testalunga. He bluntly told her the effect she had on his senses and put his hand inside her bodice. At that moment her husband was standing behind her. He drew a dagger from his pocket and plunged it into the heart of the young prince. Any man of honour would have done the same, I think.
After committing this act Testalunga fled to a church, where he stayed until nightfall. But deeming it necessary to take other measures for the future, he decided to join a small group of bandits who had recently taken refuge high up on Etna. There he went, and the group acknowledged him as their leader.
At that time Etna had just spewed out a vast quantity of lava. Testalunga established his band in the midst of those fiery torrents in a hiding-place the access to which was known only to him. After he had seen to his own safety, that brave leader wrote to the viceroy to ask him for a pardon for himself and his companions. The government refused, fearing, I suppose, that their authority would be compromised.
So Testalunga negotiated with the principal farmers in the neighbouring district. ‘Let us all steal together,’ he said. ‘I shall come and ask you for things, you will let me have what you will and you will still be blameless in the eyes of your masters.’
It was still stealing, but Testalunga shared everything with his companions and kept back for himself only what he absolutely needed. On the other hand, whenever he passed through a village he paid twice the proper price for everything, so that he soon became the idol of the people of the two Sicilies.
I have already told you that some of my father’s band had joined Testalunga, who for several years was based on the southern slopes of Mount Etna, from which he raided the Val di Noto and the Val di Mazara. But at the time of which I am now talking, that is, when I was fifteen years old, the band came back to the Val Demoni, and one fine day we saw it arrive at the monks’ farm.
In panache and brilliance Testalunga’s men surpassed by far anything you could imagine. They were dressed as for the fray in brigands’ clothes, with their hair in silk nets, belts bristling with pistols and daggers, long swords and long-barrelled guns. They stayed for three days, eating our chickens and drinking our wine. On the fourth they were informed that a detachment of dragoons from Syracuse was making towards them with a view to surrounding them. This news made them all laugh heartily. They set up an ambush in the sunken road, attacked the detachment and put it to flight. There were ten of them to every bandit but every bandit carried ten firearms all of the highest quality.
After this victory the bandits came back t
o our farm and I, having seen the fight from a distance, was so carried away with enthusiasm that I threw myself at their leader’s feet and begged him to take me into his band. Testalunga asked me who I was. I replied that I was a son of Zoto the bandit.
On hearing this much-loved name, all those who had served under my father shouted for joy. One of them carried me in his arms to a table and, placing me on it, said, ‘Comrades, Testalunga’s lieutenant has been killed in the fight and we are at a loss to replace him. Let little Zoto be our lieutenant. Haven’t we all seen the sons of dukes and princes put in charge of regiments? Let’s do for the son of Zoto the brave what is done for them. I’ll guarantee that he’ll prove worthy of this honour.’
This speech earned rousing applause for the speaker and I was elected unanimously.
My rank was no more than a joke at first, and all the bandits would burst out laughing when they called me ‘Signor tenente’, but they soon changed their tune. Not only did I always lead the attacks and was the last to cover the retreat, but no one could match me when it came to spying out the enemy’s movements and ensuring that the band was safe from attack. Sometimes I would climb on top of the rocks to overlook whole stretches of country and make the agreed signals. At other times, I would spend whole days in the very midst of our enemies. It often came about that I would stay all night up the tallest chestnut trees on Mount Etna and then, when I couldn’t keep awake any longer, I would tie myself to the branches with a strap. Such things were not difficult for me as I had been both a ship’s boy and a chimney sweep.
So well did I do that in the end I was entrusted with the overall security of the band. Testalunga loved me like a son and, if I may say so, I acquired a reputation which almost outshone his. The exploits of little Zoto became the talk of the two Sicilies. Such a reputation did not make me indifferent to the sweet pleasures of young men of my age. I have already told you that bandits were the heroes of the people. You can well imagine that the shepherdesses on Mount Etna would not have refused me their hearts. But mine was fated to yield to more delicate charms: love was reserving for me a more flattering conquest.
I had been a lieutenant for two years and had completed my seventeenth year of life when our band was forced to move south again because a new eruption had destroyed our usual hideouts. After four days’ journey we reached a castle called Rocca Fiorita, the fief and family seat of my enemy the principino.
I hardly ever thought any more about the insults I had suffered at his hands, but the name of the place brought back all my rancour. This should not surprise you, for in our climes hearts are implacable. If the principino had been in his castle, I believe I would have put it to fire and sword. But I confined myself to inflicting as much damage as I could, and my comrades, who knew why I was doing it, helped me to the best of their ability. The castle servants, who at first had put up some resistance, failed to resist the good wine of their master, which we caused to flow freely. They joined our side. In short we turned Rocca Fiorita into a land of plenty.
We lived in this way for five days. On the sixth our spies warned us that a whole Syracuse regiment was going to attack us and that afterwards the principino would arrive with his mother and ladies from Messina. I ordered my band to retreat but stayed behind myself out of curiosity. I settled myself down in the crown of a leafy oak which was at one end of the castle’s gardens, having taken the precaution of making a hole in the garden wall through which I could make good my escape.
I duly saw the regiment arrive and set up camp in front of the castle, having posted sentries all around. Then a procession of litters arrived with the ladies in front and the principino at the back, lying on a pile of cushions. He got down with difficulty, helped by two young gentlemen of his household, and ordered a company of soldiers to march on ahead. When he was sure that none of us had remained behind in the castle he went in himself with the ladies and some gentlemen of his retinue.
At the foot of my tree there was a freshwater spring, a marble table and some garden seats. It was the most ornamental part of the garden. I guessed that the party in the castle would not be long in coming there and decided to wait to get a better look at them. And indeed, after about half an hour, a young girl of about my age appeared. Angels are not more beautiful than she was. The impression she made on me was so sudden and so strong that I would have fallen from my tree if I had not attached myself to it with my belt, something I did from time to time in order to rest in greater safety.
The young girl’s eyes were cast down and she looked extremely dejected. She sat down on the seat, leaned over the marble table and wept copiously. Scarcely knowing what I was doing, I slid down the tree and positioned myself so that I could see her without being seen. Then I saw the principino approaching with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. It was nearly three years since I had last seen him. He had grown up. His face, while handsome, was somewhat weak.
When the young girl caught sight of him her expression betrayed a contempt for which I felt deeply grateful to her.
Meanwhile the principino, looking self-satisfied, came up to her and said, ‘My dear betrothed wife, here is a bouquet which is yours if you can promise never to mention that little wretch Zoto again.’
The young lady replied, ‘Your Highness, I think that you are wrong to attach conditions to your favours, and in any case, even if I were not to mention charming Zoto to you, your whole household would be talking to you about him. Did not your nurse even say that she had never seen such a pretty boy? And you were there at the time!’
The principino was stung by this and retorted, ‘Signora Sylvia, do not forget that you are my promised bride.’
Sylvia did not reply but burst into tears.
Then the principino flew into a rage and said, ‘You contemptible creature. Seeing that you are in love with a bandit, this is what you deserve.’ And with that, he slapped her face.
Then the young lady cried out, ‘Zoto, why aren’t you here to punish this coward?’
Scarcely had she uttered these words than I appeared and said to the prince, ‘You recognize me, I am sure. I am a bandit. I could kill you. But I respect the signora who has done me the honour of summoning me to her assistance. However, I am prepared to fight as you nobles do.’
I had two daggers and four pistols on me. I divided them up into two lots, set them ten paces apart and offered the choice of weapons to the principino. He meanwhile collapsed on a seat in a faint.
Sylvia then spoke and said, ‘Brave Zoto, I am of noble birth and poor. I was bound tomorrow to marry the prince or be sent to a convent. I shall do neither. I want to be yours for the rest of my life.’ And she threw herself in my arms.
As you can well imagine, I needed no persuading, but I had to stop the prince from impeding our flight. I took a dagger and, using a stone as a hammer, I nailed his hand to the seat on which he was sitting. He screamed and fainted again.
We escaped through the hole that I had made in the wall and reached the high mountains.
All my comrades had mistresses and they were delighted that I should have found one. Their ladies swore complete obedience to mine.
I had lived with Sylvia for four months when I was forced to leave her to reconnoitre the area to the north, which had been changed by the last eruption. During this journey I found in nature delights that I had not noticed before. I saw grassy meadows, grottoes, and shady groves where before I had only seen places for ambushes or defensive positions. Sylvia had at last softened the heart of a brigand, but that heart was soon to regain all its ferocity.
I returned from my journey to the north of the mountain. I say the mountain because Sicilians always say ‘il Monte’, meaning the mountain par excellence when speaking of Etna. I made my way towards what we call the Philosopher’s Tower1 but could not reach it. A chasm which had opened up on the side of the volcano had belched forth a lava flow which had divided into two just above the tower and come back together about a mile below it, forming a completely
inaccessible island.
I realized at once the value of this position. Moreover, we had a store of chestnuts in the tower which I did not want to lose. I eventually located, after much searching, an underground passage which I used on other occasions and which led me to the foot of the tower, or rather right inside it. I at once decided to install all our womenfolk on this island. I had huts built out of foliage and made one as attractive as I could. Then I went south again and brought the whole colony back with me. They were delighted with their new refuge.
Now, when I think back to the time I passed in that happy place, it seems to me an island in the middle of the cruel tempests which have assailed my life. Rivers of fire separated us from the rest of mankind. Our senses were inflamed by fires of love. All obeyed my orders and all were subject to my dear Sylvia; and to crown my happiness my two brothers came to join me. They both had had interesting adventures, and I think I can assure you that if you wanted ever to hear an account of them you would derive more satisfaction from theirs than you have from mine.
Few men cannot count some days of perfect happiness, but I do not know whether any can count happiness in years. Mine did not last one whole year. The members of my band behaved honourably towards each other and none would even so much as look at the mistress of another, still less at mine. Jealousy was therefore banished from our island, or rather it was in temporary exile. For that fury can all too easily find a way to places where love dwells.
A young bandit called Antonino fell in love with Sylvia. His was so strong a passion that he could not hide it. I myself noticed it, but seeing that he was very sad I supposed that my mistress had given him no ground for hope and so was not concerned about it. But I would have liked to cure Antonino because I liked him for his courage. There was another member in the band, called Moro, whom I hated on the other hand for his cowardice. If Testalunga had listened to me, he would have driven him out long before then.
