on leaving porto-vecchio from the northwest and directing his steps towards the interior of the island, the traveller will notice that the land rises rapidly, and after three hours’ walking over tortuous paths obstructed by great masses of rock and sometimes cut by ravines, he will find himself on the border of a great mâquis. the mâquis is the domain of the corsican shepherds and of those who are at variance with justice. it must be known that, in order to save himself the trouble of manuring his field, the corsican husbandman sets fire to a piece of woodland. if the flame spread farther than is necessary, so much the worse! in any case he is certain of a good crop from the land fertilized by the ashes of the trees which grow upon it. he gathers only the heads of his grain, leaving the straw, which it would be unnecessary labor to cut. in the following spring the roots that have remained in the earth without being destroyed send up their tufts of sprouts, which in a few years reach a height of seven or eight feet. it is this kind of tangled thicket that is called a mâquis. they are made up of different kinds of trees and shrubs, so crowded and mingled together at the caprice of nature that only with an axe in hand can a man open a passage through them, and mâquis are frequently seen so thick and bushy that the wild sheep themselves cannot penetrate them.
if you have killed a man, go into the mâquis of porto-vecchio. with a good gun and plenty of powder and balls, you can live there in safety. do not forget a brown cloak furnished with a hood, which will serve you for both cover and mattress. the shepherds will give you chestnuts, milk and cheese, and you will have nothing to fear from justice nor the relatives of the dead except when it is necessary for you to descend to the city to replenish your ammunition.
when i was in corsica in 18—, mateo falcone had his house half a league from this mâquis. he was rich enough for that country, living in noble style—that is to say, doing nothing—on the income from his flocks, which the shepherds, who are a kind of nomads, lead to pasture here and there on the mountains. when i saw him, two years after the event that i am about to relate, he appeared to me to be about fifty years old or more. picture to yourself a man, small but robust, with curly hair, black as jet, an aquiline nose, thin lips, large, restless eyes, and a complexion the color of tanned leather. his skill as a marksman was considered extraordinary even in his country, where good shots are so common. for example, mateo would never fire at a sheep with buckshot; but at a hundred and twenty paces, he would drop it with a ball in the head or shoulder, as he chose. he used his arms as easily at night as during the day. i was told this feat of his skill, which will, perhaps, seem impossible to those who have not travelled in corsica. a lighted candle was placed at eighty paces, behind a paper transparency about the size of a plate. he would take aim, then the candle would be extinguished, and, at the end of a moment, in the most complete darkness, he would fire and hit the paper three times out of four.
with such a transcendent accomplishment, mateo falcone had acquired a great reputation. he was said to be as good a friend as he was a dangerous enemy; accommodating and charitable, he lived at peace with all the world in the district of porto-vecchio. but it is said of him that in corte, where he had married his wife, he had disembarrassed himself very vigorously of a rival who was considered as redoubtable in war as in love; at least, a certain gun-shot which surprised this rival as he was shaving before a little mirror hung in his window was attributed to mateo. the affair was smoothed over and mateo was married. his wife giuseppa had given him at first three daughters (which infuriated him), and finally a son, whom he named fortunato, and who became the hope of his family, the inheritor of the name. the daughters were well married: their father could count at need on the poignards and carbines of his sons-in-law. the son was only ten years old, but he already gave promise of fine attributes.
on a certain day in autumn, mateo set out at an early hour with his wife to visit one of his flocks in a clearing of the mâquis. the little fortunato wanted to go with them, but the clearing was too far away; moreover, it was necessary some one should stay to watch the house; therefore the father refused: it will be seen whether or not he had reason to repent.
he had been gone some hours, and the little fortunato was tranquilly stretched out in the sun, looking at the blue mountains, and thinking that the next sunday he was going to dine in the city with his uncle, the caporal [note: civic official], when he was suddenly interrupted in his meditations by the firing of a musket. he got up and turned to that side of the plain whence the noise came. other shots followed, fired at irregular intervals, and each time nearer; at last, in the path which led from the plain to mateo’s house, appeared a man wearing the pointed hat of the mountaineers, bearded, covered with rags, and dragging himself along with difficulty by the support of his gun. he had just received a wound in his thigh.
this man was an outlaw, who, having gone to the town by night to buy powder, had fallen on the way into an ambuscade of corsican light-infantry. after a vigorous defense he was fortunate in making his retreat, closely followed and firing from rock to rock. but he was only a little in advance of the soldiers, and his wound prevented him from gaining the mâquis before being overtaken.
he approached fortunato and said: “you are the son of mateo falcone?”—“yes.”
“i am gianetto saupiero. i am followed by the yellow-collars [note: slang for gendarmes.]. hide me, for i can go no farther.”
“and what will my father say if i hide you without his permission?”
“he will say that you have done well.”
“how do you know?”
“hide me quickly; they are coming.”
“wait till my father gets back.”
“how can i wait? malediction! they will be here in five minutes. come, hide me, or i will kill you.”
fortunato answered him with the utmost coolness:
“your gun is empty, and there are no more cartridges in your belt.”
“i have my stiletto.”
“but can you run as fast as i can?”
he gave a leap and put himself out of reach.
“you are not the son of mateo falcone! will you then let me be captured before your house?”
the child appeared moved.
“what will you give me if i hide you?” said he, coming nearer.
the outlaw felt in a leather pocket that hung from his belt, and took out a five-franc piece, which he had doubtless saved to buy ammunition with. fortunato smiled at the sight of the silver piece; he snatched it, and said to gianetto:
“fear nothing.”
immediately he made a great hole in a pile of hay that was near the house. gianetto crouched down in it and the child covered him in such a way that he could breathe without it being possible to suspect that the hay concealed a man. he bethought himself further, and, with the subtlety of a tolerably ingenious savage, placed a cat and her kittens on the pile, that it might not appear to have been recently disturbed. then, noticing the traces of blood on the path near the house, he covered them carefully with dust, and, that done, he again stretched himself out in the sun with the greatest tranquillity.
a few moments afterwards, six men in brown uniforms with yellow collars, and commanded by an adjutant, were before mateo’s door. this adjutant was a distant relative of falcone’s. (in corsica the degrees of relationship are followed much further than elsewhere.) his name was tiodoro gamba; he was an active man, much dreaded by the outlaws, several of whom he had already entrapped.
“good day, little cousin,” said he, approaching fortunato; “how tall you have grown. have you seen a man go past here just now?”
“oh! i am not yet so tall as you, my cousin,” replied the child with a simple air.
“you soon will be. but haven’t you seen a man go by here, tell me?”
“if i have seen a man go by?”
“yes, a man with a pointed hat of black velvet, and a vest embroidered with red and yellow.”
“a man with a pointed hat, and a vest embroidered with red and yellow?”
“yes, answer quickly, and don’t repeat my questions?”
“this morning the curé passed before our door on his horse, piero. he asked me how papa was, and i answered him—”
“ah, you little scoundrel, you are playing sly! tell me quickly which way gianetto went? we are looking for him, and i am sure he took this path.”
“who knows?”
“who knows? it is i know that you have seen him.”
“can any one see who passes when they are asleep?”
“you were not asleep, rascal; the shooting woke you up.”
“then you believe, cousin, that your guns make so much noise? my father’s carbine has the advantage of them.”
“the devil take you, you cursed little scapegrace! i am certain that you have seen gianetto. perhaps, even, you have hidden him. come, comrades, go into the house and see if our man is there. he could only go on one foot, and the knave has too much good sense to try to reach the mâquis limping like that. moreover, the bloody tracks stop here.”
“and what will papa say?” asked fortunato with a sneer; “what will he say if he knows that his house has been entered while he was away?”
“you rascal!” said the adjutant, taking him by the ear, “do you know that it only remains for me to make you change your tone? perhaps you will speak differently after i have given you twenty blows with the flat of my sword.”
fortunato continued to sneer.
“my father is mateo falcone,” said he with emphasis.
“you little scamp, you know very well that i can carry you off to corte or to bastia. i will make you lie in a dungeon, on straw, with your feet in shackles, and i will have you guillotined if you don’t tell me where gianetto is.”
the child burst out laughing at this ridiculous menace. he repeated:
“my father is mateo falcone.”
“adjutant,” said one of the soldiers in a low voice, “let us have no quarrels with mateo.”
gamba appeared evidently embarrassed. he spoke in an undertone with the soldiers who had already visited the house. this was not a very long operation, for the cabin of a corsican consists only of a single square room, furnished with a table, some benches, chests, housekeeping utensils and those of the chase. in the meantime, little fortunato petted his cat and seemed to take a wicked enjoyment in the confusion of the soldiers and of his cousin.
one of the men approached the pile of hay. he saw the cat, and gave the pile a careless thrust with his bayonet, shrugging his shoulders as if he felt that his precaution was ridiculous. nothing moved; the boy’s face betrayed not the slightest emotion.
the adjutant and his troop were cursing their luck. already they were looking in the direction of the plain, as if disposed to return by the way they had come, when their chief, convinced that menaces would produce no impression on falcone’s son, determined to make a last effort, and try the effect of caresses and presents.
“my little cousin,” said he, “you are a very wide-awake little fellow. you will get along. but you are playing a naughty game with me; and if i wasn’t afraid of making trouble for my cousin, mateo, the devil take me! but i would carry you off with me.”
“bah!”
“but when my cousin comes back i shall tell him about this, and he will whip you till the blood comes for having told such lies.”
“you don’t say so!”
“you will see. but hold on!—be a good boy and i will give you something.”
“cousin, let me give you some advice: if you wait much longer gianetto will be in the mâquis and it will take a smarter man than you to follow him.”
the adjutant took from his pocket a silver watch worth about ten crowns, and noticing that fortunato’s eyes sparkled at the sight of it, said, holding the watch by the end; of its steel chain:
“rascal! you would like to have such a watch as that hung around your neck, wouldn’t you, and to walk in the streets of porto-vecchio proud as a peacock? people would ask you what time it was, and you would say: ‘look at my watch.’”
“when i am grown up, my uncle, the caporal, will give me a watch.”
“yes; but your uncle’s little boy has one already; not so fine as this either. but then, he is younger than you.”
the child sighed.
“well! would you like this watch, little cousin?”
fortunato, casting sidelong glances at the watch, resembled a cat that has been given a whole chicken. it feels that it is being made sport of, and does not dare to use its claws; from time to time it turns its eyes away so as not to be tempted, licking its jaws all the while, and has the appearance of saying to its master, “how cruel your joke is!”
however, the adjutant seemed in earnest in offering his watch. fortunato did not reach out his hand for it, but said with a bitter smile:
“why do you make fun of me?”
“good god! i am not making fun of you. only tell me where gianetto is and the watch is yours.”
fortunato smiled incredulously, and fixing his black eyes on those of the adjutant tried to read there the faith he ought to have had in his words.
“may i lose my epaulettes,” cried the adjutant, “if i do not give you the watch on this condition. these comrades are witnesses; i can not deny it.”
while speaking he gradually held the watch nearer till it almost touched the child’s pale face, which plainly showed the struggle that was going on in his soul between covetousness and respect for hospitality. his breast swelled with emotion; he seemed about to suffocate. meanwhile the watch was slowly swaying and turning, sometimes brushing against his cheek. finally, his right hand was gradually stretched toward it; the ends of his fingers touched it; then its whole weight was in his hand, the adjutant still keeping hold of the chain. the face was light blue; the cases newly burnished. in the sunlight it seemed to be all on fire. the temptation was too great. fortunato raised his left hand and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb at the hay against which he was reclining. the adjutant understood him at once. he dropped the end of the chain and fortunato felt himself the sole possessor of the watch. he sprang up with the agility of a deer and stood ten feet from the pile, which the soldiers began at once to overturn.
there was a movement in the hay, and a bloody man with a poignard in his hand appeared. he tried to rise to his feet, but his stiffened leg would not permit it and he fell. the adjutant at once grappled with him and took away his stiletto. he was immediately secured, notwithstanding his resistance.
gianetto, lying on the earth and bound like a fagot, turned his head towards fortunato, who had approached.
“son of—!” said he, with more contempt than anger.
the child threw him the silver piece which he had received, feeling that he no longer deserved it; but the outlaw paid no attention to the movement, and with great coolness said to the adjutant:
“my dear gamba, i cannot walk; you will be obliged to carry me to the city.”
“just now you could run faster than a buck,” answered the cruel captor; “but be at rest. i am so pleased to have you that i would carry you a league on my back without fatigue. besides, comrade, we are going to make a litter for you with your cloak and some branches, and at the crespoli farm we shall find horses.”
“good,” said the prisoner, “you will also put a little straw on your litter that i may be more comfortable.”
while some of the soldiers were occupied in making a kind of stretcher out of some chestnut boughs and the rest were dressing gianetto’s wound, mateo falcone and his wife suddenly appeared at a turn in the path that led to the mâquis. the woman was staggering under the weight of an enormous sack of chestnuts, while her husband was sauntering along, carrying one gun in his hands, while another was slung across his shoulders, for it is unworthy of a man to carry other burdens than his arms.
at the sight of the soldiers mateo’s first thought was that they had come to arrest him. but why this thought? had he then some quarrels with justice? no. he enjoyed a good reputation. he was said to have a particularly good name, but he was a corsican and a highlander, and there are few corsican highlanders who, in scrutinizing their memory, can not find some peccadillo, such as a gun-shot, dagger-thrust, or similar trifles. mateo more than others had a clear conscience; for more than ten years he had not pointed his carbine at a man, but he was always prudent, and put himself into a position to make a good defense if necessary. “wife,” said he to giuseppa, “put down the sack and hold yourself ready.”
she obeyed at once. he gave her the gun that was slung across his shoulders, which would have bothered him, and, cocking the one he held in his hands, advanced slowly towards the house, walking among the trees that bordered the road, ready at the least hostile demonstration, to hide behind the largest, whence he could fire from under cover. his wife followed closely behind, holding his reserve weapon and his cartridge-box. the duty of a good housekeeper, in case of a fight, is to load her husband’s carbines.
on the other side the adjutant was greatly troubled to see mateo advance in this manner, with cautious steps, his carbine raised, and his finger on the trigger.
“if by chance,” thought he, “mateo should be related to gianetto, or if he should be his friend and wish to defend him, the contents of his two guns would arrive amongst us as certainly as a letter in the post; and if he should see me, notwithstanding the relationship!”
in this perplexity he took a bold step. it was to advance alone towards mateo and tell him of the affair while accosting him as an old acquaintance, but the short space that separated him from mateo seemed terribly long.
“hello! old comrade,” cried he. “how do you do, my good fellow? it is i, gamba, your cousin.”
without answering a word, mateo stopped, and in proportion as the other spoke, slowly raised the muzzle of his gun so that it was pointing upward when the adjutant joined him.
“good-day, brother,” said the adjutant, holding out his hand. “it is a long time since i have seen you.”
“good-day, brother.”
“i stopped while passing, to say good-day to you and to cousin pepa here. we have had a long journey to-day, but have no reason to complain, for we have captured a famous prize. we have just seized gianetto saupiero.”
“god be praised!” cried giuseppa. “he stole a milch goat from us last week.”
these words reassured gamba.
“poor devil!” said mateo, “he was hungry.”
“the villain fought like a lion,” continued the adjutant, a little mortified. “he killed one of my soldiers, and not content with that, broke caporal chardon’s arm; but that matters little, he is only a frenchman. then, too, he was so well hidden that the devil couldn’t have found him. without my little cousin, fortunato, i should never have discovered him.”
“fortunato!” cried mateo.
“fortunato!” repeated giuseppa.
“yes, gianetto was hidden under the hay-pile yonder, but my little cousin showed me the trick. i shall tell his uncle, the caporal, that he may send him a fine present for his trouble. both his name and yours will be in the report that i shall send to the attorney-general.”
“malediction!” said mateo in a low voice.
they had rejoined the detachment. gianetto was already lying on the litter ready to set out. when he saw mateo and gamba in company he smiled a strange smile, then, turning his head towards the door of the house, he spat on the sill, saying:
“house of a traitor.”
only a man determined to die would dare pronounce the word traitor to falcone. a good blow with the stiletto, which there would be no need of repeating, would have immediately paid the insult. however, mateo made no other movement than to place his hand on his forehead like a man who is dazed.
fortunato had gone into the house when his father arrived, but now he reappeared with a bowl of milk which he handed with downcast eyes to gianetto.
“get away from me!” cried the outlaw, in a loud voice. then, turning to one of the soldiers, he said:
“comrade, give me a drink.”
the soldier placed his gourd in his hands, and the prisoner drank the water handed to him by a man with whom he had just exchanged bullets. he then asked them to tie his hands across his breast instead of behind his back.
“i like,” said he, “to lie at my ease.”
they hastened to satisfy him; then the adjutant gave the signal to start, said adieu to mateo, who did not respond, and descended with rapid steps towards the plain.
nearly ten minutes elapsed before mateo spoke. the child looked with restless eyes, now at his mother, now at his father, who was leaning on his gun and gazing at him with an expression of concentrated rage.
“you begin well,” said mateo at last with a calm voice, but frightful to one who knew the man.
“oh, father!” cried the boy, bursting into tears, and making a forward movement as if to throw himself on his knees. but mateo cried, “away from me!”
the little fellow stopped and sobbed, immovable, a few feet from his father.
giuseppa drew near. she had just discovered the watch-chain, the end of which was hanging out of fortunato’s jacket.
“who gave you that watch?” demanded she in a severe tone.
“my cousin, the adjutant.”
falcone seized the watch and smashed it in a thousand pieces against a rock.
“wife,” said he, “is this my child?”
giuseppa’s cheeks turned a brick-red.
“what are you saying, mateo? do you know to whom you speak?”
“very well, this child is the first of his race to commit treason.”
fortunato’s sobs and gasps redoubled as falcone kept his lynx-eyes upon him. then he struck the earth with his gun-stock, shouldered the weapon, and turned in the direction of the mâquis, calling to fortunato to follow. the boy obeyed. giuseppa hastened after mateo and seized his arm.
“he is your son,” said she with a trembling voice, fastening her black eyes on those of her husband to read what was going on in his heart.
“leave me alone,” said mateo, “i am his father.”
giuseppa embraced her son, and bursting into tears entered the house. she threw herself on her knees before an image of the virgin and prayed ardently. in the meanwhile falcone walked some two hundred paces along the path and only stopped when he reached a little ravine which he descended. he tried the earth with the butt-end of his carbine, and found it soft and easy to dig. the place seemed to be convenient for his design.
“fortunato, go close to that big rock there.”
the child did as he was commanded, then he kneeled.
“say your prayers.”
“oh, father, father, do not kill me!”
“say your prayers!” repeated mateo in a terrible voice.
the boy, stammering and sobbing, recited the pater and the credo. at the end of each prayer the father loudly answered, “amen!”
“are those all the prayers you know?”
“oh! father, i know the ave maria and the litany that my aunt taught me.”
“it is very long, but no matter.”
the child finished the litany in a scarcely audible tone.
“are you finished?”
“oh! my father, have mercy! pardon me! i will never do so again. i will beg my cousin, the caporal, to pardon gianetto.”
he was still speaking. mateo raised his gun, and, taking aim, said:
“may god pardon you!”
the boy made a desperate effort to rise and grasp his father’s knees, but there was not time. mateo fired and fortunato fell dead.
without casting a glance on the body, mateo returned to the house for a spade with which to bury his son. he had gone but a few steps when he met giuseppa, who, alarmed by the shot, was hastening hither.
“what have you done?” cried she.
“justice.”
“where is he?”
“in the ravine. i am going to bury him. he died a christian. i shall have a mass said for him. have my son-in-law, tiodoro bianchi, sent for to come and live with us.”
