contemptible to be called adversaries by the soldiers
of the royal army."

It has been assumed from the first—it is not
easy to say why—that the whole force and means
of brigandage ought to be disparaged and ridiculed
by the press. Instead of frankly declaring
that the evil was one of magnitude, the journals
have pretended to regard it as insignificant and
contemptible, the passing manifestation of an
interval of trouble and confusion, but no more.
Let us, however, remember that brigandage is
an old institution, with which successive governments
have had to deal, some not very creditably,
nor very loyally. Witness what occurred on
the restoration of the Bourbons, when General
Amato, sent to negotiate with Vanderelli, whose
band at that time ravaged La Puglia, not only
pledged himself that the past should be forgotten
and pardoned, but that the band should be
admitted into the king's service, and should have
suitable pay, and be treated as a royal regiment.
The terms were accepted, and Vanderelli, with
his men, marched into Foggia to surrender and
take the oath of allegiance. No sooner, however,
had they piled their arms, than the troops opened
a deadly fire upon them, and in a few minutes
the ground was covered with their corpses—not
a man escaped!

If the Bourbons, therefore, now employ the
brigands as their partisans, it is not that the
traditions of their own dealings with them are
either honourable or very promising: but, on
this head, perhaps the balance of treachery is
pretty equal. The brigands have as often taken
up arms against, as for, "their friends," the
royalists. It is noteworthy, however, that when
the country fell into the hands of France, the
agents of the Empire were as much disposed "to
treat" with brigandage as ever were the Italians
themselves, of whatsoever party. Antonelli, a native
of a little village not far from Lamiano, was
held of consequence enough to be made the subject
of negotiations in which all the rights of an
equal were extended to him by the French envoy.

That it may not be supposed that the treachery
of the Bourbons was a weapon peculiar to power,
it is right to record how a celebrated band which
long held the country between Serra and Aspromonte,
intimated their wish for submission,
only stipulating that, as their chiefs desired, it
might be made at night, and not in the face of
the assembled populace. A certain house was
fixed on, and thither the syndic and the colonel
of the gendarmerie, a Frenchman named Gérard,
repaired at an appointed time. The four or five
brigand captains were equally punctual, but instead
of at once acceding to the terms of which
they themselves had made the conditions, they
entered into tedious and frivolous details, discussing
a variety of matters purely hypothetical.
The dispute, as was intended, waxed warm.
At a signal given, the bandits, who were near,
surrounded the house and massacred the syndic,
the commander, and all his staff. This atrocity,
be it remarked, was never punished. The terror
it spread far and near paralysed every one, and,
for a considerable time, made the brigands masters
of the whole district. Manhès decreed that
the house where the bloody treachery occurred
should be razed to the ground, but he was not
obeyed. He went to the king, and asked what
penalty should be exacted from the population.

"Do whatever you think fit," said Murat, "but
do it in person, and after having yourself inquired
into all the facts."

Manhès set out for the village, where the "fanfarre"
of his trumpets alone gave token of his
approach, and the trembling inhabitants saw him
enter, stern and dark-browed as an avenging
angel. As he traversed the piazza, he saw that
there hung from the trees, several human heads,
half blackened and bloody, and these, he was
told, were the vengeances executed upon the
family to whom the house had belonged. Manhès
turned away in disgust, and for twenty-four
hours shut himself up alone in his room to
meditate on the punishment to be inflicted. He
summoned next day the whole population to the
piazza, and they came in vast numbers; scarcely
a man was absent. He harangued them at
length; and, in terms the most cutting and
offensive, he arraigned them as men equally
destitute of courage and honour. "Not one of
you," he said, "is guiltless, not one shall be
spared." The terror may be imagined that
followed such words as these. And now he hit
upon a penalty which not even the Pope himself
would have dared to enforce. "I ordain," cried
he, in a voice of thunder, "that every church in
Serra be closed, and that every priest leave
this village and retire to Maida! Your children
shall be born and no baptism await them, and
your aged shall die without the sacrament,
neither shall you escape to other villages or other
lands, you shall live on here isolated, outcasts of
God and man, and that one of you who shall be
seen beyond the bounds of this spot shall be shot
down like a wolf!"

He left the city with his escort after this terrible
denunciation; but he had not gone many
miles, when he found the way beset by the whole
population, who, dressed in white, barefoot, and
kneeling, besought him, with cries of agony, to
have pity on them. "Kill us if you will, but let
us not perish everlastingly!" Manhès turned
away, inexorable, and spurred his horse to the
gallop. Strange as it may seem, notwithstanding
the efforts of the very highest of the clergy,
and the interference of even princes of the
Church, the sentence was executed, and every
priest left the village. The measure was, however,
crowned with a complete success. The
people of Serra rose en masse, and gave chase to
the brigands. It was war to the knife, without pity
and without quarter, and it never ceased until the
last robber was slain or dead of hunger. The interdict
was then removed, and from that day forth
these villagers have been their own defenders, nor
has a soldier ever been sent to protect them.

There is a very remarkable similarity between
the times and circumstances in which Manhès
acted thus, and those of our own day, wherein
Cialdini commanded in the south; and not less
striking is the resemblance in the character of