The chief of the sbiri was particularly attentive to us during our incarceration and even shortened its term. On her release, my mother was well received by the women living immediately nearby and by the whole neighbourhood, for in southern Italy bandits are popular heroes, much as smugglers are in Spain. We also had our share of public esteem, and I more than my brothers was considered the prince of the urchins of our street.

At about this time Monaldi was killed in a skirmish and my father took over the command of the band. As he wanted to begin with a brilliant action, he lay in wait on the road to Salerno for the consignment of money being sent by the viceroy of Sicily. The ambush came off but my father was wounded by a musket shot in the back, which soon put an end to his career. The moment of parting from the band was extraordinarily moving. It is even said that some of the bandits wept. I would find this difficult to believe if I had not once in my life wept after having stabbed my mistress to death, as you will discover in due course.

The band soon dispersed. Some of its stalwarts went to Tuscany, where they got themselves hanged. Others went to join Testalunga, who was then gaining a reputation for himself in Sicily.¹ My father himself crossed the straits and went to Messina, where he sought asylum in the Monastery of the Augustinians del Monte. He placed his savings in the hands of the fathers, did public penance and settled down under the portals of their church, where he lived a very pleasant life with the freedom to wander in the gardens and courtyards of the monastery. The monks gave him soup and he sent out to a nearby chop-house for a cooked dish or two. The lay brother of the order even dressed his wounds into the bargain.

I suppose that my father used to send us large sums of money, for we had more than we needed for our household. My mother took part in the carnival, and during Lent she had a presepe, or crib, made up of little dolls, sugar castles and similar childish things which are very much in fashion in the kingdom of Naples and are luxuries indulged in by the citizens. My aunt, Signora Lunardo, would also have a presepe, but not nearly as fine as ours.

From what I can remember of my mother, she seemed to me to be very tender-hearted and we often saw her weep when she thought of the dangers to which her husband was exposed. But a few triumphs over her sister or her neighbours soon dried her tears. The satisfaction she obtained from her splendid crib was the last such pleasure she was able to enjoy. I don’t know how, but she caught pleurisy, from which she died a few days later.

After her death we would not have known what to do if the barigel had not taken us in. We spent a few days in his house, after which we were entrusted to a muleteer who took us right across Calabria. On the fourteenth day we arrived at Messina. My father had already been told of the death of his wife. He welcomed us with great affection, had bedding put down for us next to his and introduced us to the monks, who enrolled us as altar boys. We served at Mass, we snuffed candles and lit lamps, but apart from that we were the same shameless street urchins that we had been in Benevento. After we had eaten the monks’ soup, my father gave each of us a tari with which we would buy chestnuts and cracknel, and we would then go down to play in the port until nightfall, when we would return. And we went on being happy ragamuffins until an event occurred which changed my life and which even now I cannot recall without feelings of rage.

One Sunday, shortly before vespers, I came back to the church gates laden with chestnuts, which I had bought for my brothers and myself. I was sharing them out when a splendid carriage drove up. It was drawn by six white horses and preceded by two other horses of the same colour which were not hitched to the carriage, a display of wealth I have only ever seen in Italy. The door of the carriage opened. First a bracciere² emerged, who gave his arm to a beautiful lady. Next came a cleric and finally a boy of my age with a charming face, magnificently dressed in the Hungarian style, which then was not uncommon among children. His little winter coat was made of blue velvet embroidered with gold and trimmed with sable. It came down below his knees and even covered the top of his light brown morocco-leather boots. His cap, which was also trimmed with sable, was of the same blue velvet. At its peak there was a tassel of pearls which fell on to one shoulder. His belt was hung with gold tassels and cords and his miniature sabre was studded with jewels. Finally he had in his hand a prayer-book with gold mounts.

I was so amazed to see a boy of my age with such fine clothes that without thinking very much about what I was doing, I went up to him and presented two chestnuts to him which I had in my hand. But instead of responding to my gesture of kindness, the unworthy little wretch hit me in the face with his prayer-book with the full force of his arm. My left eye was badly bruised, and the clasp on the book caught my nostril and ripped it so that I was instantly covered in blood. It seems to me now that I then heard the lordling wailing horribly, but I had more or less fainted. And when I came to my senses I found myself near the fountain in the garden, surrounded by my father and brothers, who were washing my face and trying to staunch the flow of blood.

In the meantime, while I was still bleeding profusely, the lordling came back, followed by the cleric, the gentleman from the coach and two footmen carrying a bundle of sticks. The gentleman tersely stated that Her Excellency the Princess de Rocca Fiorita demanded that I be beaten till I bled as a punishment for having frightened her darling son, the principino. The footmen at once began carrying out the sentence.

My father, who was afraid that he would lose his sanctuary, did not dare say anything at first, but seeing that I was being mercilessly flayed he could not contain himself any longer and, turning to the gentleman, said in a voice which betrayed his stifled rage, ‘Stop this at once, or remember that I have murdered men worth ten the likes of you!’

The gentleman saw the sense of these words and gave the order to stop beating me further. But while I was still face down on the ground the principino came up to me, kicked me in the face and said, ‘Managia la tua facia de banditu.’³

This last insult drove me wild with rage. I can even say that at that moment my childhood came to an end, or at least that I ceased from then on to enjoy childhood’s pleasures. And it was a long time before I could look at a richly dressed man and not lose my composure.

Vengeance must be the original sin of our country, for even though I was only eight years old at the time, night and day I thought of nothing else than of ways to punish the principino. I would wake up with a start from a dream in which I held him by the hair and rained down blows on him. By day I thought of how I could hurt him from a distance, for I suspected that I would not be allowed to get near to him and I intended to make good my escape, having done the deed. Eventually I decided to throw a stone in his face, this being an exercise in which I was adept. To perfect my technique I chose a target on which I practised all day long.

My father once asked me what I was doing. I told him that it was my intention to smash the face of the principino, to make good my escape and then to turn bandit. My father gave the impression of not believing me but he smiled at me in a way which strengthened my resolve.

At last came the Sunday which was to be my day of vengeance. The carriage appeared, its occupants got out. I was very nervous but I brought myself under control. My little enemy caught sight of me in the crowd. He poked his tongue out at me. I threw the stone I was holding and he fell backwards. I ran off at once and did not stop until I reached the other end of town. There I met a young chimney sweep I knew, who asked me where I was going. I told him what I had done and he at once took me to his master, who was short of boys and did not know how to procure them for such an arduous job. He greeted my arrival with pleasure. He told me that no one would recognize me when my face was smeared with soot and that knowing how to climb chimneys was a useful talent. He was quite right about that. I have often owed my life to the skill I acquired then.

At first I found chimney dust and the smell of soot very unpleasant, but I got used to them for I was of an age when one can accustom oneself to anything. I had been working as a chimney sweep for six months when the adventure I am about to relate befell me.

I was on a roof listening to hear from which flue my master’s voice would come out. I thought I heard him shouting out of the nearest chimney to me. I went down it but found that the flue separated into two just below the roof. I should have called out myself then but did not do so. Instead I decided rashly to take one of the flues at random. I slipped down it and found myself in a handsome drawing-room. The first thing I saw was the principino, wearing only a shirt, playing with a shuttlecock.

Although the little fool had probably seen chimney sweeps before, he took it into his head to take me for the devil. He fell to his knees, begging me not to carry him off and promising to be good. I might have been moved by his entreaties but I had my sweep’s brush in my hand and the temptation to make use of it had grown too strong. Although I had avenged myself for the blow the principino had given me with his prayer-book, and in part for the beating I had received, I still resented the kick in the face and the words ‘Managia la tua facia de banditu,’ and when all is said and done, Neapolitans prefer to take a little more than a little less revenge.

I pulled a fistful of switches from my broom, ripped apart the principino’s shirt and, when his back was exposed, I ripped that apart too, or at least gave it severe treatment. But the strangest part of it was that fear prevented him crying out.

When I thought I had done enough I wiped my face clean and said to him, ‘Ciucio maledetto, io no zuno lu diavolu, io zuno lu piciolu banditu delli Augustini.’⁴ At that the principino recovered the use of his voice and started to yell for help. But I did not wait to see whether anyone came. I climbed back up the way I had come down.

When I reached the roof I could hear my master’s voice calling me but thought it inadvisable to reply. I started to run from roof to roof until I came above the stables, in front of which stood a haywain. I jumped down from the roof on to the hay and from the hay to the ground. Then I ran all the way to the portal of the Augustinian monastery, where I told my father what had happened.

My father listened with great interest and then said to me, ‘Zoto, Zoto, già vegio che tu sarai banditu.’⁵

Then, turning to a man who was standing beside him, he said, ‘Padron Lettereo, prendete lo chiutosto vui.’⁶

Lettereo is a baptismal name peculiar to Messina. It comes from the letter which the Virgin is said to have written to the townspeople and which she is said to have dated in ‘the one thousand four hundred and fifty-second year from the birth of my Son’. The inhabitants of Messina venerate this letter as much as the Neapolitans venerate the blood of St Januarius.⁷ I mention this detail because a year and a half later I said what I thought would be the last prayer of my life to the Madonna della Lettera.

Now Padron Lettereo was the captain of an armed pink which was supposedly equipped for coral fishing but was actually used for smuggling and even piracy if a good opportunity arose, which was not very often because it carried no cannon and had to take ships by surprise off deserted beaches.

All this was’ public knowledge in Messina; Lettereo smuggled on behalf of the city’s leading merchants. The customs officers also had a share in it. Besides, Padron Lettereo had the reputation of being very free with the coltellade,⁸ which made an impression on those who might have liked to make trouble for him. He was indeed an impressive figure of a man. His great chest and shoulders alone would have set him apart from others. But the rest of his appearance was so singular that timid souls could not look on him without feeling a surge of fear. His deeply bronzed face was made darker still by the scorch marks of gunpowder, which had left many small scars, and his sallow skin was decorated with many strange designs. Nearly all Mediterranean sailors have themselves tattooed on their arms and chests with letters, galleys, crosses and other such decorations. Lettereo had gone further. On one cheek he had the tattoo of a crucifix, on the other a madonna. Only the top of these images was visible, the bottom being hidden by a thick beard which no razor ever touched and which scissors alone kept within certain bounds. Add to this gold earrings, a red bonnet and belt, a sleeveless jerkin, sailor’s trousers, bare arms and feet and pockets full of gold and you have an idea of what the padron looked like.

It was said that in his youth he had enjoyed the favours of ladies of the highest circles and that he was the darling of the women of his own class and the scourge of their husbands.

Finally, to complete this portrait of Lettereo, I should tell you that he had been the best friend of a man of true merit who has since acquired a reputation under the name of Captain Pepo. Pepo and Lettereo had both served with the corsairs of Malta, but whereas Pepo had then entered the service of his king, Lettereo, who cared less for honour than for money, had decided to acquire wealth in any sort of way. At the same time he had become the sworn enemy of his former comrade.

As my father had nothing else to do in his sanctuary than to tend his wound, which he no longer expected to heal completely, he was glad to converse with heroes of his own kind. That is why he befriended Lettereo, and in recommending me to him he had grounds to believe that I would not be turned down. Nor was he mistaken. Lettereo was even quite touched by such a sign of trust. He promised my father that my apprenticeship would be less harsh than that of a ship’s boy normally would be. And he assured him that as I had been a chimney sweep it would only take me two days to learn to climb the rigging.

For my part I was delighted, since my new profession seemed to me more noble than cleaning chimneys. I kissed my father and brothers goodbye and cheerfully set off with Lettereo to join his ship. When we had boarded her the padron called together his crew, which numbered twenty men all similar in appearance to him. He introduced me to these gentlemen and said to them, ‘Anime managie, quista criadura e lu filiu de Zotu. Se uno de vui a outri li mette la mano sopra is li mangio l’anima.’⁹ This speech had the intended effect. It was even decided that I should mess together with the others, but I saw that two ship’s boys of my age served the sailors and ate the leftovers, so I did the same. This they accepted and they liked me the better for it. But when they saw how I climbed the lateen yard they all were quick to congratulate me. The lateen yard on lateen-rigged boats takes the place of the main yard; but it is much less dangerous to perch on main yards because they are always in the horizontal position.

We set sail and on the third day we reached the straits of S. Bonifacio, which separate Sardinia and Corsica. There were more than sixty boats there fishing for coral. We also started to fish, or rather pretended to. But I personally learned a great deal, for after four days there I could swim and dive as well as the boldest of my companions.

After a week the little fleet was scattered by a gregale – that is what the stiff north-easterly wind is known as in the Mediterranean. Each boat made for safety as best it could. We reached an anchorage known as the Roads of St Peter, which is a deserted beach on the Sardinian coast. There we came across a Venetian polacca which seemed to have suffered a great deal of damage during the storm. Our padron at once had designs on the boat and dropped anchor close to it. He sent part of the crew down to the hold so as to make it appear that few men were on board. This was a more or less pointless precaution since lateen-rigged boats always had more men than others.

Lettereo kept a close watch on the Venetian crew and established that it was composed of no more than a captain, a mate, six sailors and a boy. He also noticed that the topsail was torn and had been taken down to be mended since merchant ships never carry spare sails. Having gathered this information, he put eight guns and as many sailors in the longboat, hid them under a tarpaulin and settled down to wait for the right moment.

When the weather improved the sailors duly climbed the topmast to unfurl the sail, but as they did not set about this in the right way, the mate, followed by the captain, climbed up too. Lettereo then had the ship’s boat lowered, stealthily embarked with seven other sailors and boarded the stern of the polacca, whose captain shouted down from the mainsail, ‘A larga ladron, a larga.’¹⁰

But Lettereo aimed the gun at him and threatened to kill the first man who tried to climb down. The captain, who had the appearance of a resolute fellow, threw himself down into the shrouds, but Lettereo shot him in mid air. He fell into the water and was not seen again.

The sailors begged for mercy. Lettereo left four men to guard them and with the three others he searched the vessel. In the captain’s room he found a barrel of the sort used to store olives, but as it was rather heavy and was carefully hooped he guessed that it might contain things other than olives. He opened it and was gratified to find several bags of gold. That was enough for him and he sounded the retreat. The boarding party returned and we set sail. As we passed by the stern of the Venetian boat we shouted out mockingly, ‘Viva San Marco!’

Five days later we reached Livorno. The padron at once called on the Neapolitan consul with two of his men and made a formal declaration that his crew had picked a fight with that of the Venetian polacca and that by misfortune the captain of that ship had been pushed by a sailor and had fallen into the sea. A small part of the contents of the olive barrel were used to enhance the plausibility of this story.

Lettereo had a marked taste for piracy and would doubtless have continued to engage in similar enterprises, but at Livorno he was offered the opportunity of engaging in a different kind of trade, one that he preferred. A Jew, whose name was Nathan Levi, had noticed how much profit the pope and the King of Naples had obtained from their copper coinage and decided to share it. So he had counterfeit coins struck in an English town called Birmingham, and when there was a sufficient quantity he set up an agent in La Lariola, a fishing village on the border of the two states. Lettereo undertook to transport and unload the merchandise there.

The profits were considerable and we plied to and fro with cargoes of Roman and Neapolitan coins for more than a year. We might have been able to continue our voyages even longer but Lettereo, who had a genius for speculation, suggested to the Jew that he should produce gold and silver coinage too. Nathan Levi followed his advice and established at Livorno a small factory which produced sequins and scudi. The profits we were making aroused the jealousy of the authorities. One day when Lettereo was in Livorno and about to set sail, he was informed that Captain Pepo had been ordered by the King of Naples to seize his ship but that he was not able to put to sea until the end of that month. This false rumour was a trick on the part of Pepo, who had been at sea for four days. Lettereo fell for it. The wind was favourable. He reckoned that he could make one more journey and so set sail.

At daybreak on the next day we found ourselves in the midst of Pepo’s flotilla, comprised of two galiots and two light vessels known as scampavie. We were surrounded, with no means of escape. With death in his heart, Lettereo broke out all sails and set a course for Pepo’s vessel. Pepo was on the bridge, giving orders to board our ship.

Lettereo took a gun, took aim and hit Pepo in the arm. All this happened in a few seconds.

Soon after, the four ships bore down on us and we could hear from all sides the shout, ‘Mayna ladro, mayna can senza fede.’¹¹

Lettereo close-hauled, with the result that our side skimmed the surface of the water. Then, addressing the crew, he said:

‘Anime managie, io in galera non ci vado. Pregate per me la santissima Madonna della Lettera.’¹²

We all knelt down. Lettereo put cannon-balls into his pocket. We thought that he had decided to throw himself into the sea but the crafty pirate had other plans. There was a large barrel full of copper lashed to the windward side. Lettereo cut the ropes with an axe. At once the barrel rolled to the other side of the ship, and as the ship was already listing quite far it had the effect of capsizing it. At first the crew, who were on their knees, fell into the sails, and when the ship went down we were fortunately thrown a fair distance clear on the other side by the sails’ elasticity.

Pepo fished us all out of the sea with the exception of the captain, a sailor and a ship’s boy. As we were hauled aboard, we were tied up and thrown into Pepo’s hold. We put into Messina four days later. Pepo let the authorities know that he had some objects worthy of their attention to deliver to them. Our disembarkation did not lack a certain pomp. It happened to be at the time of the Corso when all the nobility walk up and down what is known as La Marina. We’ solemnly processed along, with sbiri behind us and sbiri in front of us.

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.

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.