1830.] The Corsican Bandit. 279 



flower of the village lads/' said my guide, with a significant look that 

 informed me himself was included in the list " the comeliest and the 

 bravest in the canton aspired to Cecca's hand, notwithstanding some five 

 or six envenomed feuds which were to be espoused with the bride, and 

 which formed part of her marriage portion. But, spite of their courage 

 and their address at the carbine, Cecca had neither eyes nor ears for any 

 of them. Her heart had long been devoted to Pietro, a rich proprietor, 

 who lived in the village just below her own, but between whose family 

 and hers a mortal hatred had for some time existed the father of 

 Pietro having been killed by Cecca's. In despite of the vengeful recol- 

 lections which, in Corsica, are cherished with religious animosity ; in 

 despite of the blood-stained shirt suspended over Pietro's bed, as a 

 memento of the still more bloody deed ; in despite even of the ball 

 which had killed his father, and which the son had vowed to wear as an 

 amulet upon his heart till vengeance should be satisfied ; in despite of 

 all, Pietro had been ensnared in the silken bondage of love. Perhaps a, 

 refinement of Italian vengeance, still more than Cecca's dark Italian 

 eye, had inspired him with the idea of entangling the affections of the 

 child of his bitterest foe. Perhaps, too, the very contrast between his 

 hatred for the father, and his impetuous passion for the daughter, added 

 fuel to the flame. Be it as it may, he loved and was beloved. For 

 many years, the two families, actuated by a spirit of mutual hostility that 

 defied all hope of reconciliation, had closed against each other the entrance 

 of their respective villages ; and more than one brace of whizzing bullets 

 had been exchanged between the vedettes of the contending parties. But 

 Cecca was a woman, and fertile in expedients : she was acquainted with 

 the shortest by-roads to the place of rendezvous, and Pietro could have 

 found his way thither blind-fold. Each night the lover glided unper- 

 ceived along the narrow pathway of the village to visit his beloved, and 

 the tell-tale guitar paid the homage of many an amorous lay to the shrine 

 of his divinity. Love is a feeble reasoner : the path that Cecca trod was 

 strewed with roses so soft, so sweet, she scarce could feel the thorns. 

 To love was an easy task : to obtain her father's consent, more difficult 

 than to level the mountain with the valley. Even had he consented, 

 Pietro had sworn that steel should never cross his beard till life had been 

 paid for life; and Pietro was pf a race that, from sire to son, had never 

 violated an oath of blood. More than once poor Cecca had shuddered at 

 the violence of his imprecations against her father. More than once, her 

 gentle caresses had interposed " between the lion and his wrath :" but 

 Pietro might grapple with his enemy in the forest and Cecca might not 

 be there to soothe him with her caresses ! 



Cecca's apprehensions were but too well founded. Her father, informed 

 by some jealous rival of the lovers' nightly meetings, watched Pietro in 

 his path, insulted him with bitter taunts, and swore that, should he 

 again be found within the precincts of the village, a bullet should effec- 

 tually relieve him from his love-sick pains. Pietro's blood boiled with 

 indignation. He forgot Cecca ; he thought of his father's sad fate. 

 " Poor lad !" observed my guide, " his hand was unlucky but he had 

 his blow." Swift as the thought of vengeance that inflamed his soul, he 

 discharged his carbine at the father of his mistress: filial affection 

 turned aside the well-intended aim, and the old man, though within a 

 few paces of his assailant, escaped with a slight wound. Pietro made 

 for the forest, and from that moment commenced the wandering exist- 



