Tales of a Traveller

the robbers had been tried and executed.”
    “All a farce!”
    “But their heads were stuck up along the road.”
    “Old skulls accumulated during a century.”
    The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at the door, “San
Genaro, come sono singolari questi Inglesi.”
    A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival of more travellers; and from the variety of voices, or rather clamors, the clattering of horses’ hoofs, the rattling of wheels, and the general uproar both within and without, the arrival seemed to be numerous. It was, in fact, the procaccio, and its convoy—a kind of caravan of merchandise, that sets out on stated days, under an escort of soldiery to protect it from the robbers. Travellers avail themselves of the occasion, and many carriages accompany the procaccio. It was a long time before either landlord or waiter returned, being hurried away by the tempest of new custom. When mine host appeared, there was a smile of triumph on his countenance.—“Perhaps,” said he, as he cleared away the table, “perhaps the signor has not heard of what has happened.”
    “What?” said the Englishman, drily.
    “Oh, the procaccio has arrived, and has brought accounts of fresh exploits of the robbers, signor.”
    “Pish!”
    “There’s more news of the English Milor and his family,” said the host, emphatically.
    “An English lord.-What English lord?”
    “Milor Popkin.”
    “Lord Popkin? I never heard of such a title!”
    “ O Sicuro —a great nobleman that passed through here lately with his Milady and daughters—a magnifico—one of the grand councillors of London—un almanno.”
    “Almanno—almanno?—tut! he means alderman.”
    “Sicuro, aldermanno Popkin, and the principezza Popkin, and the signorina Popkin!” said mine host, triumphantly. He would now have entered into a full detail, but was thwarted by the Englishman, who seemed determined not to credit or indulge him in his stories. An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked: that of mine host continued to run on with increasing volubility as he conveyed the fragments of the repast out of the room, and the last that could be distinguished of his voice, as it died away along the corridor, was the constant recurrence of the favorite word Popkin—Popkin—Popkin—pop—pop—pop.
    The arrival of the procaccio had indeed filled the house with stories as it had with guests. The Englishman and his companions walked out after supper into the great hall, or common room of the inn, which runs through the centre building; a gloomy, dirty-looking apartment, with tables placed in various parts of it, at which some of the travellers were seated in groups, while others strolled about in famished impatience for their evening’s meal. As the procaccio was a kind of caravan of travellers, there were people of every class and country, who had come in all kinds of vehicles; and though they kept in some measure in separate parties, yet the being united under one common escort had jumbled them into companionship on the road. Their formidable number and the formidable guard that accompanied them, had prevented any molestation from the banditti; but every carriage had its tale of wonder, and one vied with another in the recital. Not one but had seen groups of robbers peering over the rocks; or their guns peeping out from among the bushes, or had been reconnoitred by some suspicious-looking fellow with scowling eye, who disappeared on seeing the guard.
    The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that eager curiosity with which we seek to pamper any feeling of alarm. Even the Englishman began to feel interested in the subject, and desirous of gaining more correct information than these mere flying reports.
    He mingled in one of the groups which appeared to be the most respectable, and which was assembled round a tall, thin person, with long Roman nose, a high forehead, and lively prominent eye, beaming from under a green velvet travelling-cap with gold tassel. He was holding forth with all the fluency of a man who talks well and likes to exert his talent. He was of Rome; a surgeon by profession, a poet by choice, and one who was something of an improvvisatore. He soon gave the Englishman abundance of information respecting the banditti.
    “The fact is,” said he, “that many of the people in the villages among the mountains are robbers, or rather the robbers find perfect asylum among them. They range over a vast