Being left once more alone with my friend, I asked him what he thought
of the man's tale, and whether or no it corroborated the statements made
by Luigi and Antonio. All three witnesses bore testimony to a plurality
of brigands, which seemed to me completely to overthrow my worthy
friend's hypothesis as to there being only one brigand. I confess, though, I was still puzzled by the peasant's wonderful story. I could hardly bring myself to believe in the utter and simultaneous
conversion of a whole band of brigands, even though they _had_ been
terrified and thwarted for a moment in their crimes by an apparent
miracle, and yet what object could the man have had in inventing such a
lie, knowing, as he must have done, that he was not entitled to the
reward until after the capture of the brigands. My friend the priest suggested that possibly he might have been fool
enough to expect payment beforehand, and that he had concocted this
fable on the strength of it. The man was simple enough, it is true, but
there was an air of truth about the manner in which he told his tale
that induced me to give credit to it, strange though it appeared. In any case, I knew that the truth or falsity of the man's statement
would soon be made manifest, for the brigand-catchers, once sent off in
the direction indicated by the peasant, would not fail to call at the
convent and inquire if the brigands were taking shelter there, in which
case the monks would be forced to deliver up their charge into the hands
of justice. As it happened, the brigand-catchers had already started in
search of their prey, though in quite an opposite direction. But let us return to our landlady, who had been impatiently awaiting me,
having now prepared my noon-day meal some time. "The signor is late to-day," she said, as I entered. "I fear he will
find the macaroni cold." "No matter," I replied. "I have a good appetite, from having been very
busy all the morning." "The signor has been busy--yes? And yet I notice that he left all his
painting tools at home," observed the landlady. "True, my good woman," I replied. "The morning being rainy, I was
prevented from painting out-of-doors, but I have been very busy,
nevertheless." "Indeed, Signor," she exclaimed, "what could have occupied you so much
as to forget your dinner, if I may be permitted to ask?" I expected this question, knowing that my hostess inherited the vice of
curiosity, in common with the rest of her sex, in a marked degree. "How was I occupied?" I repeated. "Why, how else than by searching to
the bottom that confounded miracle you were so full of all yesterday and
the day before." "Oh, Signor, how you talk!" exclaimed my hostess, horrified. "What! do
you mean to say that the Blessed Virgin has not wrought among us the
greatest miracle ever heard of in these parts?" "Well, if this is one of the greatest," I replied, "I should advise her
to give up miracles for the future, for she is no hand at them." "How say you, Signor?" cried the landlady, shocked at my levity, and
crossing herself again and again. "Oh, you Protestants believe in
nothing! What! Is it not a great miracle to raise the dead?" "It would be, if it were true," I interrupted. "If it were true!" she repeated. "How should it not be true? Have you
not heard that the arch-priest himself believes it, that all the village
believes it, that the good Ricardo the sacristan was an eye-witness of
the miracle?" "I must have better testimony than his in order to believe in the
miraculous character of the story you related to me. However, I have
since looked into the case myself and find it to be a gross piece of
imposture." "_Imposture!_" cried the hostess. "Impossible! Who has been
imposing--his reverence, perhaps?" "No," I said; "the arch-priest was only one of the dupes. His rascal of
a sacristan was at the bottom of all the mischief. That scoundrel Peppe,
too, was another prominent actor in the farce." "What do I hear?" exclaimed my landlady; "the pious Ricardo and the holy
Peppe called 'rascal' and 'scoundrel.' You surely mistake their
characters." "We are all liable to make mistakes sometimes," said I; "but I will
hope, for their own sakes, that they are not as black as they appear." "You mystify me, Signor," she replied; "but I am sure you must be
labouring under a gross mistake, for as a proof of Peppe's being a holy
man, he has been doing nothing but miracles since he was raised from the
dead." "What is that you say?" cried I, pricking up my ears. "Why, Signor, you must know that as soon as Peppe left the church on the
morning of the miracle he was followed by a great crowd of the
faithful." "Of the curious and the idle, you mean," I observed, interrupting her. "Well, proceed." "Who followed him to the door of his house," she continued; "and as
divers of them were labouring under sore diseases, they besought him to
touch them that they might be healed. Well, very many of them went away
cured; others, he said, he was unable to cure on account of their want
of faith." "The artful dog!" said I, smiling. "Now, I'll be bound to say he made
all those who imagined themselves cured pay him well." "Oh, they all gave him something, of course, from a _baiocco_ upwards,
according to their means. They tell me the worthy man has made a heap of
money by his miraculous touch." "Miraculous humbug!" I exclaimed, half-amused and half-angry at the
success of such a vagabond. "_Humbug!_ say you still?" cried my hostess. "How can it be humbug, if
he really _has_ cured the sick?" "Come now," said I; "perhaps you will oblige me with a list of the
diseases that this new saint professes to have cured." "Willingly," she replied. "In the first case, there is old Margherita, who lives at the bottom of
the dell, and has been suffering much from nervous headaches; he but
touched her forehead, and she walked away declaring herself cured. Then
there was poor old Carluccio, who goes about begging from one place to
another. He suffered much from rheumatism; but having been touched by
Peppe on the parts affected, he immediately pronounced himself much
better, if not quite cured. Then the girl Lucia, who lives half-way down
the hill, and who used to suffer from the jumps, she likewise has not
complained since. Then, again, Pietro, the vignauolo, who was suffering
from stomach-ache, felt himself considerably better some few hours after
he had been touched by Peppe. Brigida, the daughter of old Angeluccio,
has for some time been the victim of a deep melancholy. Since she
received the magic touch she has done nothing but laugh and sing,
Giacomuccio, the idiot boy, complained of loss of appetite, but after
Peppe had touched him he went home and ate up all the _maritozza_ in the
house. Then the number of children he has cured is something fabulous;
at least, so their parents say." "Well, well, my good woman," said I; "but these are all trifles.