"There was once in Sicily a poor devil, but blessed with a vivid imagination and a certain amount of courage, who, being unable to endure the disasters by which his country was overwhelmed, took his gun one fine morning and went into the mountains, resolved to lose his own life, or to destroy one by one as many of the enemy as possible, pending the day when he could fall upon them in a body with the outlaws whom he joined. They formed a large and select band. Their leader was a noble, the last descendant of one of the greatest families of the country--Prince Cæsar de Castro-Reale. Remember that name. You may never have heard it, but a time will come when it will have more interest for you. "In the woods and mountains the prince had taken the name of _Destatore_,[1] by which name he was known, loved, and feared for ten years, nobody suspecting that he was the young and brilliant nobleman who had run through his fortune at Palermo, and led a most dissipated life with his friends and mistresses. "Before speaking of the poor devil who turned brigand from patriotic despair, I must say a few words of the noble patrician who had become a leader of brigands for the same reason. It will assist you to a knowledge of your country and your countrymen. _Il Destatore_ was a man of thirty years, handsome, well-educated, lovable, brave and generous,--he had all the characteristics of a hero; but he was persecuted and crushed by the Neapolitan government, who detested him particularly because of the influence he exerted over the common people. He resolved to put an end to the life he was leading, to consume the balance of his fortune, which was reduced every day by taxes to the profit of the enemy; in short, to drown his sorrow in drunkenness, and to kill himself or brutalize himself in debauchery. "He succeeded only in ruining himself. His robust health withstood all sorts of excess, his sorrow survived his dissipation, and when he found that, instead of falling asleep, he became intensely excited in his cups, that a frantic rage took possession of him, and that it would be necessary for him to run a sword through his body, or, as he said, to eat à la Neapolitan, he disappeared and became a bandit. He was supposed to have been drowned, and his inheritance never caused his nephews any great embarrassment or afforded much profit to the authorities.