heric origin--a thunderbolt or a waterspout? Or could it be a
miracle in the dictionary sense of something contrary to the course of
nature? No one knew. Gradually a sufficient number of the public
overcame their fright and took places in the theatre; and thus I saw a
play by Peppino Fazio called _I Delitti del Caporale_ of which I have
forgotten a great deal, but it contained one incident which I have not
forgotten.

There was a scene in the cottage of a brigand who lived with his sister,
he was out and she was alone. A corporal of infantry entered and made
infamous proposals which she rejected; a struggle followed and was ended
by the man shooting the girl through the heart. Overcome by remorse and
filled with respect for the dead, he reverently raised the corpse, laid
it along the floor by the wall at the back of the cottage and covered it
with a sheet. He placed an oil lamp on the floor so that the head, the
breast, the hips, the knees and the toes caught the light, while shadows
fell in the depressions between. He knelt in prayer and then crept from
the solemn scene on which the curtain slowly descended.

We were then transported to a country road outside the caserma of the
carabinieri; they were carousing and plotting how to take the brigand. A
countryman came and gave information on which they settled a plan of
action and the scene ended, but it had occupied a good deal of time and
had distracted the mind.

The curtain rose again on the brigand's cottage. Nothing had been moved.
Three carabinieri entered furtively, they noticed what was on the floor,
lying by the wall, but did not disturb it, they had other business in
hand and concealed themselves behind doors and furniture. There was a
pause and the house was very still. The brigand came home, noisily threw
down his gun, clanked about the cottage in his great boots, took his
knife and his pistols from his belt and banged them down on the table.
As he turned he caught sight of the sheet covering something the form of
which was emphasised by the oil lamp burning at its head. He did not
speak, but surprise and alarm seized him and appeared in his face and in
his attitude. He approached it, raised the sheet and with a yell of
terror and grief fell on his knees by the corpse as he recognised his
sister. The three carabinieri came from their hiding and took him.

It was a typical drama for the Machiavelli. Notwithstanding the want of
variety in thei