CORSICA’S BANDIT KING.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20274, 7 April 1934, Page 26 (Supplement)

CORSICA’S BANDIT KING.

ANDRE SPADA OBSESSED WITH REVENGE.

UNFAITHFUL WIFE REVIVES BLOOD LUST—TRAGIC CLIMAX ENDS IN MURDER OF INNOCENT COUPLE—BANDIT, TORN WITH REMOTE, MISSES VENGEANCE—CHASE BY GENDARMES AND NARROW ESCAPE—RETURN TO THE HILLS DEJECTED STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE RESUMED. • Having failed in hi« attempt to revenge the unfaithfulness of his wife, Andre Spada, *. ! after shooting an innocent roan and woman in mistake for his spouse and her j ! iover, made a fearful vow not to kill her when he should find her, but to inflict , • a hideous torturo. Having lost his companions in banditry, Rutili, condemned ] • to life sentence, and Romanetti, murdered by a traitor, Spada’s blood curdled i • against his enemies and the lust to kill became almost insatiable. In his efforts ; I to satisfy his obsession he tells an intensely dramatic story, and gives a graphio ; • impression of the remorse with which he was beset when he discovered his ■ ! tragic mistake. Then followed a hard struggle for life in whioh he adopted | ! methods of intimidation against society in order that he himself might make a . living. -J

(By ANDRE SPADA. —WorId Rights Reserved.)

Up above at Lopiguia, Marie Caviglioli, whom I regarded as my lawful wife, was always giving me trouble. One day, one of my guides learned that she had made up her mind to go away and live with a young city-dweller named Giocundi, a fruit importer. At once I asked my guide: ‘‘There are no police, nobody you suspect in Lopignia?” “No,” he replied, “you can go up there.” I did not wait to hear it twice. As fast as my legs could carry me, I climbed the ridge which overhung the ' village and rushed to Marie’s house. Alas! I got there too late. She had already left for the town and there was no hope of her return. Imagine the fury which can sweep a man at a moment like that, a man who has been victimised in such a manner - and whose position prevents him from defending himself against such disasters by compelling him to keep far away from cities. I was mad with anger. I could have knocked my head against the walls. At last iqy friends succeeded in calming me a little and I returned to the maquis. After Rutili, Romanetti. After Romanetti, Marie. Again a part of my life had gone.

When I had heard the bad news I had sworn vengeance on Marie and on the man who had carried her off. On returning to the maquis I tried to forget. I tried to avoid curdling men's blood again. Always killing! Always killing! It was truly too ghastly, this destiny which kept on pushing me to commit new murders and to turn men into corpses. With ail my might 1 fought against this horrible temptation. I prayed God to give me that peace of mind without which 1 needs must massacre again. But peace caine not. The fixed idea plagued me everlastingly in my solitude. I could think of nothing but that. I must kill or I should gc slowly mad. I could hardly sleep, I could hardly eat. I grew weaker day by day. At last, tired of fighting against myself, unable to hold out any more, I decided to slay the guilty pair, having learnt that only blood could bring peace to my heart once more. “So much the worse for them,” said I to myself. “They have betrayed my honour. It is right that they should pay the price.” I knew where I stood. I knew that they were at Bastia, where they would think themselves perfectly safe. I made arrangements v/ich a bandit named Antonelli, who was born at Santa Reparata in the north, and was well acquainted with Bastia and its surroundings. I explained to Antonelli the reasons for my anger and my furious need for vengeance, and he agreed to go with me, and we went on foot towards Bastia, across the mountains and then along the eastern coast of Corsica. My weapons, two revolvers and a gun, were well oiled. My bandoliers were full. Walking by night and hiding by day, we advanced, towards our goal. Already my mind was relieved. I saw two bodies stretched out in their blood, and the thought was enough to build up my morale once more. Gnawing Spirit of Revenge. “You ran away to the city,” I thought, “because you think that Spada would never dare to join you there. You are going to see that Spada has no fear when the spirit of revenge is gnawing at his heart.” When we arrived in the environs of Bastia on November 9, 1925, I hid in a small wood, and Antonelli went off on his own to spy about him. At the fall of night he returned and gpve me a report on his inquiries. “They are going to the theatre tonight,” he told me. “Perhaps you will be able to strike your blow as they come out.” We had some food and immediately after Antonelli guided me into the town and helped me to climb on to the balcony of the theatre. I took up my position, my gun in readiness, and waited for them to come out. Antonelli waite.d for me a little further off, hidden in a deserted street. Already the pleasure of vengeance was making me forget my past sufferings. At last my account with Marie and her lover was going to be settled in blood. I was certain of having a good enough view to kill them both hurting anybody else. After having fought so hard, endured so long, this last hour of waiting seemed to me terribly long. I had much trouble in mastering my impatience. At last people began to come but. With eyes alert, with finger on trigger, I searched among the crowd for Marie's familiar face. The people came out quietly, never guessing for a moment that above their heads, crouched in a dark corner, death was waiting. I did not see Marie. The last of the audience came out. The doors were shut. The lights were put out. Silence reigned in the little street. I understood. Marie and her lover had not gone to the show, and, temporarily, they had escaped death. But they would gain nothing by delay. Swiftly I slipped down into the street, ran to where Antonelli was waiting and told him how I had beeD deceived. Antonelli excused himself. “Perhaps I was misinformed. To-morrow T will try to do better. Meantime, back to the country. Town is not healthy for us.”

Disappointment Over Failure. An hour later we were asleep under cover. I had missed my revenge, but it would not be for ever. I was certain of that. The next day Antonglli again went down on business while I remained in my hiding place. He came back at nightfall “Listen,” he whispered, “we made the wrong journey yesterday. Your wife and her lover are not in Bastia. They have found shelter in the house of the man’s uncle, one Pierre Paul Giocundi, at Poggio-di-Mezzana, 30 kilometers to the south .from here.” “You are sure of it this time?” “Perfectly certain.” “Then we must go there.” “We will set off first thing to-morrow.” We slept in the wood and woke up before daybreak. Antonelli guided me to the roadside and went off to Bastia in search of a taxi. It was reclining comfortably in a car that we moved on Santa Reparata, Antonelli’s country, which is near the village of Poggio-di-Mezzana, where our business lay. The driver dropped us at a fair distance from the hamlet and turned his car round. We were

sure of his silence. I had shown him my weapons and had slipped to him a few words, which were as effective a a a long speech. A little lesson on the absolute discretion a driver should observe when he carries an outlaw. That lesson was necessary. We were near the cape in a district where there had been no bandits for a long time. Up there one forgets one’s manners. The moment the driver was out of sight we walked a short way, and Antonelli pointed out to me the Gioeundis' house. I thanked him. “Good! Let us slink into the woods. We will return this evening and do our business at night.” We slunk off. A little later, as we were resting under a tree, some gendarmes noticed us and came towards us. Obviously they did not recognise me. If they had known who it was beneath the tree they would have been more careful about approaching. Chased by Gendarmes. Of course we did not want a discussion with them. We got up and filed off, walking quickly to start with and then breaking into a run. The gendarmes stuck, to üb. They also walked quickly, and, when we did, they too broke into a run. It was a pursuit, and that did not please us at all. We forced the pace, and then Antonelli turned and fired several shots. One of the gendarmes went down wounded. That disorganised the pursuit, and we profited by it to dive into the wood, where these gentlemen lost sight of ns. The instinct for revenge is so strong in Corsicans that it takes precedence of all other considerations. After this alarm I should have foreseen further recontres, and told myself that every minute passed in the neighbourhood Was more dangerous than the one before. I should have postponed my revenge for the time being and returned south as fast as my legs could carry me. Well, I did not return south. My desire for revenge would have inspired me to face a regiment. I remained in my corner until nightfall, in spite of the advice of Antonelli, who said to me:— “Cumpa, let us do as I say and leave this neighbourhood. Here the laws' of Hospitality do not hold as far as bandits are concerned. Let us go or it will be the worse for us. We are putting our heads in the noose.” “Go by yourself if you want to,” I replied. “Moi, lam staying here.” Profiting by the darkness I approached the Gioeundis’ house, which I easily distinguished, thanks to its lighted windows. I posted myself about 30 metres from the house, my gun fully cocked. In the hall below I saw tw<p silhouettes. The silhouette of a man sitting in an armchair. The silhouette of a woman walking up and down. I fired, first at the man, who received my charge in the head and went down, then at the woman, who also received it in the head and crumpled up at once. Then only I left for the south, my vengeance satisfied. At least, so I thought. Alas! I had just committed the worst blunder in my life, one which I will never forgive myself. Once again Antonelli’s information had been false. Marie Caviglioli and her lover were no more in the house at Poggio-di-Mezzana than they were at the show at Bastia. In the isolated house were only the uncle, PierrePaul Giocundi, and his niece, a young woman of 20. It was they, poor innocents, whom my lead had killed. I learned afterwards that the two bodies were found the following day. The old gentleman just crumpled up in his chair, the young girl huddled up on the ground. Their dog. bis paws all dabbed in blood, was guarding them and howling his grief, poor faithful animal! I knew at once that henceforth, in the Bastia region, the uame cf Spada was accursed and hated. Tin's massacre caused me pangs of remorse which surpass all description. Today, eight years afterwords, remorse grips me still, more often than I would like.

Vow of Fearful Venjjcance. My poor mother was right when she told me that Marie Caviglioli would bring me misfortune. When 1 learned the lull extent of the disaster, I swore that if ever I came across Marie, I would not kill her, since another had shed his blood for her, but that I would gouge out her eyes with my dagger. I never met her. Happily for her. Happily for pie. If I should meet her again to-day with my new outlook—but no, I cannot say what I would do. The Corsican character is too imponderable. One certainly learns. It was at la Punt a that I took up my life again. Perfectly. With Antoinette Leca. 1 repeat once more that a bandit’s life is not full of action, not romantic, nothing like that, except in the case of a coup. Antoinette felt lonely. Her brother Jules had just been sentenced to four years’ imprisonment, as an accomplice of Romanetti. He could not come up to la Punta again, poor fellow. I installed myself there, as far as a .bandit can be said to install himself anywhere. That is to say, I installed myself intermittently, absenting myself frequently to live in the maquis. And the year 1826 passed peaceably. I lived modestly. I have always lived modestly—with the little concessions which were worked for me. Oh, I know very well that bad tilings have been 6aid of my way of living, of my means of existence. It has been said that I took ransom from property owners, that I exacted sums of money here and there, above all, from my political enemies. I who have never taken part in politics for the reasons that I have mentioned before, and also because I don’t like politics. I must explain myself and tell exactly hosv a bandit like myself managed to live in the maquis in the days before the expedition. How the Bandit Lived. With all the deaths which I had on ray conscience, I had enough to do in keeping' myself safe. Then, for a long time, I had given up all idea of working in the wood as I had done with Rutili. Then? It is quite simple. I would choose a forest where the wood was worth cutting and have it exploited on my own account by my friends or my relations. The authorities knew quite well that it was for me that the wood was being cut, but they shut their eyes to it. I had to live and this means was worth more than taking ransom from people. Or 1 would have a section of the maquis bought, on my account and have the charcoal exploited. Of course the seller, who knew on whose behalf the purchase was being made, was very generous in his terms. He knew, too, that he must help me to get my livelihood. And let no one say that the landowners sold me their maquis cheap out of fear, because that is not true at all. I have never threatened or had threats made on this subject. No. The people who helped me did it simply out of the goodness of their hearts and reverence for tradition. No one ever did it under threat of my gun. However, my associates were not always tolerated. Sometimes, in spite of the presence of my gangs of workmen, the forest was laid out to contractors. But it was very rare for the contractors to he present. They were in the know, they knew that a bandit must gain his poor livelihood in peace. They preferred to exploit other forests, and, thanks be to God, there is no lack of forest in our lovely Corsica. All the same, now and then, there was an exception. A contractor less conciliatory or more ignorant than the others appeared on the scene. Usually he came alone. He introduced difficulties. When he came up. I asked him to go away again, and if he did not want to go away in a friendly spirit, I sent him off in an unfriendly ohe. In these affairs, as in all others, I always used patienee. In general everything panned out well. All the same, sometimes I was obliged to use force.

One day, the forest of Calcatoggio, a communal forest, was put out to a contractor. Everybody knew that I intended to have this forest exploited on my own account. In spite of that, there had been found a contractor to take up the business for about 20,000 francs. He sent some Italian labourers to begin work. Struggle for An Existence.

When I saw it, I was not worried. I just conveyed an intimation to this contractor to go away. I had my position explained to him, my need to find a living and the impossibility of finding a living by normal means, the means open to a free man. He had no wish to hear it. He was as obstinate as a mule. Then I had my orders conveyed to him. He was instructed on my behalf to withdraw his labourers from the forest of Calcatoggio at once, and informed that, in case of disobedience, it would be the worse for him. I had him told that I had never allowed anyone to prevent me getting my living, and that he was not going to be the first. Briefly, I did all in my power to -get him to withdraw of himself. He had no intention of doing so. I waited patiently for a bit, hoping that he would think better of it, that he would come to a better frame of mind, that he would make an effort to understand my unhappy situation as a bandit. My patience had no effect. When I saw that, in spite of all my warnings, this man’s workmen continued cutting the wood in my forest, I got annoyed and at last decided to act. One fine day, I unexpectedly appeared at the lumber camp, with my gufi under my arm, in my usual wav. On seeing me, the workmen stopped, without waiting for me to ask them to do

so. Dame, they were in the know. They knew perfectly well why I had come. Then I spoke to them. “The man for whom you work,” I said, “wants to take the bread out of my mouth. This forest I want to exploit on my own account. Please burn your hut at once and clear out of the forest.” They did not wait for me to speak twice. In five minutes the hut, made of the trunks and brandies of trees, was burning at all four corners. We stayed there, watching it burn, and when it was no more than a heap of cinders, the men took their bags and went. But before they went I said to them: “Tell your employer that he will not get off so easily next time.” (To be continued.)