The sun was setting over the wide plains of Sicily, and a solitary traveler, with a pack on his back, trudged wearily along the dirt road.
A horse came cantering along behind him. The rider was a tall dark man with fierce eyes, upturned black moustache and a black beard. He wore a wide felt hat and long boots with spurs. A big black cloak shrouded his figure.
“Buona sera, signore. (Good evening, sir),” said the man on foot.
Without responding, the horseman leaped to the ground and demanded, “What is your business? What have you in that bag?”
“Books, signore!”
“Ah, then I’ve caught you at last. You are the man that goes about selling these bad books which corrupt the morals of simple people. I have got you now. See, I am going first of all to burn your books and then shoot you.” And throwing open his coat he displayed two ugly pistols in his belt.
“Put down your bag here and then go and gather sticks to light a fire. Don’t try to run away or I’ll shoot you.”
The packman, or colporteur, knew he had fallen into the hands of a bandit, and wisely making no reply, he went off and presently returned with a big armful of brushwood. Night came on and the stars shone brightly overhead.
“Sir,” said the packman, as they sat before the fire, “before you burn my books and shoot me, allow me to read you some passages from them.”
“Yes, that is fair,” said the bandit.
Selecting a little Gospel of Luke, the packman began to read: “A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves....”
This was bringing it home rather closely to the bandit, but he showed no resentment, and the packman went on. The Italian language is extremely musical, and the story of the Good Samaritan sounded very beautiful under the stars that evening.
“I like that story,” said the bandit. “We won’t burn that book. Read another.”
The packman took up the Gospel of Matthew and read in chapter 5 “Ye have heard that it was said to them of old time, thou shalt not kill....” As he read on, the bandit interrupted him. “That is good. There is nothing bad about that book. Read another.”
Next came First Corinthians, chapter 13—that great hymn of Christian love. Here the bandit went into raptures.
“What beauty!” he exclaimed. “What truth! Love is kind... love envieth not... Excellentissimo (very, very fine). We cannot burn that book. Read another.”
The packman went on reading from one book after another and then finally said, “That is the end.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the bait sharply. “Fetch out the bad books which you sell to the simple village folks!”
“But, sir, I have no others.”
“Do not lie to me, my friend!” said the bandit. “It is dangerous.” And getting up he came and felt in all the packman’s pockets; but he found no books.
“Bravo!” he said. “You can go, but remember, if I ever catch you selling evil books, I’ll shoot you like a dog.”
So saying he mounted his horse and rode off. The packman took his bag, and thanking God for his escape he went on his way.
Arriving at the next village he stayed overnight at the inn. The next morning he walked quietly up to a group of men who were standing around a donkey.
“Good morning, gentlemen! Let me read to you about our Lord Jesus Christ.”
“With great pleasure!” they replied, and he read to them of how Jesus had sent two of His disciples to fetch an ass and how He rode on it into Jerusalem. The men were interested and one of them bought a gospel for a penny.
But before he could get the money out of his pocket a voice shouted: “Take care, friends. This man is a rogue. His books are not fit to read.”
Then a tumult began. Some took the packman’s part, but most were against him. “Down with the heretic!” they shouted. "Death to the blasphemer! Stone him!” Men and women crowded around, yelling and threatening. Things began to look ugly.
Just at that moment a horseman came galloping across the marketplace and pushed his way into the mob. He was tall and dark, with upturned moustache and black beard. He wore a big cloak, long boots and spurs. Everyone knew him—and most were afraid of him.
“Let that man alone!” he cried, and sitting there on his horse in the middle of the crowd he told them what had happened the night before. “His books are good, leave him alone. Anyone who hurts him will have to deal with me.”
Years afterward the packman was surprised to receive a letter from America. It read like this: “My dear friend, You remember the bandit who stopped you one night on the road. I am he, but a bandit no longer. I have never forgotten you nor the words you read to me. They saved me from an evil life, thank God.”
The colporteur had good reason to believe from his letter that the former bandit had been saved by the grace of God.
ML-12/24/1978