Today, I invite you on a captivating journey back in time. Grab my hand as we step into Bucharest of 1830, where we’ll follow the trail of a legendary outlaw—one who dared to rob from the rich to give to the poor. His name? Ioniță Tunsu, an alias meaning “the Haircut.”

You might wonder about this curious nickname. Tunsu once served as a verger at the Church of the Holy Voivodes, and his melodious voice made him a prime candidate for the priesthood. The Bishop of Argeș had plans to elevate him to a priestly role, recognizing his kindness and literacy. At that time, priests wore long hair, but when Tunsu chose to abandon the church, he cut it short, symbolizing his break from the past.

Let’s delve into the life of this intriguing character. Born in 1800 in Olt, Tunsu was a robust young man—well-educated and gifted with a voice suited for the pulpit. In a society where such qualities made him an ideal priest, he instead sought a different path as an outlaw. Gathering a band of like-minded men, he retreated to the forests of Olt, where he united his crew with another. Tunsu was known for targeting only the wealthy; he never resorted to violence, treating his victims with surprising generosity, always aiding those in need.

His exploits soon made him a wanted man, much to the dismay of the affluent elite. During this tumultuous time, Wallachia was under Russian protection, with General Pavel Kisseleff overseeing both Wallachia and Moldova. Tunsu, with a sense of audacity, penned a letter to Kisseleff, requesting mercy if he were ever captured. He expressed his respect for Kisseleff, highlighting that he could have easily shot him but chose not to, for the love of his country.

Kisseleff, intrigued yet determined, ordered Tunsu’s capture—but with instructions not to kill him. Tunsu often slipped back into Bucharest, hiding in carriages to evade capture, but ultimately, betrayal awaited him. His godson, a police captain, revealed Tunsu’s plans to the authorities, offering details about his arrival in a carriage pulled by two horses—one white, one dark. A trap was set at the end of Mogoșoaia Bridge, anticipating a robbery of another police captain.

When Tunsu and his men arrived, a fierce confrontation erupted near the Dâmbovița River. Some of Tunsu’s men fell, while others managed to escape. Injured and desperate, Tunsu and a few companions leaped into the river to evade capture. Tragically, Tunsu suffered a severe abdominal wound. Despite Kisseleff’s men rushing to aid him, he succumbed to his injuries after a few agonizing hours.

In a hauntingly beautiful twist, Tunsu’s body was displayed on Calea Mogoșoaiei, not as a spectacle of shame, but as a tribute. Mourners brought flowers, silver coins, and tears, honoring the man who had fought for the underprivileged. Those who betrayed him were rewarded handsomely.

Though he met a tragic end at just 32 years old, Tunsu became a symbol of heroism for many. His legacy endured, inspiring theatrical adaptations—most notably in 1858, when the renowned Matei Millo, the father of Romanian theatre, brought his story to life on stage.

I hope you enjoyed this journey through time and that you’ll join me again soon for another captivating adventure.