Monte-Cristo's Daughter
"Indeed! Permit me to inquire what relations the young man sustained
towards the daughter of the Count of Monte-Cristo."
"She is or rather was betrothed to him."
"My God! Another victim! Does the girl love him?"
"She does, with all her soul!"
"Did he betray her, did he lead her astray?"
"No; his conduct towards her was in all respects that of a man of the
strictest honor."
"Heaven be praised for that! Then no damage has been done! Let her
forget him!"
"I fear, I know, she cannot!"
"She is young, isn't she?"
"Very young."
"Then time will heal her wounds. She must forget him, for he is unworthy
of her love!"
"But do you feel no affection, no pity, for your son?"
"I tell you I have no son! How many times must I repeat it!"
The Count's look was harder than ever; all the pride and haughtiness of
the Massettis seemed concentrated in the expression of his venerable
countenance. Maximilian opened his lips to speak again, but the old
nobleman stopped him and said, sternly:
"We have had enough of this! Captain Morrel, let what has passed between
us on this wretched subject be forgotten. I shall be glad to receive you
at any hour as a friend, but, if you value my acquaintance, my
friendship, never mention that young man to me again! Farewell,
Monsieur!"
The Count touched a bell and a valet appeared. Maximilian bowed to his
host and, guided by the servant, quitted the palazzo. In the street he
stood for a moment like one utterly bewildered. It was plain that the
elder Massetti had fully made up his mind as to Giovanni's guilt, and if
the father deserted his son what hope was there that the cold, heartless
world would not follow his example? Maximilian was in despair. At the
very first step in his mission he had been unceremoniously and firmly
halted. What was he to do? Should he acknowledge himself finally
defeated because his initial attempt had failed so disastrously? No;
that would be miserable cowardice! He would persist, he would make
further investigations. He had undertaken this work for Zuleika, to
restore happiness to her heart and light to her eyes, and he would not
abandon the task, no matter how arduous it might be, until he had
cleared Giovanni or obtained tangible, incontrovertible proof of his
guilt!
Fortified by this resolution M. Morrel returned to the Hotel de France.
Valentine met him with a look of anxious inquiry. He endeavoured to seem
cheerful, to make the best of the situation, but the effort was a
pitiful failure. He sank into a chair and said to his wife in a dejected
tone:
"I have seen the Count Massetti. He believes his son guilty and has
disowned him!"
Valentine seated herself beside her husband and tenderly took his hand.
"Maximilian," she said, "it is a bad beginning, I confess, but you know
the proverb and, I trust, the good ending will yet come!"
"It will not be our fault if it does not," replied her husband,
heroically. "At all events, we will do our best."
"And we shall succeed! I feel confident of that!"
"Thank you for those words, Valentine! You are a perfect enchantress and
have brought my dead hope to life!"
That evening the Morrels' decided to visit the Colosseum. They desired
to see the gigantic remains of that vast fabric of the Cassars by
moonlight, to inspect amid the silvery rays the crumbling courts and
galleries that ages agone had echoed with the proud tread of the elite
of barbaric old Rome! Conducted by a guide belonging to the Hotel de
France, they set out and were soon standing among the ruins of the great
amphitheatre. There they were seized upon by a special cicerone, who
seemed to consider the huge wreck of Flavius Vespasian's monument as his
particular property and who could not be shaken off. He joined forces
with the hotel guide and the twain, jabbering away industriously in an
almost unintelligible jargon, led the helpless visitors from one point
of interest to another, showing them in turn broken columns, the seats
of the Vestals, dilapidated stone staircases, the "Fosse des Lions" and
the "Podium des Cesars." Maximilian and Valentine were filled with
unspeakable awe and admiration as they contemplated the remnants of
ancient grandeur, and mentally peopled the wondrous Colosseum with
contending gladiators, stately Patricians and the applauding herd of
sanguinary Plebeians, Mme. Morrel shuddering as she thought of the
thousands of high-bred dames and beautiful maidens who in the old days
had pitilessly turned down their thumbs as a signal for the taking of
human life! Although the moon was brilliant and flooded the antique
amphitheatre with argentine light, the guides carried torches, which
served to spread a flickering and wan illumination through the dark
recesses of the cavernous vomitariums, now the refuge of bats, owls,
goats and serpents.
As they were passing through a long and unusually sombre gallery, the
guides suddenly paused with a simultaneous cry and began making the sign
of the cross. Maximilian and Valentine halted in affright, the former
hurriedly drawing a small pistol to defend his wife and himself against
the unknown and mysterious danger. They glanced about them but could see
nothing, the torches revealing only huge stones and dust-covered vaults.
M. Morrel demanded of the guides what was the cause of their terror, but
for some moments could glean no intelligence from their vague,
unintelligible replies. At last one of the cicerones managed to explain
that they had seen the maniac! This was comforting information to the
visitors! A maniac at large and ranging at night about amid the
Colosseum's ruins! Valentine, trembling with fear, clung to her husband
for protection.
"Is it a man or a woman?" asked Maximilian of one of the guides.
"A man, signor."
"Is he violent, dangerous?"
"No, signor, neither; but his appearance gives one a terrible shock, he
is so wild-looking, and, besides, he mutters fearful curses! Holy
Virgin, protect us!"
Maximilian felt his curiosity aroused; a strange desire took possession
of him to see and speak with this singular madman, who frequented the
gladiators' courts and muttered fearful curses to the broken columns of
the Colosseum.
"Where is the maniac now?" he demanded of the guides. "Do you see him?"
"Heaven forbid!" replied one of the men, glancing about him uneasily.
"But where is he? Can you take us to him?" persisted Maximilian.
The cicerones looked at each other in amazement; the young soldier's
questions startled them. Valentine was not less amazed and startled than
the guides; she stared at her husband, speechless at the strange
interest he displayed in this miserable outcast.
"Can you take us to him?" repeated Maximilian.
"Signor," said the guide belonging to the hotel, "you are jesting!"
"I am not jesting, I am in earnest," said M. Morrel. "Answer my
question."
"Of course, we can take you to him, signor," answered the guide; "but
you had best avoid him; the sight of the wretched Massetti will drive
your lady out of her wits!"
At the name Massetti both Maximilian and Valentine started; they glanced
at each other and at the man who had spoken, thinking that they had not
heard aright.
"Massetti!" cried M. Morrel, when his astonishment permitted him to find
words. "Did you say Massetti?"
"Yes, signor, I said Massetti. The maniac is old Count Massetti's
disowned and disinherited son!"
"What! The Viscount Giovanni?"
"The same, signor!"
"Oh! this is dreadful, dreadful, Maximilian!" whispered Valentine,
clinging still closer to her husband.
"It is, indeed, dreadful; doubly so because entirely unexpected," said
M. Morrel. "But I must see young Massetti--it was, no doubt, some
mysterious influence, some indescribable magnetic power, operating
between us, that made me wish to see this man, this maniac, as soon as
he was mentioned!--I must see him and at once!"
As the guides possessed but a very slight knowledge of the French
language, in which the dialogue between the husband and wife had been
carried on, they failed to grasp the full import of the brief
conversation; they, however, understood that their patrons were in some
inexplicable way interested in the maniac of the Colosseum and appalled
by the sudden discovery of his identity. The situation puzzled and
dissatisfied them.
After thinking for an instant, Maximilian said to his wife:
"I will instruct the guide from the hotel to conduct you back to our
apartments. It is best that I should meet poor Massetti alone; seeing
the wretched man in his present terrible condition would certainly shock
and unnerve you."
Valentine gazed pleadingly into her husband's face. All her fear had
left her. She was calm now and resolved. She had proposed the trip to
Rome, the project of aiding the Viscount, and she did not wish to recoil
from taking a single step that might be beneficial to Giovanni and
Zuleika. She said, bravely:
"Do not send me from you, Maximilian! I will be stout-hearted and
courageous! I am not afraid of this poor young man now, maniac though he
be! Perhaps I may be able to help you in dealing with him, for a woman's
wit and tenderness, they say, can sometimes subdue and pacify those
whose minds are disordered when all a man's efforts have failed."
Maximilian looked at her lovingly and admiringly.
"So be it, Valentine," he replied, much affected. "You shall remain with
me and we will face the trial together!"
His wife's eyes expressed her satisfaction at this display of
confidence; she simply grasped her husband's hand, but though she
uttered not a word the warm pressure she gave it spoke volumes.
M. Morrel turned to the cicerones, who were waiting in silent
bewilderment.
"Take us to this maniac without an instant's delay!" he said.
The guides exchanged glances, shook their heads as if in protest and
again began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian was compelled to
repeat his command somewhat sternly and imperatively before they made a
movement to obey it; then very reluctantly they motioned their patrons
to follow them and took the lead, muttering prayers to the Blessed
Virgin.
The little party quitted the sombre gallery and made their way into the
open air. After they had gone about twenty yards the guides came to an
abrupt halt and one of them pointed to the centre of the vast
gladiatorial arena.
"Look, signor!" he said to M. Morrel. "There stands the maniac of the
Colosseum!"
Maximilian and Valentine peered quickly and anxiously in the direction
indicated but saw nothing.
"There, signor!" repeated the cicerone, still pointing.
Then, all of a sudden, Maximilian and Valentine beheld the figure of a
man standing as motionless as a statue beside a vast fragment of stone.
The moonlight fell full upon a manly, noble form, revealing a handsome
countenance that might have belonged to one of the old Roman gods. The
man's dress was in picturesque disorder and on his bare head was a crown
of ivy leaves. In one hand he held a tall staff, while the other was
lifted menacingly.
"Hark!" said one of the guides, with a shudder. "He is cursing!"
M. and Mme. Morrel listened, horror-stricken, filled with a nameless
dread. A faint, but distinct murmur reached them, gradually swelling in
volume. It was a fierce, bitter malediction, full of intense, burning
hatred, seeming to embrace God, man and the entire universe in its
scope.
The guides fell upon their knees, uncovered their heads and prayed to
the Virgin in low tones.
Maximilian took Valentine by the hand.
"Come," said he, "let us go to him!"
Mme. Morrel trembled slightly, but answered, firmly:
"I am ready!"
Then, hand in hand, slowly, cautiously, not knowing what might happen,
they advanced towards the maniac of the Colosseum.
CHAPTER XVII.