The Count of Monte Cristo
the head as you would be if once they caught hold of you, he is simply
sentenced to be guillotined, by which means, too, the amusements of the
day are diversified, and there is a spectacle to please every
spectator.”
“Without reckoning the wholly unexpected one I am preparing to surprise
them with.”
“My good friend,” said the man in the cloak, “excuse me for saying that
you seem to me precisely in the mood to commit some wild or extravagant
act.”
“Perhaps I am; but one thing I have resolved on, and that is, to stop
at nothing to restore a poor devil to liberty, who has got into this
scrape solely from having served me. I should hate and despise myself
as a coward did I desert the brave fellow in his present extremity.”
“And what do you mean to do?”
“To surround the scaffold with twenty of my best men, who, at a signal
from me, will rush forward directly Peppino is brought for execution,
and, by the assistance of their stilettos, drive back the guard, and
carry off the prisoner.”
“That seems to me as hazardous as uncertain, and convinces me that my
scheme is far better than yours.”
“And what is your excellency’s project?”
“Just this. I will so advantageously bestow 2,000 piastres, that the
person receiving them shall obtain a respite till next year for
Peppino; and during that year, another skilfully placed 1,000 piastres
will afford him the means of escaping from his prison.”
“And do you feel sure of succeeding?”
“_Pardieu!_” exclaimed the man in the cloak, suddenly expressing
himself in French.
“What did your excellency say?” inquired the other.
“I said, my good fellow, that I would do more single-handed by the
means of gold than you and all your troop could effect with stilettos,
pistols, carbines, and blunderbusses included. Leave me, then, to act,
and have no fears for the result.”
“At least, there can be no harm in myself and party being in readiness,
in case your excellency should fail.”
“None whatever. Take what precautions you please, if it is any
satisfaction to you to do so; but rely upon my obtaining the reprieve I
seek.”
“Remember, the execution is fixed for the day after tomorrow, and that
you have but one day to work in.”
“And what of that? Is not a day divided into twenty-four hours, each
hour into sixty minutes, and every minute sub-divided into sixty
seconds? Now in 86,400 seconds very many things can be done.”
“And how shall I know whether your excellency has succeeded or not.”
“Oh, that is very easily arranged. I have engaged the three lower
windows at the Café Rospoli; should I have obtained the requisite
pardon for Peppino, the two outside windows will be hung with yellow
damasks, and the centre with white, having a large cross in red marked
on it.”
“And whom will you employ to carry the reprieve to the officer
directing the execution?”
“Send one of your men, disguised as a penitent friar, and I will give
it to him. His dress will procure him the means of approaching the
scaffold itself, and he will deliver the official order to the officer,
who, in his turn, will hand it to the executioner; in the meantime, it
will be as well to acquaint Peppino with what we have determined on, if
it be only to prevent his dying of fear or losing his senses, because
in either case a very useless expense will have been incurred.”
“Your excellency,” said the man, “you are fully persuaded of my entire
devotion to you, are you not?”
“Nay, I flatter myself that there can be no doubt of it,” replied the
cavalier in the cloak.
“Well, then, only fulfil your promise of rescuing Peppino, and
henceforward you shall receive not only devotion, but the most absolute
obedience from myself and those under me that one human being can
render to another.”
“Have a care how far you pledge yourself, my good friend, for I may
remind you of your promise at some, perhaps, not very distant period,
when I, in my turn, may require your aid and influence.”
“Let that day come sooner or later, your excellency will find me what I
have found you in this my heavy trouble; and if from the other end of
the world you but write me word to do such or such a thing, you may
regard it as done, for done it shall be, on the word and faith of——”
“Hush!” interrupted the stranger; “I hear a noise.”
“’Tis some travellers, who are visiting the Colosseum by torchlight.”
“’Twere better we should not be seen together; those guides are nothing
but spies, and might possibly recognize you; and, however I may be
honored by your friendship, my worthy friend, if once the extent of our
intimacy were known, I am sadly afraid both my reputation and credit
would suffer thereby.”
“Well, then, if you obtain the reprieve?”
“The middle window at the Café Rospoli will be hung with white damask,
bearing a red cross.”
“And if you fail?”
“Then all three windows will have yellow draperies.”
“And then?”
“And then, my good fellow, use your daggers in any way you please, and
I further promise you to be there as a spectator of your prowess.”
“We understand each other perfectly, then. Adieu, your excellency;
depend upon me as firmly as I do upon you.”
Saying these words, the Transteverin disappeared down the staircase,
while his companion, muffling his features more closely than before in
the folds of his mantle, passed almost close to Franz, and descended to
the arena by an outward flight of steps. The next minute Franz heard
himself called by Albert, who made the lofty building re-echo with the
sound of his friend’s name. Franz, however, did not obey the summons
till he had satisfied himself that the two men whose conversation he
had overheard were at a sufficient distance to prevent his encountering
them in his descent. In ten minutes after the strangers had departed,
Franz was on the road to the Piazza di Spagna, listening with studied
indifference to the learned dissertation delivered by Albert, after the
manner of Pliny and Calpurnius, touching the iron-pointed nets used to
prevent the ferocious beasts from springing on the spectators.
Franz let him proceed without interruption, and, in fact, did not hear
what was said; he longed to be alone, and free to ponder over all that
had occurred. One of the two men, whose mysterious meeting in the
Colosseum he had so unintentionally witnessed, was an entire stranger
to him, but not so the other; and though Franz had been unable to
distinguish his features, from his being either wrapped in his mantle
or obscured by the shadow, the tones of his voice had made too powerful
an impression on him the first time he had heard them for him ever
again to forget them, hear them when or where he might. It was more
especially when this man was speaking in a manner half jesting, half
bitter, that Franz’s ear recalled most vividly the deep sonorous, yet
well-pitched voice that had addressed him in the grotto of Monte
Cristo, and which he heard for the second time amid the darkness and
ruined grandeur of the Colosseum. And the more he thought, the more
entire was his conviction, that the person who wore the mantle was no
other than his former host and entertainer, “Sinbad the Sailor.”
20139m
Under any other circumstances, Franz would have found it impossible to
resist his extreme curiosity to know more of so singular a personage,
and with that intent have sought to renew their short acquaintance; but
in the present instance, the confidential nature of the conversation he
had overheard made him, with propriety, judge that his appearance at
such a time would be anything but agreeable. As we have seen,
therefore, he permitted his former host to retire without attempting a
recognition, but fully promising himself a rich indemnity for his
present forbearance should chance afford him another opportunity.
In vain did Franz endeavor to forget the many perplexing thoughts which
assailed him; in vain did he court the refreshment of sleep. Slumber
refused to visit his eyelids and the night was passed in feverish
contemplation of the chain of circumstances tending to prove the
identity of the mysterious visitant to the Colosseum with the
inhabitant of the grotto of Monte Cristo; and the more he thought, the
firmer grew his opinion on the subject.
Worn out at length, he fell asleep at daybreak, and did not awake till
late. Like a genuine Frenchman, Albert had employed his time in
arranging for the evening’s diversion; he had sent to engage a box at
the Teatro Argentina; and Franz, having a number of letters to write,
relinquished the carriage to Albert for the whole of the day.
At five o’clock Albert returned, delighted with his day’s work; he had
been occupied in leaving his letters of introduction, and had received
in return more invitations to balls and routs than it would be possible
for him to accept; besides this, he had seen (as he called it) all the
remarkable sights at Rome. Yes, in a single day he had accomplished
what his more serious-minded companion would have taken weeks to
effect. Neither had he neglected to ascertain the name of the piece to
be played that night at the Teatro Argentina, and also what performers
appeared in it. The opera of _Parisina_ was announced for
representation, and the principal actors were Coselli, Moriani, and La
Specchia.
The young men, therefore, had reason to consider themselves fortunate
in having the opportunity of hearing one of the best works by the
composer of _Lucia di Lammermoor_, supported by three of the most
renowned vocalists of Italy.
Albert had never been able to endure the Italian theatres, with their
orchestras from which it is impossible to see, and the absence of
balconies, or open boxes; all these defects pressed hard on a man who
had had his stall at the Bouffes, and had shared a lower box at the
Opera. Still, in spite of this, Albert displayed his most dazzling and
effective costumes each time he visited the theatres; but, alas, his
elegant toilet was wholly thrown away, and one of the most worthy
representatives of Parisian fashion had to carry with him the
mortifying reflection that he had nearly overrun Italy without meeting
with a single adventure.
Sometimes Albert would affect to make a joke of his want of success;
but internally he was deeply wounded, and his self-love immensely
piqued, to think that Albert de Morcerf, the most admired and most
sought after of any young person of his day, should thus be passed
over, and merely have his labor for his pains. And the thing was so
much the more annoying, as, according to the characteristic modesty of
a Frenchman, Albert had quitted Paris with the full conviction that he
had only to show himself in Italy to carry all before him, and that
upon his return he should astonish the Parisian world with the recital
of his numerous love-affairs.
Alas, poor Albert! None of those interesting adventures fell in his
way; the lovely Genoese, Florentines, and Neapolitans were all
faithful, if not to their husbands, at least to their lovers, and
thought not of changing even for the splendid appearance of Albert de
Morcerf; and all he gained was the painful conviction that the ladies
of Italy have this advantage over those of France, that they are
faithful even in their infidelity.
Yet he could not restrain a hope that in Italy, as elsewhere, there
might be an exception to the general rule.
Albert, besides being an elegant, well-looking young man, was also
possessed of considerable talent and ability; moreover, he was a
viscount—a recently created one, certainly, but in the present day it
is not necessary to go as far back as Noah in tracing a descent, and a
genealogical tree is equally estimated, whether dated from 1399 or
merely 1815; but to crown all these advantages, Albert de Morcerf