pursue him, and he has suddenly taken refuge in the islands, at
Giglio, Guanouti, or Monte Cristo; and when they hunt for him
there, he reappears suddenly at Albano, Tivoli, or La Riccia."
"And how does he behave towards travellers?"
"Alas! his plan is very simple. It depends on the distance he
may be from the city, whether he gives eight hours, twelve hours,
or a day wherein to pay their ransom; and when that time has
elapsed he allows another hour's grace. At the sixtieth minute of
this hour, if the money is not forthcoming, he blows out the
prisoner's brains with a pistol-shot, or plants his dagger in his
heart, and that settles the account."
"Well, Albert," inquired Franz of his companion, "are you still
disposed to go to the Colosseum by the outer wall?"
"Quite so," said Albert, "if the way be picturesque." The clock
struck nine as the door opened, and a coachman appeared.
"Excellencies," said he, "the coach is ready."
"Well, then," said Franz, "let us to the Colosseum."
"By the Porta del Popolo or by the streets, your
excellencies?"
"By the streets, morbleu, by the streets!" cried Franz.
"Ah, my dear fellow," said Albert, rising, and lighting his
third cigar, "really, I thought you had more courage." So saying,
the two young men went down the staircase, and got into the
carriage.Franz had so managed his route, that during the ride to the
Colosseum they passed not a single ancient ruin, so that no
preliminary impression interfered to mitigate the colossal
proportions of the gigantic building they came to admire. The road
selected was a continuation of the Via Sistina; then by cutting off
the right angle of the street in which stands Santa Maria Maggiore
and proceeding by the Via Urbana and San Pietro in Vincoli, the
travellers would find themselves directly opposite the Colosseum.
This itinerary possessed another great advantage, — that of leaving
Franz at full liberty to indulge his deep reverie upon the subject
of Signor Pastrini's story, in which his mysterious host of Monte
Cristo was so strangely mixed up. Seated with folded arms in a
corner of the carriage, he continued to ponder over the singular
history he had so lately listened to, and to ask himself an
interminable number of questions touching its various circumstances
without, however, arriving at a satisfactory reply to any of them.
One fact more than the rest brought his friend "Sinbad the Sailor"
back to his recollection, and that was the mysterious sort of
intimacy that seemed to exist between the brigands and the sailors;
and Pastrini's account of Vampa's having found refuge on board the
vessels of smugglers and fishermen, reminded Franz of the two
Corsican bandits he had found supping so amicably with the crew of
the little yacht, which had even deviated from its course and
touched at Porto-Vecchio for the sole purpose of landing them. The
very name assumed by his host of Monte Cristo and again repeated by
the landlord of the Hotel de Londres, abundantly proved to him that
his island friend was playing his philanthropic part on the shores
of Piombino, Civita-Vecchio, Ostia, and Gaeta, as on those of
Corsica, Tuscany, and Spain; and further, Franz bethought him of
having heard his singular entertainer speak both of Tunis and
Palermo, proving thereby how largely his circle of acquaintances
extended.Palermo, proving thereby how largely his circle of acquaintances
extended.
But however the mind of the young man might be absorbed in these
reflections, they were at once dispersed at the sight of the dark
frowning ruins of the stupendous Colosseum, through the various
openings of which the pale moonlight played and flickered like the
unearthly gleam from the eyes of the wandering dead. The carriage
stopped near the Meta Sudans; the door was opened, and the young
men, eagerly alighting, found themselves opposite a cicerone, who
appeared to have sprung up from the ground, so unexpected was his
appearance.
The usual guide from the hotel having followed them, they had
paid two conductors, nor is it possible, at Rome, to avoid this
abundant supply of guides; besides the ordinary cicerone, who
seizes upon you directly you set foot in your hotel, and never
quits you while you remain in the city, there is also a special
cicerone belonging to each monument — nay, almost to each part of a
monument. It may, therefore, be easily imagined there is no
scarcity of guides at the Colosseum, that wonder of all ages, which
Martial thus eulogizes: "Let Memphis cease to boast the barbarous
miracles of her pyramids, and the wonders of Babylon be talked of
no more among us; all must bow to the superiority of the gigantic
labor of the Caesars, and the many voices of Fame spread far and
wide the surpassing merits of this incomparable monument."
As for Albert and Franz, they essayed not to escape from their
ciceronian tyrants; and, indeed, it would have been so much the
more difficult to break their bondage, as the guides alone are
permitted to visit these monuments with torches in their hands.
Thus, then, the young men made no attempt at resistance, but
blindly and confidingly surrendered themselves into the care and
custody of their conductors. Albert had already made seven or eight
similar excursions to the Colosseum, while his less favored
companion trod for the first time in his life the classic groundcompanion trod for the first time in his life the classic ground
forming the monument of Flavius Vespasian; and, to his credit be it
spoken, his mind, even amid the glib loquacity of the guides, was
duly and deeply touched with awe and enthusiastic admiration of all
he saw; and certainly no adequate notion of these stupendous ruins
can be formed save by such as have visited them, and more
especially by moonlight, at which time the vast proportions of the
building appear twice as large when viewed by the mysterious beams
of a southern moonlit sky, whose rays are sufficiently clear and
vivid to light the horizon with a glow equal to the soft twilight
of an eastern clime. Scarcely, therefore, had the reflective Franz
walked a hundred steps beneath the interior porticoes of the ruin,
than, abandoning Albert to the guides (who would by no means yield
their prescriptive right of carrying their victims through the
routine regularly laid down, and as regularly followed by them, but
dragged the unconscious visitor to the various objects with a
pertinacity that admitted of no appeal, beginning, as a matter of
course, with the Lions' Den, and finishing with Caesar's
"Podium,"), to escape a jargon and mechanical survey of the wonders
by which he was surrounded, Franz ascended a half-dilapidated
staircase, and, leaving them to follow their monotonous round,
seated himself at the foot of a column, and immediately opposite a
large aperture, which permitted him to enjoy a full and undisturbed
view of the gigantic dimensions of the majestic ruin.
Franz had remained for nearly a quarter of an hour perfectly
hidden by the shadow of the vast column at whose base he had found
a resting-place, and from whence his eyes followed the motions of
Albert and his guides, who, holding torches in their hands, had
emerged from a vomitarium at the opposite extremity of the
Colosseum, and then again disappeared down the steps conducting to
the seats reserved for the Vestal virgins, resembling, as they


the seats reserved for the Vestal virgins, resembling, as they
glided along, some restless shades following the flickering glare
of so many ignes-fatui. All at once his ear caught a sound
resembling that of a stone rolling down the staircase opposite the
one by which he had himself ascended. There was nothing remarkable
in the circumstance of a fragment of granite giving way and falling
heavily below; but it seemed to him that the substance that fell
gave way beneath the pressure of a foot, and also that some one,
who endeavored as much as possible to prevent his footsteps from
being heard, was approaching the spot where he sat. Conjecture soon
became certainty, for the figure of a man was distinctly visible to
Franz, gradually emerging from the staircase opposite, upon which
the moon was at that moment pouring a full tide of silvery
brightness.
The stranger thus presenting himself was probably a person who,
like Franz, preferred the enjoyment of solitude and his own
thoughts to the frivolous gabble of the guides. And his appearance
had nothing extraordinary in it; but the hesitation with which he
proceeded, stopping and listening with anxious attention at every
step he took, convinced Franz that he expected the arrival of some
person. By a sort of instinctive impulse, Franz withdrew as much as
possible behind his pillar. About ten feet from the spot where he
and the stranger were, the roof had given way, leaving a large
round opening, through which might be seen the blue vault of
heaven, thickly studded with stars. Around this opening, which had,
possibly, for ages permitted a free entrance to the brilliant
moonbeams that now illumined the vast pile, grew a quantity of
creeping plants, whose delicate green branches stood out in bold
relief against the clear azure of the firmament, while large masses
of thick, strong fibrous shoots forced their way through the chasm,
and hung floating to and fro, like so many waving strings. The
person whose mysterious arrival had attracted the attention ofperson whose mysterious arrival had attracted the attention of
Franz stood in a kind of half-light, that rendered it impossible to
distinguish his features, although his dress was easily made out.
He wore a large brown mantle, one fold of which, thrown over his
left shoulder, served likewise to mask the lower part of his
countenance, while the upper part was completely hidden by his
broad-brimmed hat. The lower part of his dress was more distinctly
visible by the bright rays of the moon, which, entering through the
broken ceiling, shed their refulgent beams on feet cased in
elegantly made boots of polished leather, over which descended
fashionably cut trousers of black cloth.
From the imperfect means Franz had of judging, he could only
come to one conclusion, — that the person whom he was thus watching
certainly belonged to no inferior station of life. Some few minutes
had elapsed, and the stranger began to show manifest signs of
impatience, when a slight noise was heard outside the aperture in
the roof, and almost immediately a dark shadow seemed to obstruct
the flood of light that had entered it, and the figure of a man was
clearly seen gazing with eager scrutiny on the immense space
beneath him; then, as his eye caught sight of him in the mantle, he
grasped a floating mass of thickly matted boughs, and glided down
by their help to within three or four feet of the ground, and then
leaped lightly on his feet. The man who had performed this daring
act with so much indifference wore the Transtevere costume. "I beg
your excellency's pardon for keeping you waiting," said the man, in
the Roman dialect, "but I don't think I'm many minutes after my
time, ten o'clock his just struck on the Lateran."
"Say not a word about being late," replied the stranger in
purest Tuscan; "'tis I who am too soon. But even if you had caused
me to wait a little while, I should have felt quite sure that the
delay was not occasioned by any fault of yours."
"Your excellency is perfectly right in so thinking," said the"Your excellency is perfectly right in so thinking," said the
man; "I came here direct from the Castle of St. Angelo, and I had
an immense deal of trouble before I could get a chance to speak to
Beppo."
"And who is Beppo?"
"Oh, Beppo is employed in the prison, and I give him so much a
year to let me know what is going on within his holiness's
castle."
"Indeed! You are a provident person, I see."
"Why, you see, no one knows what may happen. Perhaps some of
these days I may be entrapped, like poor Peppino and may be very
glad to have some little nibbling mouse to gnaw the meshes of my
net, and so help me out of prison."
"Briefly, what did you glean?"
"That two executions of considerable interest will take place
the day after to-morrow at two o'clock, as is customary at Rome at
the commencement of all great festivals. One of the culprits will
be mazzolato;* he is an atrocious villain, who murdered the priest
who brought him up, and deserves not the smallest pity. The other
sufferer is sentenced to be decapitato;** and he, your excellency,
is poor Peppino."
(* Knocked on the head. ** Beheaded.)
"The fact is, that you have inspired not only the pontifical
government, but also the neighboring states, with such extreme
fear, that they are glad of all opportunity of making an
example."
"But Peppino did not even belong to my band: he was merely a
poor shepherd, whose only crime consisted in furnishing us with
provisions."
"Which makes him your accomplice to all intents and purposes.
But mark the distinction with which he is treated; instead of being
knocked on 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."


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."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 Cafe 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.""'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 Cafe 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 de Spagni, 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


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."
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 atthought, 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 Argentino; 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 Argentino, 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 ofadventure.
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 commanded an
income of 50,000 livres, a more than sufficient sum to render him a
personage of considerable importance in Paris. It was therefore no
small mortification to him to have visited most of the principal
cities in Italy without having excited the most trifling
observation. Albert, however, hoped to indemnify himself for all
these slights and indifferences during the Carnival, knowing fullthese slights and indifferences during the Carnival, knowing full
well that among the different states and kingdoms in which this
festivity is celebrated, Rome is the spot where even the wisest and
gravest throw off the usual rigidity of their lives, and deign to
mingle in the follies of this time of liberty and relaxation.
The Carnival was to commence on the morrow; therefore Albert had
not an instant to lose in setting forth the programme of his hopes,
expectations, and claims to notice. With this design he had engaged
a box in the most conspicuous part of the theatre, and exerted
himself to set off his personal attractions by the aid of the most
rich and elaborate toilet. The box taken by Albert was in the first
circle; although each of the three tiers of boxes is deemed equally
aristocratic, and is, for this reason, generally styled the
"nobility's boxes," and although the box engaged for the two
friends was sufficiently capacious to contain at least a dozen
persons, it had cost less than would be paid at some of the French
theatres for one admitting merely four occupants. Another motive
had influenced Albert's selection of his seat, — who knew but that,
thus advantageously placed, he might not in truth attract the
notice of some fair Roman, and an introduction might ensue that
would procure him the offer of a seat in a carriage, or a place in
a princely balcony, from which he might behold the gayeties of the
Carnival? These united considerations made Albert more lively and
anxious to please than he had hitherto been. Totally disregarding
the business of the stage, he leaned from his box and began
attentively scrutinizing the beauty of each pretty woman, aided by
a powerful opera-glass; but, alas, this attempt to attract notice
wholly failed; not even curiosity had been excited, and it was but
too apparent that the lovely creatures, into whose good graces he
was desirous of stealing, were all so much engrossed with
themselves, their lovers, or their own thoughts, that they had not


themselves, their lovers, or their own thoughts, that they had not
so much as noticed him or the manipulation of his glass.
The truth was, that the anticipated pleasures of the Carnival,
with the "holy week" that was to succeed it, so filled every fair
breast, as to prevent the least attention being bestowed even on
the business of the stage. The actors made their entries and exits
unobserved or unthought of; at certain conventional moments, the
spectators would suddenly cease their conversation, or rouse
themselves from their musings, to listen to some brilliant effort
of Moriani's, a well-executed recitative by Coselli, or to join in
loud applause at the wonderful powers of La Specchia; but that
momentary excitement over, they quickly relapsed into their former
state of preoccupation or interesting conversation. Towards the
close of the first act, the door of a box which had been hitherto
vacant was opened; a lady entered to whom Franz had been introduced
in Paris, where indeed, he had imagined she still was. The quick
eye of Albert caught the involuntary start with which his friend
beheld the new arrival, and, turning to him, he said hastily, "Do
you know the woman who has just entered that box?"
"Yes; what do you think of her?"
"Oh, she is perfectly lovely — what a complexion! And such
magnificent hair! Is she French?"
"No; a Venetian."
"And her name is — "
"Countess G—— ."
"Ah, I know her by name!" exclaimed Albert; "she is said to
possess as much wit and cleverness as beauty. I was to have been
presented to her when I met her at Madame Villefort's ball."
"Shall I assist you in repairing your negligence?" asked
Franz.
"My dear fellow, are you really on such good terms with her as
to venture to take me to her box?"
"Why, I have only had the honor of being in her society and
conversing with her three or four times in my life; but you know
that even such an acquaintance as that might warrant my doing what
you ask." At that instant, the countess perceived Franz, andyou ask." At that instant, the countess perceived Franz, and
graciously waved her hand to him, to which he replied by a
respectful inclination of the head. "Upon my word," said Albert,
"you seem to be on excellent terms with the beautiful
countess."
"You are mistaken in thinking so," returned Franz calmly; "but
you merely fall into the same error which leads so many of our
countrymen to commit the most egregious blunders, — I mean that of
judging the habits and customs of Italy and Spain by our Parisian
notions; believe me, nothing is more fallacious than to form any
estimate of the degree of intimacy you may suppose existing among
persons by the familiar terms they seem upon; there is a similarity
of feeling at this instant between ourselves and the countess —
nothing more."
"Is there, indeed, my good fellow? Pray tell me, is it sympathy
of heart?"
"No; of taste," continued Franz gravely.
"And in what manner has this congeniality of mind been
evinced?"
"By the countess's visiting the Colosseum, as we did last night,
by moonlight, and nearly alone."
"You were with her, then?"
"I was."
"And what did you say to her?"
"Oh, we talked of the illustrious dead of whom that magnificent
ruin is a glorious monument!"
"Upon my word," cried Albert, "you must have been a very
entertaining companion alone, or all but alone, with a beautiful
woman in such a place of sentiment as the Colosseum, and yet to
find nothing better a talk about than the dead! All I can say is,
if ever I should get such a chance, the living should be my
theme."
"And you will probably find your theme ill-chosen."
"But," said Albert, breaking in upon his discourse, "never mind
the past; let us only remember the present. Are you not going to
keep your promise of introducing me to the fair subject of our
remarks?"
"Certainly, directly the curtain falls on the stage."
"What a confounded time this first act takes. I believe, on my
soul, that they never mean to finish it."
"Oh, yes, they will; only listen to that charming finale. How"Oh, yes, they will; only listen to that charming finale. How
exquisitely Coselli sings his part."
"But what an awkward, inelegant fellow he is."
"Well, then, what do you say to La Specchia? Did you ever see
anything more perfect than her acting?"
"Why, you know, my dear fellow, when one has been accustomed to
Malibran and Sontag, such singers as these don't make the same
impression on you they perhaps do on others."
"At least, you must admire Moriani's style and execution."
"I never fancied men of his dark, ponderous appearance singing
with a voice like a woman's."
"My good friend," said Franz, turning to him, while Albert
continued to point his glass at every box in the theatre, "you seem
determined not to approve; you are really too difficult to please."
The curtain at length fell on the performances, to the infinite
satisfaction of the Viscount of Morcerf, who seized his hat,
rapidly passed his fingers through his hair, arranged his cravat
and wristbands, and signified to Franz that he was waiting for him
to lead the way. Franz, who had mutely interrogated the countess,
and received from her a gracious smile in token that he would be
welcome, sought not to retard the gratification of Albert's eager
impatience, but began at once the tour of the house, closely
followed by Albert, who availed himself of the few minutes required
to reach the opposite side of the theatre to settle the height and
smoothness of his collar, and to arrange the lappets of his coat.
This important task was just completed as they arrived at the
countess's box. At the knock, the door was immediately opened, and
the young man who was seated beside the countess, in obedience to
the Italian custom, instantly rose and surrendered his place to the
strangers, who, in turn, would be expected to retire upon the
arrival of other visitors.
Franz presented Albert as one of the most distinguished young
men of the day, both as regarded his position in society and
extraordinary talents; nor did he say more than the truth, for in


extraordinary talents; nor did he say more than the truth, for in
Paris and the circle in which the viscount moved, he was looked
upon and cited as a model of perfection. Franz added that his
companion, deeply grieved at having been prevented the honor of
being presented to the countess during her sojourn in Paris, was
most anxious to make up for it, and had requested him (Franz) to
remedy the past misfortune by conducting him to her box, and
concluded by asking pardon for his presumption in having taken it
upon himself to do so. The countess, in reply, bowed gracefully to
Albert, and extended her hand with cordial kindness to Franz; then,
inviting Albert to take the vacant seat beside her, she recommended
Franz to take the next best, if he wished to view the ballet, and
pointed to the one behind her own chair. Albert was soon deeply
engrossed in discoursing upon Paris and Parisian matters, speaking
to the countess of the various persons they both knew there. Franz
perceived how completely he was in his element; and, unwilling to
interfere with the pleasure he so evidently felt, took up Albert's
glass, and began in his turn to survey the audience. Sitting alone,
in the front of a box immediately opposite, but situated on the
third row, was a woman of exquisite beauty, dressed in a Greek
costume, which evidently, from the ease and grace with which she
wore it, was her national attire. Behind her, but in deep shadow,
was the outline of a masculine figure; but the features of this
latter personage it was not possible to distinguish. Franz could
not forbear breaking in upon the apparently interesting
conversation passing between the countess and Albert, to inquire of
the former if she knew who was the fair Albanian opposite, since
beauty such as hers was well worthy of being observed by either
sex. "All I can tell about her," replied the countess, "is, that
she has been at Rome since the beginning of the season; for I saw
her where she now sits the very first night of the season, andher where she now sits the very first night of the season, and
since then she has never missed a performance. Sometimes she is
accompanied by the person who is now with her, and at others she is
merely attended by a black servant."
"And what do you think of her personal appearance?"
"Oh, I consider her perfectly lovely — she is just my idea of
what Medora must have been."
Franz and the countess exchanged a smile, and then the latter
resumed her conversation with Albert, while Franz returned to his
previous survey of the house and company. The curtain rose on the
ballet, which was one of those excellent specimens of the Italian
school, admirably arranged and put on the stage by Henri, who has
established for himself a great reputation throughout Italy for his
taste and skill in the choreographic art — one of those masterly
productions of grace, method, and elegance in which the whole corps
de ballet, from the principal dancers to the humblest
supernumerary, are all engaged on the stage at the same time; and a
hundred and fifty persons may be seen exhibiting the same attitude,
or elevating the same arm or leg with a simultaneous movement, that
would lead you to suppose that but one mind, one act of volition,
influenced the moving mass — the ballet was called "Poliska."
However much the ballet might have claimed his attention, Franz was
too deeply occupied with the beautiful Greek to take any note of
it; while she seemed to experience an almost childlike delight in
watching it, her eager, animated looks contrasting strongly with
the utter indifference of her companion, who, during the whole time
the piece lasted, never even moved, not even when the furious,
crashing din produced by the trumpets, cymbals, and Chinese bells
sounded their loudest from the orchestra. Of this he took no heed,
but was, as far as appearances might be trusted, enjoying soft
repose and bright celestial dreams. The ballet at length came to a
close, and the curtain fell amid the loud, unanimous plaudits of anclose, and the curtain fell amid the loud, unanimous plaudits of an
enthusiastic and delighted audience.
Owing to the very judicious plan of dividing the two acts of the
opera with a ballet, the pauses between the performances are very
short, the singers in the opera having time to repose themselves
and change their costume, when necessary, while the dancers are
executing their pirouettes and exhibiting their graceful steps. The
overture to the second act began; and, at the first sound of the
leader's bow across his violin, Franz observed the sleeper slowly
arise and approach the Greek girl, who turned around to say a few
words to him, and then, leaning forward again on the railing of her
box, she became as absorbed as before in what was going on. The
countenance of the person who had addressed her remained so
completely in the shade, that, though Franz tried his utmost, he
could not distinguish a single feature. The curtain rose, and the
attention of Franz was attracted by the actors; and his eyes turned
from the box containing the Greek girl and her strange companion to
watch the business of the stage.
Most of my readers are aware that the second act of "Parisina"
opens with the celebrated and effective duet in which Parisina,
while sleeping, betrays to Azzo the secret of her love for Ugo. The
injured husband goes through all the emotions of jealousy, until
conviction seizes on his mind, and then, in a frenzy of rage and
indignation, he awakens his guilty wife to tell her that he knows
her guilt and to threaten her with his vengeance. This duet is one
of the most beautiful, expressive and terrible conceptions that has
ever emanated from the fruitful pen of Donizetti. Franz now
listened to it for the third time; yet its notes, so tenderly
expressive and fearfully grand as the wretched husband and wife
give vent to their different griefs and passions, thrilled through
the soul of Franz with an effect equal to his first emotions upon
hearing it. Excited beyond his usual calm demeanor, Franz rose with


hearing it. Excited beyond his usual calm demeanor, Franz rose with
the audience, and was about to join the loud, enthusiastic applause
that followed; but suddenly his purpose was arrested, his hands
fell by his sides, and the half-uttered "bravos" expired on his
lips. The occupant of the box in which the Greek girl sat appeared
to share the universal admiration that prevailed; for he left his
seat to stand up in front, so that, his countenance being fully
revealed, Franz had no difficulty in recognizing him as the
mysterious inhabitant of Monte Cristo, and the very same person he
had encountered the preceding evening in the ruins of the
Colosseum, and whose voice and figure had seemed so familiar to
him. All doubt of his identity was now at an end; his singular host
evidently resided at Rome. The surprise and agitation occasioned by
this full confirmation of Franz's former suspicion had no doubt
imparted a corresponding expression to his features; for the
countess, after gazing with a puzzled look at his face, burst into
a fit of laughter, and begged to know what had happened.
"Countess," returned Franz, totally unheeding her raillery, "I
asked you a short time since if you knew any particulars respecting
the Albanian lady opposite; I must now beseech you to inform me who
and what is her husband?"
"Nay," answered the countess, "I know no more of him than
yourself."
"Perhaps you never before noticed him?"
"What a question — so truly French! Do you not know that we
Italians have eyes only for the man we love?"
"True," replied Franz.
"All I can say is," continued the countess, taking up the
lorgnette, and directing it toward the box in question, "that the
gentleman, whose history I am unable to furnish, seems to me as
though he had just been dug up; he looks more like a corpse
permitted by some friendly grave-digger to quit his tomb for a
while, and revisit this earth of ours, than anything human. How
ghastly pale he is!"
"Oh, he is always as colorless as you now see him," said
Franz.ghastly pale he is!"
"Oh, he is always as colorless as you now see him," said
Franz.
"Then you know him?" almost screamed the countess. "Oh, pray do,
for heaven's sake, tell us all about — is he a vampire, or a
resuscitated corpse, or what?"
"I fancy I have seen him before; and I even think he recognizes
me."
"And I can well understand," said the countess, shrugging up her
beautiful shoulders, as though an involuntary shudder passed
through her veins, "that those who have once seen that man will
never be likely to forget him." The sensation experienced by Franz
was evidently not peculiar to himself; another, and wholly
uninterested person, felt the same unaccountable awe and misgiving.
"Well." inquired Franz, after the countess had a second time
directed her lorgnette at the box, "what do you think of our
opposite neighbor?"
"Why, that he is no other than Lord Ruthven himself in a living
form." This fresh allusion to Byron* drew a smile to Franz's
countenance; although he could but allow that if anything was
likely to induce belief in the existence of vampires, it would be
the presence of such a man as the mysterious personage before
him.
"I must positively find out who and what he is," said Franz,
rising from his seat.
"No, no," cried the countess; "you must not leave me. I depend
upon you to escort me home. Oh, indeed, I cannot permit you to
go."
(* Scott, of course: "The son of an ill-fated sire, and the
father of a yet more unfortunate family, bore in his looks that
cast of inauspicious melancholy by which the physiognomists of that
time pretended to distinguish those who were predestined to a
violent and unhappy death." — The Abbot, ch. xxii.)
"Is it possible," whispered Franz, "that you entertain any
fear?"
"I'll tell you," answered the countess. "Byron had the most
perfect belief in the existence of vampires, and even assured me
that he had seen them. The description he gave me perfectly
corresponds with the features and character of the man before us.corresponds with the features and character of the man before us.
Oh, he is the exact personification of what I have been led to
expect! The coal-black hair, large bright, glittering eyes, in
which a wild, unearthly fire seems burning, — the same ghastly
paleness. Then observe, too, that the woman with him is altogether
unlike all others of her sex. She is a foreigner — a stranger.
Nobody knows who she is, or where she comes from. No doubt she
belongs to the same horrible race he does, and is, like himself, a
dealer in magical arts. I entreat of you not to go near him — at
least to-night; and if to-morrow your curiosity still continues as
great, pursue your researches if you will; but to-night you neither
can nor shall. For that purpose I mean to keep you all to myself."
Franz protested he could not defer his pursuit till the following
day, for many reasons. "Listen to me," said the countess, "and do
not be so very headstrong. I am going home. I have a party at my
house to-night, and therefore cannot possibly remain till the end
of the opera. Now, I cannot for one instant believe you so devoid
of gallantry as to refuse a lady your escort when she even
condescends to ask you for it."
There was nothing else left for Franz to do but to take up his
hat, open the door of the box, and offer the countess his arm. It
was quite evident, by her manner, that her uneasiness was not
feigned; and Franz himself could not resist a feeling of
superstitious dread — so much the stronger in him, as it arose from
a variety of corroborative recollections, while the terror of the
countess sprang from an instinctive belief, originally created in
her mind by the wild tales she had listened to till she believed
them truths. Franz could even feel her arm tremble as he assisted
her into the carriage. Upon arriving at her hotel, Franz perceived
that she had deceived him when she spoke of expecting company; on
the contrary, her own return before the appointed hour seemed
greatly to astonish the servants. "Excuse my little subterfuge,"


greatly to astonish the servants. "Excuse my little subterfuge,"
said the countess, in reply to her companion's half-reproachful
observation on the subject; "but that horrid man had made me feel
quite uncomfortable, and I longed to be alone, that I might compose
my startled mind." Franz essayed to smile. "Nay," said she, "do not
smile; it ill accords with the expression of your countenance, and
I am sure it does not spring from your heart. However, promise me
one thing."
"What is it?"
"Promise me, I say."
"I will do anything you desire, except relinquish my
determination of finding out who this man is. I have more reasons
than you can imagine for desiring to know who he is, from whence he
came, and whither he is going."
"Where he comes from I am ignorant; but I can readily tell you
where he is going to, and that is down below, without the least
doubt."
"Let us only speak of the promise you wished me to make," said
Franz.
"Well, then, you must give me your word to return immediately to
your hotel, and make no attempt to follow this man to-night. There
are certain affinities between the persons we quit and those we
meet afterwards. For heaven's sake, do not serve as a conductor
between that man and me. Pursue your chase after him to-morrow as
eagerly as you please; but never bring him near me, if you would
not see me die of terror. And now, good-night; go to your rooms,
and try to sleep away all recollections of this evening. For my own
part, I am quite sure I shall not be able to close my eyes." So
saying, the countess quitted Franz, leaving him unable to decide
whether she were merely amusing herself at his expense, or whether
her fears and agitations were genuine.
Upon his return to the hotel, Franz found Albert in his
dressing-gown and slippers, listlessly extended on a sofa, smoking
a cigar. "My dear fellow." cried he, springing up, "is it really
you? Why, I did not expect to see you before to-morrow."
"My dear Albert," replied Franz, "I am glad of this opportunity"My dear Albert," replied Franz, "I am glad of this opportunity
to tell you, once and forever, that you entertain a most erroneous
notion concerning Italian women. I should have thought the
continual failures you have met with in all your own love affairs
might have taught you better by this time."
"Upon my soul, these women would puzzle the very Devil to read
them aright. Why, here — they give you their hand — they press
yours in return — they keep up a whispering conversation — permit
you to accompany them home. Why, if a Parisian were to indulge in a
quarter of these marks of flattering attention, her reputation
would be gone forever."
"And the very reason why the women of this fine country put so
little restraint on their words and actions, is because they live
so much in public, and have really nothing to conceal. Besides, you
must have perceived that the countess was really alarmed."
"At what? At the sight of that respectable gentleman sitting
opposite to us in the same box with the lovely Greek girl? Now, for
my part, I met them in the lobby after the conclusion of the piece;
and hang me, if I can guess where you took your notions of the
other world from. I can assure you that this hobgoblin of yours is
a deuced fine-looking fellow — admirably dressed. Indeed, I feel
quite sure, from the cut of his clothes, they are made by a
first-rate Paris tailor — probably Blin or Humann. He was rather
too pale, certainly; but then, you know, paleness is always looked
upon as a strong proof of aristocratic descent and distinguished
breeding." Franz smiled; for he well remembered that Albert
particularly prided himself on the entire absence of color in his
own complexion.
"Well, that tends to confirm my own ideas," said Franz, "that
the countess's suspicions were destitute alike of sense and reason.
Did he speak in your hearing? and did you catch any of his
words?"
"I did; but they were uttered in the Romaic dialect. I knew that
from the mixture of Greek words. I don't know whether I ever toldfrom the mixture of Greek words. I don't know whether I ever told
you that when I was at college I was rather — rather strong in
Greek."
"He spoke the Romaic language, did he?"
"I think so."
"That settles it," murmured Franz. "'Tis he, past all
doubt."
"What do you say?"
"Nothing, nothing. But tell me, what were you thinking about
when I came in?"
"Oh, I was arranging a little surprise for you."
"Indeed. Of what nature?"
"Why, you know it is quite impossible to procure a
carriage."
"Certainly; and I also know that we have done all that human
means afforded to endeavor to get one."
"Now, then, in this difficulty a bright idea has flashed across
my brain." Franz looked at Albert as though he had not much
confidence in the suggestions of his imagination. "I tell you what,
Sir Franz," cried Albert, "you deserve to be called out for such a
misgiving and incredulous glance as that you were pleased to bestow
on me just now."
"And I promise to give you the satisfaction of a gentleman if
your scheme turns out as ingenious as you assert."
"Well, then, hearken to me."
"I listen."
"You agree, do you not, that obtaining a carriage is out of the
question?"
"I do."
"Neither can we procure horses?"
"True; we have offered any sum, but have failed."
"Well, now, what do you say to a cart? I dare say such a thing
might be had."
"Very possibly."
"And a pair of oxen?"
"As easily found as the cart."
"Then you see, my good fellow, with a cart and a couple of oxen
our business can be managed. The cart must be tastefully
ornamented; and if you and I dress ourselves as Neapolitan reapers,
we may get up a striking tableau, after the manner of that splendid
picture by Leopold Robert. It would add greatly to the effect if
the countess would join us in the costume of a peasant from Puzzoli
or Sorrento. Our group would then be quite complete, more
especially as the countess is quite beautiful enough to represent a
madonna."
"Well," said Franz, "this time, Albert, I am bound to give you
credit for having hit upon a most capital idea."


credit for having hit upon a most capital idea."
"And quite a national one, too," replied Albert with gratified
pride. "A mere masque borrowed from our own festivities. Ha, ha, ye
Romans! you thought to make us, unhappy strangers, trot at the
heels of your processions, like so many lazzaroni, because no
carriages or horses are to be had in your beggarly city. But you
don't know us; when we can't have one thing we invent another."
"And have you communicated your triumphant idea to anybody?"
"Only to our host. Upon my return home I sent for him, and I
then explained to him what I wished to procure. He assured me that
nothing would be easier than to furnish all I desired. One thing I
was sorry for; when I bade him have the horns of the oxen gilded,
he told me there would not be time, as it would require three days
to do that; so you see we must do without this little
superfluity."
"And where is he now?"
"Who?"
"Our host."
"Gone out in search of our equipage, by to-morrow it might be
too late."
"Then he will be able to give us an answer to-night."
"Oh, I expect him every minute." At this instant the door
opened, and the head of Signor Pastrini appeared. "Permesso?"
inquired he.
"Certainly — certainly," cried Franz. "Come in, mine host."
"Now, then," asked Albert eagerly, "have you found the desired
cart and oxen?"
"Better than that!" replied Signor Pastrini, with the air of a
man perfectly well satisfied with himself.
"Take care, my worthy host," said Albert, "better is a sure
enemy to well."
"Let your excellencies only leave the matter to me," returned
Signor Pastrini in a tone indicative of unbounded
self-confidence.
"But what have you done?" asked Franz. "Speak out, there's a
worthy fellow."
"Your excellencies are aware," responded the landlord, swelling
with importance, "that the Count of Monte Cristo is living on the
same floor with yourselves!"
"I should think we did know it," exclaimed Albert, "since it is
owing to that circumstance that we are packed into these smallowing to that circumstance that we are packed into these small
rooms, like two poor students in the back streets of Paris."
"When, then, the Count of Monte Cristo, hearing of the dilemma
in which you are placed, has sent to offer you seats in his
carriage and two places at his windows in the Palazzo Rospoli." The
friends looked at each other with unutterable surprise.
"But do you think," asked Albert, "that we ought to accept such
offers from a perfect stranger?"
"What sort of person is this Count of Monte Cristo?" asked Franz
of his host. "A very great nobleman, but whether Maltese or
Sicilian I cannot exactly say; but this I know, that he is noble as
a Borghese and rich as a gold-mine."
"It seems to me," said Franz, speaking in an undertone to
Albert, "that if this person merited the high panegyrics of our
landlord, he would have conveyed his invitation through another
channel, and not permitted it to be brought to us in this
unceremonious way. He would have written — or" —
At this instant some one knocked at the door. "Come in," said
Franz. A servant, wearing a livery of considerable style and
richness, appeared at the threshold, and, placing two cards in the
landlord's hands, who forthwith presented them to the two young
men, he said, "Please to deliver these, from the Count of Monte
Cristo to Viscomte Albert de Morcerf and M. Franz d'Epinay. The
Count of Monte Cristo," continued the servant, "begs these
gentlemen's permission to wait upon them as their neighbor, and he
will be honored by an intimation of what time they will please to
receive him."
"Faith, Franz," whispered Albert, "there is not much to find
fault with here."
"Tell the count," replied Franz, "that we will do ourselves the
pleasure of calling on him." The servant bowed and retired.
"That is what I call an elegant mode of attack," said Albert,
"You were quite correct in what you said, Signor Pastrini. The
Count of Monte Cristo is unquestionably a man of first-rate
breeding and knowledge of the world."Count of Monte Cristo is unquestionably a man of first-rate
breeding and knowledge of the world."
"Then you accept his offer?" said the host.
"Of course we do," replied Albert. "Still, I must own I am sorry
to be obliged to give up the cart and the group of reapers — it
would have produced such an effect! And were it not for the windows
at the Palazzo Rospoli, by way of recompense for the loss of our
beautiful scheme, I don't know but what I should have held on by my
original plan. What say you, Franz?"
"Oh, I agree with you; the windows in the Palazzo Rospoli alone
decided me." The truth was, that the mention of two places in the
Palazzo Rospoli had recalled to Franz the conversation he had
overheard the preceding evening in the ruins of the Colosseum
between the mysterious unknown and the Transteverin, in which the
stranger in the cloak had undertaken to obtain the freedom of a
condemned criminal; and if this muffled-up individual proved (as
Franz felt sure he would) the same as the person he had just seen
in the Teatro Argentino, then he should be able to establish his
identity, and also to prosecute his researches respecting him with
perfect facility and freedom. Franz passed the night in confused
dreams respecting the two meetings he had already had with his
mysterious tormentor, and in waking speculations as to what the
morrow would produce. The next day must clear up every doubt; and
unless his near neighbor and would-be friend, the Count of Monte
Cristo, possessed the ring of Gyges, and by its power was able to
render himself invisible, it was very certain he could not escape
this time. Eight o'clock found Franz up and dressed, while Albert,
who had not the same motives for early rising, was still soundly
asleep. The first act of Franz was to summon his landlord, who
presented himself with his accustomed obsequiousness.
"Pray, Signor Pastrini," asked Franz, "is not some execution
appointed to take place to-day?"
"Yes, your excellency; but if your reason for inquiry is that


appointed to take place to-day?"
"Yes, your excellency; but if your reason for inquiry is that
you may procure a window to view it from, you are much too
late."
"Oh, no," answered Franz, "I had no such intention; and even if
I had felt a wish to witness the spectacle, I might have done so
from Monte Pincio — could I not?"
"Ah!" exclaimed mine host, "I did not think it likely your
excellency would have chosen to mingle with such a rabble as are
always collected on that hill, which, indeed, they consider as
exclusively belonging to themselves."
"Very possibly I may not go," answered Franz; "but in case I
feel disposed, give me some particulars of to-day's
executions."
"What particulars would your excellency like to hear?"
"Why, the number of persons condemned to suffer, their names,
and description of the death they are to die."
"That happens just lucky, your excellency! Only a few minutes
ago they brought me the tavolettas."
"What are they?"
"Sort of wooden tablets hung up at the corners of streets the
evening before an execution, on which is pasted up a paper
containing the names of the condemned persons, their crimes, and
mode of punishment. The reason for so publicly announcing all this
is, that all good and faithful Catholics may offer up their prayers
for the unfortunate culprits, and, above all, beseech of heaven to
grant them a sincere repentance."
"And these tablets are brought to you that you may add your
prayers to those of the faithful, are they?" asked Franz somewhat
incredulously.
"Oh, dear, no, your excellency! I have not time for anybody's
affairs but my own and those of my honorable guests; but I make an
agreement with the man who pastes up the papers, and he brings them
to me as he would the playbills, that in case any person staying at
my hotel should like to witness an execution, he may obtain every
requisite information concerning the time and place etc."
"Upon my word, that is a most delicate attention on your part,
Signor Pastrini," cried Franz."Upon my word, that is a most delicate attention on your part,
Signor Pastrini," cried Franz.
"Why, your excellency," returned the landlord, chuckling and
rubbing his hands with infinite complacency, "I think I may take
upon myself to say I neglect nothing to deserve the support and
patronage of the noble visitors to this poor hotel."
"I see that plainly enough, my most excellent host, and you may
rely upon me to proclaim so striking a proof of your attention to
your guests wherever I go. Meanwhile, oblige me by a sight of one
of these tavolettas."
"Nothing can be easier than to comply with your excellency's
wish," said the landlord, opening the door of the chamber; "I have
caused one to be placed on the landing, close by your apartment."
Then, taking the tablet from the wall, he handed it to Franz, who
read as follows: —
"`The public is informed that on Wednesday, February 23d, being
the first day of the Carnival, executions will take place in the
Piazza del Popolo, by order of the Tribunal of the Rota, of two
persons, named Andrea Rondola, and Peppino, otherwise called Rocca
Priori; the former found guilty of the murder of a venerable and
exemplary priest, named Don Cesare Torlini, canon of the church of
St. John Lateran; and the latter convicted of being an accomplice
of the atrocious and sanguinary bandit, Luigi Vampa, and his band.
The first-named malefactor will be subjected to the mazzuola, the
second culprit beheaded. The prayers of all good Christians are
entreated for these unfortunate men, that it may please God to
awaken them to a sense of their guilt, and to grant them a hearty
and sincere repentance for their crimes.'"
This was precisely what Franz had heard the evening before in
the ruins of the Colosseum. No part of the programme differed, —
the names of the condemned persons, their crimes, and mode of
punishment, all agreed with his previous information. In all
probability, therefore, the Transteverin was no other than the
bandit Luigi Vampa himself, and the man shrouded in the mantle thebandit Luigi Vampa himself, and the man shrouded in the mantle the
same he had known as "Sinbad the Sailor," but who, no doubt, was
still pursuing his philanthropic expedition in Rome, as he had
already done at Porto-Vecchio and Tunis. Time was getting on,
however, and Franz deemed it advisable to awaken Albert; but at the
moment he prepared to proceed to his chamber, his friend entered
the room in perfect costume for the day. The anticipated delights
of the Carnival had so run in his head as to make him leave his
pillow long before his usual hour. "Now, my excellent Signor
Pastrini," said Franz, addressing his landlord, "since we are both
ready, do you think we may proceed at once to visit the Count of
Monte Cristo?"
"Most assuredly," replied he. "The Count of Monte Cristo is
always an early riser; and I can answer for his having been up
these two hours."
"Then you really consider we shall not be intruding if we pay
our respects to him directly?"
"Oh, I am quite sure. I will take all the blame on myself if you
find I have led you into an error."
"Well, then, if it be so, are you ready, Albert?"
"Perfectly."
"Let us go and return our best thanks for his courtesy."
"Yes, let us do so." The landlord preceded the friends across
the landing, which was all that separated them from the apartments
of the count, rang at the bell, and, upon the door being opened by
a servant, said, "I signori Francesi."
The domestic bowed respectfully, and invited them to enter. They
passed through two rooms, furnished in a luxurious manner they had
not expected to see under the roof of Signor Pastrini, and were
shown into an elegantly fitted-up drawing-room. The richest Turkey
carpets covered the floor, and the softest and most inviting
couches, easy-chairs, and sofas, offered their high-piled and
yielding cushions to such as desired repose or refreshment.
Splendid paintings by the first masters were ranged against the
walls, intermingled with magnificent trophies of war, while heavy


walls, intermingled with magnificent trophies of war, while heavy
curtains of costly tapestry were suspended before the different
doors of the room. "If your excellencies will please to be seated,"
said the man, "I will let the count know that you are here."
And with these words he disappeared behind one of the tapestried
portieres. As the door opened, the sound of a guzla reached the
ears of the young men, but was almost immediately lost, for the
rapid closing of the door merely allowed one rich swell of harmony
to enter. Franz and Albert looked inquiringly at each other, then
at the gorgeous furnishings of the apartment. Everything seemed
more magnificent at a second view than it had done at their first
rapid survey.
"Well," said Franz to his friend, "what think you of all
this?"
"Why, upon my soul, my dear fellow, it strikes me that our
elegant and attentive neighbor must either be some successful
stock-jobber who has speculated in the fall of the Spanish funds,
or some prince travelling incog."
"Hush, hush!" replied Franz; "we shall ascertain who and what he
is — he comes!" As Franz spoke, he heard the sound of a door
turning on its hinges, and almost immediately afterwards the
tapestry was drawn aside, and the owner of all these riches stood
before the two young men. Albert instantly rose to meet him, but
Franz remained, in a manner, spellbound on his chair; for in the
person of him who had just entered he recognized not only the
mysterious visitant to the Colosseum, and the occupant of the box
at the Teatro Argentino, but also his extraordinary host of Monte
Cristo."Gentlemen," said the Count of Monte Cristo as he entered, "I
pray you excuse me for suffering my visit to be anticipated; but I
feared to disturb you by presenting myself earlier at your
apartments; besides, you sent me word that you would come to me,
and I have held myself at your disposal."
"Franz and I have to thank you a thousand times, count,"
returned Albert; "you extricated us from a great dilemma, and we
were on the point of inventing a very fantastic vehicle when your
friendly invitation reached us."
"Indeed," returned the count, motioning the two young men to sit
down. "It was the fault of that blockhead Pastrini, that I did not
sooner assist you in your distress. He did not mention a syllable
of your embarrassment to me, when he knows that, alone and isolated
as I am, I seek every opportunity of making the acquaintance of my
neighbors. As soon as I learned I could in any way assist you, I
most eagerly seized the opportunity of offering my services." The
two young men bowed. Franz had, as yet, found nothing to say; he
had come to no determination, and as nothing in the count's manner
manifested the wish that he should recognize him, he did not know
whether to make any allusion to the past, or wait until he had more
proof; besides, although sure it was he who had been in the box the
previous evening, he could not be equally positive that this was
the man he had seen at the Colosseum. He resolved, therefore, to
let things take their course without making any direct overture to
the count. Moreover, he had this advantage, he was master of the
count's secret, while the count had no hold on Franz, who had
nothing to conceal. However, he resolved to lead the conversation
to a subject which might possibly clear up his doubts.
"Count," said he, "you have offered us places in your carriage,
and at your windows in the Rospoli Palace. Can you tell us where we
can obtain a sight of the Piazza del Popolo?"
"Ah," said the count negligently, looking attentively at"Ah," said the count negligently, looking attentively at
Morcerf, "is there not something like an execution upon the Piazza
del Popolo?"
"Yes," returned Franz, finding that the count was coming to the
point he wished.
"Stay, I think I told my steward yesterday to attend to this;
perhaps I can render you this slight service also." He extended his
hand, and rang the bell thrice. "Did you ever occupy yourself,"
said he to Franz, "with the employment of time and the means of
simplifying the summoning your servants? I have. When I ring once,
it is for my valet; twice, for my majordomo; thrice, for my
steward, — thus I do not waste a minute or a word. Here he is." A
man of about forty-five or fifty entered, exactly resembling the
smuggler who had introduced Franz into the cavern; but he did not
appear to recognize him. It was evident he had his orders.
"Monsieur Bertuccio," said the count, "you have procured me windows
looking on the Piazza del Popolo, as I ordered you yesterday."
"Yes, excellency," returned the steward; "but it was very
late."
"Did I not tell you I wished for one?" replied the count,
frowning.
"And your excellency has one, which was let to Prince Lobanieff;
but I was obliged to pay a hundred" —
"That will do — that will do, Monsieur Bertuccio; spare these
gentlemen all such domestic arrangements. You have the window, that
is sufficient. Give orders to the coachman; and be in readiness on
the stairs to conduct us to it." The steward bowed, and was about
to quit the room. "Ah," continued the count, "be good enough to ask
Pastrini if he has received the tavoletta, and if he can send us an
account of the execution."
"There is no need to do that," said Franz, taking out his
tablets; "for I saw the account, and copied it down."
"Very well, you can retire, M. Bertuccio; but let us know when
breakfast is ready. These gentlemen," added he, turning to the two
friends, "will, I trust, do me the honor to breakfast with me?"
"But, my dear count," said Albert, "we shall abuse your
kindness."


"But, my dear count," said Albert, "we shall abuse your
kindness."
"Not at all; on the contrary, you will give me great pleasure.
You will, one or other of you, perhaps both, return it to me at
Paris. M. Bertuccio, lay covers for three." He then took Franz's
tablets out of his hand. "`We announce,' he read, in the same tone
with which he would have read a newspaper, `that to-day, the 23d of
February, will be executed Andrea Rondolo, guilty of murder on the
person of the respected and venerated Don Cesare Torlini, canon of
the church of St. John Lateran, and Peppino, called Rocca Priori,
convicted of complicity with the detestable bandit Luigi Vampa, and
the men of his band.' Hum! `The first will be mazzolato, the second
decapitato.' Yes," continued the count, "it was at first arranged
in this way; but I think since yesterday some change has taken
place in the order of the ceremony."
"Really?" said Franz.
"Yes, I passed the evening at the Cardinal Rospigliosi's, and
there mention was made of something like a pardon for one of the
two men."
"For Andrea Rondolo?" asked Franz.
"No," replied the count, carelessly; "for the other (he glanced
at the tablets as if to recall the name), for Peppino, called Rocca
Priori. You are thus deprived of seeing a man guillotined; but the
mazzuola still remains, which is a very curious punishment when
seen for the first time, and even the second, while the other, as
you must know, is very simple. The mandaia* never fails, never
trembles, never strikes thirty times ineffectually, like the
soldier who beheaded the Count of Chalais, and to whose tender
mercy Richelieu had doubtless recommended the sufferer. Ah," added
the count, in a contemptuous tone, "do not tell me of European
punishments, they are in the infancy, or rather the old age, of
cruelty."
(* Guillotine.)
"Really, count," replied Franz, "one would think that you had
studied the different tortures of all the nations of the
world."
"There are, at least, few that I have not seen," said the count
coldly.world."
"There are, at least, few that I have not seen," said the count
coldly.
"And you took pleasure in beholding these dreadful
spectacles?"
"My first sentiment was horror, the second indifference, the
third curiosity."
"Curiosity — that is a terrible word."
"Why so? In life, our greatest preoccupation is death; is it not
then, curious to study the different ways by which the soul and
body can part; and how, according to their different characters,
temperaments, and even the different customs of their countries,
different persons bear the transition from life to death, from
existence to annihilation? As for myself, I can assure you of one
thing, — the more men you see die, the easier it becomes to die
yourself; and in my opinion, death may be a torture, but it is not
an expiation."
"I do not quite understand you," replied Franz; "pray explain
your meaning, for you excite my curiosity to the highest
pitch."
"Listen," said the count, and deep hatred mounted to his face,
as the blood would to the face of any other. "If a man had by
unheard-of and excruciating tortures destroyed your father, your
mother, your betrothed, — a being who, when torn from you, left a
desolation, a wound that never closes, in your breast, — do you
think the reparation that society gives you is sufficient when it
interposes the knife of the guillotine between the base of the
occiput and the trapezal muscles of the murderer, and allows him
who has caused us years of moral sufferings to escape with a few
moments of physical pain?"
"Yes, I know," said Franz, "that human justice is insufficient
to console us; she can give blood in return for blood, that is all;
but you must demand from her only what it is in her power to
grant."
"I will put another case to you," continued the count; "that
where society, attacked by the death of a person, avenges death by
death. But are there not a thousand tortures by which a man may be
made to suffer without society taking the least cognizance of them,made to suffer without society taking the least cognizance of them,
or offering him even the insufficient means of vengeance, of which
we have just spoken? Are there not crimes for which the impalement
of the Turks, the augers of the Persians, the stake and the brand
of the Iroquois Indians, are inadequate tortures, and which are
unpunished by society? Answer me, do not these crimes exist?"
"Yes," answered Franz; "and it is to punish them that duelling
is tolerated."
"Ah, duelling," cried the count; "a pleasant manner, upon my
soul, of arriving at your end when that end is vengeance! A man has
carried off your mistress, a man has seduced your wife, a man has
dishonored your daughter; he has rendered the whole life of one who
had the right to expect from heaven that portion of happiness God
his promised to every one of his creatures, an existence of misery
and infamy; and you think you are avenged because you send a ball
through the head, or pass a sword through the breast, of that man
who has planted madness in your brain, and despair in your heart.
And remember, moreover, that it is often he who comes off
victorious from the strife, absolved of all crime in the eyes of
the world. No, no," continued the count, "had I to avenge myself,
it is not thus I would take revenge."
"Then you disapprove of duelling? You would not fight a duel?"
asked Albert in his turn, astonished at this strange theory.
"Oh, yes," replied the count; "understand me, I would fight a
duel for a trifle, for an insult, for a blow; and the more so that,
thanks to my skill in all bodily exercises, and the indifference to
danger I have gradually acquired, I should be almost certain to
kill my man. Oh, I would fight for such a cause; but in return for
a slow, profound, eternal torture, I would give back the same, were
it possible; an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, as the
Orientalists say, — our masters in everything, — those favored
creatures who have formed for themselves a life of dreams and a
paradise of realities."


creatures who have formed for themselves a life of dreams and a
paradise of realities."
"But," said Franz to the count, "with this theory, which renders
you at once judge and executioner of your own cause, it would be
difficult to adopt a course that would forever prevent your falling
under the power of the law. Hatred is blind, rage carries you away;
and he who pours out vengeance runs the risk of tasting a bitter
draught."
"Yes, if he be poor and inexperienced, not if he be rich and
skilful; besides, the worst that could happen to him would be the
punishment of which we have already spoken, and which the
philanthropic French Revolution has substituted for being torn to
pieces by horses or broken on the wheel. What matters this
punishment, as long as he is avenged? On my word, I almost regret
that in all probability this miserable Peppino will not be
beheaded, as you might have had an opportunity then of seeing how
short a time the punishment lasts, and whether it is worth even
mentioning; but, really this is a most singular conversation for
the Carnival, gentlemen; how did it arise? Ah, I recollect, you
asked for a place at my window; you shall have it; but let us first
sit down to table, for here comes the servant to inform us that
breakfast is ready." As he spoke, a servant opened one of the four
doors of the apartment, saying — "Al suo commodo!" The two young
men arose and entered the breakfast-room.
During the meal, which was excellent, and admirably served,
Franz looked repeatedly at Albert, in order to observe the
impressions which he doubted not had been made on him by the words
of their entertainer; but whether with his usual carelessness he
had paid but little attention to him, whether the explanation of
the Count of Monte Cristo with regard to duelling had satisfied
him, or whether the events which Franz knew of had had their effect
on him alone, he remarked that his companion did not pay the least
regard to them, but on the contrary ate like a man who for the lastregard to them, but on the contrary ate like a man who for the last
four or five months had been condemned to partake of Italian
cookery — that is, the worst in the world. As for the count, he
just touched the dishes; he seemed to fulfil the duties of a host
by sitting down with his guests, and awaited their departure to be
served with some strange or more delicate food. This brought back
to Franz, in spite of himself, the recollection of the terror with
which the count had inspired the Countess G—— , and her firm
conviction that the man in the opposite box was a vampire. At the
end of the breakfast Franz took out his watch. "Well," said the
count, "what are you doing?"
"You must excuse us, count," returned Franz, "but we have still
much to do."
"What may that be?"
"We have no masks, and it is absolutely necessary to procure
them."
"Do not concern yourself about that; we have, I think, a private
room in the Piazza del Popolo; I will have whatever costumes you
choose brought to us, and you can dress there."
"After the execution?" cried Franz.
"Before or after, whichever you please."
"Opposite the scaffold?"
"The scaffold forms part of the fete."
"Count, I have reflected on the matter," said Franz, "I thank
you for your courtesy, but I shall content myself with accepting a
place in your carriage and at your window at the Rospoli Palace,
and I leave you at liberty to dispose of my place at the Piazza del
Popolo."
"But I warn you, you will lose a very curious sight," returned
the count.
"You will describe it to me," replied Franz, "and the recital
from your lips will make as great an impression on me as if I had
witnessed it. I have more than once intended witnessing an
execution, but I have never been able to make up my mind; and you,
Albert?"
"I," replied the viscount, — "I saw Castaing executed, but I
think I was rather intoxicated that day, for I had quitted college
the same morning, and we had passed the previous night at a
tavern."
"Besides, it is no reason because you have not seen an executiontavern."
"Besides, it is no reason because you have not seen an execution
at Paris, that you should not see one anywhere else; when you
travel, it is to see everything. Think what a figure you will make
when you are asked, `How do they execute at Rome?' and you reply,
`I do not know'! And, besides, they say that the culprit is an
infamous scoundrel, who killed with a log of wood a worthy canon
who had brought him up like his own son. Diable, when a churchman
is killed, it should be with a different weapon than a log,
especially when he has behaved like a father. If you went to Spain,
would you not see the bull-fight? Well, suppose it is a bull-fight
you are going to see? Recollect the ancient Romans of the Circus,
and the sports where they killed three hundred lions and a hundred
men. Think of the eighty thousand applauding spectators, the sage
matrons who took their daughters, and the charming Vestals who made
with the thumb of their white hands the fatal sign that said,
`Come, despatch the dying.'"
"Shall you go, then, Albert?" asked Franz.
"Ma foi, yes; like you, I hesitated, but the count's eloquence
decides me."
"Let us go, then," said Franz, "since you wish it; but on our
way to the Piazza del Popolo, I wish to pass through the Corso. Is
this possible, count?"
"On foot, yes, in a carriage, no."
"I will go on foot, then."
"Is it important that you should go that way?"
"Yes, there is something I wish to see."
"Well, we will go by the Corso. We will send the carriage to
wait for us on the Piazza del Popolo, by the Strada del Babuino,
for I shall be glad to pass, myself, through the Corso, to see if
some orders I have given have been executed."
"Excellency," said a servant, opening the door, "a man in the
dress of a penitent wishes to speak to you."
"Ah, yes" returned the count, "I know who he is, gentlemen; will
you return to the salon? you will find good cigars on the centre
table. I will be with you directly." The young men rose and
returned into the salon, while the count, again apologizing, left


returned into the salon, while the count, again apologizing, left
by another door. Albert, who was a great smoker, and who had
considered it no small sacrifice to be deprived of the cigars of
the Cafe de Paris, approached the table, and uttered a cry of joy
at perceiving some veritable puros.
"Well," asked Franz, "what think you of the Count of Monte
Cristo?"
"What do I think?" said Albert, evidently surprised at such a
question from his companion; "I think he is a delightful fellow,
who does the honors of his table admirably; who has travelled much,
read much, is, like Brutus, of the Stoic school, and moreover,"
added he, sending a volume of smoke up towards the ceiling, "that
he has excellent cigars." Such was Albert's opinion of the count,
and as Franz well knew that Albert professed never to form an
opinion except upon long reflection, he made no attempt to change
it. "But," said he, "did you observe one very singular thing?"
"What?"
"How attentively he looked at you."
"At me?"
"Yes." — Albert reflected. "Ah," replied he, sighing, "that is
not very surprising; I have been more than a year absent from
Paris, and my clothes are of a most antiquated cut; the count takes
me for a provincial. The first opportunity you have, undeceive him,
I beg, and tell him I am nothing of the kind." Franz smiled; an
instant after the count entered.
"I am now quite at your service, gentlemen," said he. "The
carriage is going one way to the Piazza del Popolo, and we will go
another; and, if you please, by the Corso. Take some more of these
cigars, M. de Morcerf."
"With all my heart," returned Albert; "Italian cigars are
horrible. When you come to Paris, I will return all this."
"I will not refuse; I intend going there soon, and since you
allow me, I will pay you a visit. Come, we have not any time to
lose, it is half-past twelve — let us set off." All three
descended; the coachman received his master's orders, and drove
down the Via del Babuino. While the three gentlemen walked alongdown the Via del Babuino. While the three gentlemen walked along
the Piazza de Spagni and the Via Frattina, which led directly
between the Fiano and Rospoli palaces, Franz's attention was
directed towards the windows of that last palace, for he had not
forgotten the signal agreed upon between the man in the mantle and
the Transtevere peasant. "Which are your windows?" asked he of the
count, with as much indifference as he could assume. "The three
last," returned he, with a negligence evidently unaffected, for he
could not imagine with what intention the question was put. Franz
glanced rapidly towards the three windows. The side windows were
hung with yellow damask, and the centre one with white damask and a
red cross. The man in the mantle had kept his promise to the
Transteverin, and there could now be no doubt that he was the
count. The three windows were still untenanted. Preparations were
making on every side; chairs were placed, scaffolds were raised,
and windows were hung with flags. The masks could not appear; the
carriages could not move about; but the masks were visible behind
the windows, the carriages, and the doors.
Franz, Albert, and the count continued to descend the Corso. As
they approached the Piazza del Popolo, the crowd became more dense,
and above the heads of the multitude two objects were visible: the
obelisk, surmounted by a cross, which marks the centre of the
square, and in front of the obelisk, at the point where the three
streets, del Babuino, del Corso, and di Ripetta, meet, the two
uprights of the scaffold, between which glittered the curved knife
of the mandaia. At the corner of the street they met the count's
steward, who was awaiting his master. The window, let at an
exorbitant price, which the count had doubtless wished to conceal
from his guests, was on the second floor of the great palace,
situated between the Via del Babuino and the Monte Pincio. It
consisted, as we have said, of a small dressing-room, opening into
a bedroom, and, when the door of communication was shut, thea bedroom, and, when the door of communication was shut, the
inmates were quite alone. On chairs were laid elegant masquerade
costumes of blue and white satin. "As you left the choice of your
costumes to me," said the count to the two friends, "I have had
these brought, as they will be the most worn this year; and they
are most suitable, on account of the confetti (sweetmeats), as they
do not show the flour."
Franz heard the words of the count but imperfectly, and he
perhaps did not fully appreciate this new attention to their
wishes; for he was wholly absorbed by the spectacle that the Piazza
del Popolo presented, and by the terrible instrument that was in
the centre. It was the first time Franz had ever seen a guillotine,
— we say guillotine, because the Roman mandaia is formed on almost
the same model as the French instrument.* The knife, which is
shaped like a crescent, that cuts with the convex side, falls from
a less height, and that is all the difference. Two men, seated on
the movable plank on which the victim is laid, were eating their
breakfasts, while waiting for the criminal. Their repast consisted
apparently of bread and sausages. One of them lifted the plank,
took out a flask of wine, drank some, and then passed it to his
companion. These two men were the executioner's assistants. At this
sight Franz felt the perspiration start forth upon his brow. The
prisoners, transported the previous evening from the Carcere Nuovo
to the little church of Santa Maria del Popolo, had passed the
night, each accompanied by two priests, in a chapel closed by a
grating, before which were two sentinels, who were relieved at
intervals. A double line of carbineers, placed on each side of the
door of the church, reached to the scaffold, and formed a circle
around it, leaving a path about ten feet wide, and around the
guillotine a space of nearly a hundred feet. All the rest of the
square was paved with heads. Many women held their infants on their
shoulders, and thus the children had the best view. The Monte


shoulders, and thus the children had the best view. The Monte
Pincio seemed a vast amphitheatre filled with spectators; the
balconies of the two churches at the corner of the Via del Babuino
and the Via di Ripetta were crammed; the steps even seemed a
parti-colored sea, that was impelled towards the portico; every
niche in the wall held its living statue. What the count said was
true — the most curious spectacle in life is that of death. And
yet, instead of the silence and the solemnity demanded by the
occasion, laughter and jests arose from the crowd. It was evident
that the execution was, in the eyes of the people, only the
commencement of the Carnival. Suddenly the tumult ceased, as if by
magic, and the doors of the church opened. A brotherhood of
penitents, clothed from head to foot in robes of gray sackcloth,
with holes for the eyes, and holding in their hands lighted tapers,
appeared first; the chief marched at the head. Behind the penitents
came a man of vast stature and proportions. He was naked, with the
exception of cloth drawers at the left side of which hung a large
knife in a sheath, and he bore on his right shoulder a heavy iron
sledge-hammer. This man was the executioner. He had, moreover,
sandals bound on his feet by cords. Behind the executioner came, in
the order in which they were to die, first Peppino and then Andrea.
Each was accompanied by two priests. Neither had his eyes bandaged.
Peppino walked with a firm step, doubtless aware of what awaited
him. Andrea was supported by two priests. Each of them, from time
to time, kissed the crucifix a confessor held out to them. At this
sight alone Franz felt his legs tremble under him. He looked at
Albert — he was as white as his shirt, and mechanically cast away
his cigar, although he had not half smoked it. The count alone
seemed unmoved — nay, more, a slight color seemed striving to rise
in his pale cheeks. His nostrils dilated like those of a wild beast
that scents its prey, and his lips, half opened, disclosed histhat scents its prey, and his lips, half opened, disclosed his
white teeth, small and sharp like those of a jackal. And yet his
features wore an expression of smiling tenderness, such as Franz
had never before witnessed in them; his black eyes especially were
full of kindness and pity. However, the two culprits advanced, and
as they approached their faces became visible. Peppino was a
handsome young man of four or five and twenty, bronzed by the sun;
he carried his head erect, and seemed on the watch to see on which
side his liberator would appear. Andrea was short and fat; his
visage, marked with brutal cruelty, did not indicate age; he might
be thirty. In prison he had suffered his beard to grow; his head
fell on his shoulder, his legs bent beneath him, and his movements
were apparently automatic and unconscious.
(* Dr. Guillotin got the idea of his famous machine from
witnessing an execution in Italy.)
"I thought," said Franz to the count, "that you told me there
would be but one execution."
"I told you true," replied he coldly.
"And yet here are two culprits."
"Yes; but only one of these two is about to die; the other has
many years to live."
"If the pardon is to come, there is no time to lose."
"And see, here it is," said the count. At the moment when
Peppino reached the foot of the mandaia, a priest arrived in some
haste, forced his way through the soldiers, and, advancing to the
chief of the brotherhood, gave him a folded paper. The piercing eye
of Peppino had noticed all. The chief took the paper, unfolded it,
and, raising his hand, "Heaven be praised, and his holiness also,"
said he in a loud voice; "here is a pardon for one of the
prisoners!"
"A pardon!" cried the people with one voice — "a pardon!" At
this cry Andrea raised his head. "Pardon for whom?" cried he.
Peppino remained breathless. "A pardon for Peppino, called Rocca
Priori," said the principal friar. And he passed the paper to the
officer commanding the carbineers, who read and returned it to
him.officer commanding the carbineers, who read and returned it to
him.
"For Peppino!" cried Andrea, who seemed roused from the torpor
in which he had been plunged. "Why for him and not for me? We ought
to die together. I was promised he should die with me. You have no
right to put me to death alone. I will not die alone — I will not!"
And he broke from the priests struggling and raving like a wild
beast, and striving desperately to break the cords that bound his
hands. The executioner made a sign, and his two assistants leaped
from the scaffold and seized him. "What is going on?" asked Franz
of the count; for, as all the talk was in the Roman dialect, he had
not perfectly understood it. "Do you not see?" returned the count,
"that this human creature who is about to die is furious that his
fellow-sufferer does not perish with him? and, were he able, he
would rather tear him to pieces with his teeth and nails than let
him enjoy the life he himself is about to be deprived of. Oh, man,
man — race of crocodiles," cried the count, extending his clinched
hands towards the crowd, "how well do I recognize you there, and
that at all times you are worthy of yourselves!" Meanwhile Andrea
and the two executioners were struggling on the ground, and he kept
exclaiming, "He ought to die! — he shall die! — I will not die
alone!"
"Look, look," cried the count. seizing the young men's hands —
"look, for on my soul it is curious. Here is a man who had resigned
himself to his fate, who was going to the scaffold to die — like a
coward, it is true, but he was about to die without resistance. Do
you know what gave him strength? — do you know what consoled him?
It was, that another partook of his punishment — that another
partook of his anguish — that another was to die before him. Lead
two sheep to the butcher's, two oxen to the slaughterhouse, and
make one of them understand that his companion will not die; the
sheep will bleat for pleasure, the ox will bellow with joy. But man


sheep will bleat for pleasure, the ox will bellow with joy. But man
— man, whom God created in his own image — man, upon whom God has
laid his first, his sole commandment, to love his neighbor — man,
to whom God has given a voice to express his thoughts — what is his
first cry when he hears his fellow-man is saved? A blasphemy. Honor
to man, this masterpiece of nature, this king of the creation!" And
the count burst into a laugh; a terrible laugh, that showed he must
have suffered horribly to be able thus to laugh. However, the
struggle still continued, and it was dreadful to witness. The
people all took part against Andrea, and twenty thousand voices
cried, "Put him to death! put him to death!" Franz sprang back, but
the count seized his arm, and held him before the window. "What are
you doing?" said he. "Do you pity him? If you heard the cry of `Mad
dog!' you would take your gun — you would unhesitatingly shoot the
poor beast, who, after all, was only guilty of having been bitten
by another dog. And yet you pity a man who, without being bitten by
one of his race, has yet murdered his benefactor; and who, now
unable to kill any one, because his hands are bound, wishes to see
his companion in captivity perish. No, no — look, look!"
The command was needless. Franz was fascinated by the horrible
spectacle. The two assistants had borne Andrea to the scaffold, and
there, in spite of his struggles, his bites, and his cries, had
forced him to his knees. During this time the executioner had
raised his mace, and signed to them to get out of the way; the
criminal strove to rise, but, ere he had time, the mace fell on his
left temple. A dull and heavy sound was heard, and the man dropped
like an ox on his face, and then turned over on his back. The
executioner let fall his mace, drew his knife, and with one stroke
opened his throat, and mounting on his stomach, stamped violently
on it with his feet. At every stroke a jet of blood sprang from the
wound.
This time Franz could contain himself no longer, but sank, halfwound.
This time Franz could contain himself no longer, but sank, half
fainting, into a seat. Albert, with his eyes closed, was standing
grasping the window-curtains. The count was erect and triumphant,
like the Avenging Angel!When Franz recovered his senses, he saw Albert drinking a glass
of water, of which, to judge from his pallor, he stood in great
need; and the count, who was assuming his masquerade costume. He
glanced mechanically towards the square — the scene was wholly
changed; scaffold, executioners, victims, all had disappeared; only
the people remained, full of noise and excitement. The bell of
Monte Citorio, which only sounds on the pope's decease and the
opening of the Carnival, was ringing a joyous peal. "Well," asked
he of the count, "what has, then, happened?"
"Nothing," replied the count; "only, as you see, the Carnival
his commenced. Make haste and dress yourself."
"In fact," said Franz, "this horrible scene has passed away like
a dream."
"It is but a dream, a nightmare, that has disturbed you."
"Yes, that I have suffered; but the culprit?"
"That is a dream also; only he has remained asleep, while you
have awakened; and who knows which of you is the most
fortunate?"
"But Peppino — what has become of him?"
"Peppino is a lad of sense, who, unlike most men, who are happy
in proportion as they are noticed, was delighted to see that the
general attention was directed towards his companion. He profited
by this distraction to slip away among the crowd, without even
thanking the worthy priests who accompanied him. Decidedly man is
an ungrateful and egotistical animal. But dress yourself; see, M.
de Morcerf sets you the example." Albert was drawing on the satin
pantaloon over his black trousers and varnished boots. "Well,
Albert," said Franz, "do you feel much inclined to join the revels?
Come, answer frankly."
"Ma foi, no," returned Albert. "But I am really glad to have
seen such a sight; and I understand what the count said — that when
you have once habituated yourself to a similar spectacle, it is the
only one that causes you any emotion."
"Without reflecting that this is the only moment in which you
can study character," said the count; "on the steps of the scaffoldcan study character," said the count; "on the steps of the scaffold
death tears off the mask that has been worn through life, and the
real visage is disclosed. It must be allowed that Andrea was not
very handsome, the hideous scoundrel! Come, dress yourselves,
gentlemen, dress yourselves." Franz felt it would be ridiculous not
to follow his two companions' example. He assumed his costume, and
fastened on the mask that scarcely equalled the pallor of his own
face. Their toilet finished, they descended; the carriage awaited
them at the door, filled with sweetmeats and bouquets. They fell
into the line of carriages. It is difficult to form an idea of the
perfect change that had taken place. Instead of the spectacle of
gloomy and silent death, the Piazza del Popolo presented a
spectacle of gay and noisy mirth and revelry. A crowd of masks
flowed in from all sides, emerging from the doors, descending from
the windows. From every street and every corner drove carriages
filled with clowns, harlequins, dominoes, mummers, pantomimists,
Transteverins, knights, and peasants, screaming, fighting,
gesticulating, throwing eggs filled with flour, confetti, nosegays,
attacking, with their sarcasms and their missiles, friends and
foes, companions and strangers, indiscriminately, and no one took
offence, or did anything but laugh. Franz and Albert were like men
who, to drive away a violent sorrow, have recourse to wine, and
who, as they drink and become intoxicated, feel a thick veil drawn
between the past and the present. They saw, or rather continued to
see, the image of what they had witnessed; but little by little the
general vertigo seized them, and they felt themselves obliged to
take part in the noise and confusion. A handful of confetti that
came from a neighboring carriage, and which, while it covered
Morcerf and his two companions with dust, pricked his neck and that
portion of his face uncovered by his mask like a hundred pins,
incited him to join in the general combat, in which all the masks