# The Count of Monte-Cristo/Volume 2/Chapter 34

Contents
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE COLOSSEUM
RANZ had discovered a middle course, so that during the ride to the Colosseum they passed not a single ancient ruin; consequently, without any gradual preparation which could take from the colossal building a span's length of its gigantic proportions. 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 travelers 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 the story recounted by Pastrini, in which his mysterious host of the isle 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 "Sindbad 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-Veechio 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 Hôtel de Londres, abundantly proved to him that his island friend was playing his philanthropic part equally on the shores of Piombino, Civita Vecchia, ​ Ostia, and Graeta, as on those of Corsica, Tuscany, and Spain; and as he himself, as well as Franz could remember, had spoken both of Tunis and Palermo, there was a further proof 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, gigantic specter of the Colosseum, through the various openings of which the pale moonlight nickered like the gleam from the eyes of phantoms. 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.
The usual guide from the hotel having followed them, they thus had 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, nor the wonders of Babylon be talked of among us; all must bow to the superiority of the gigantic labor of the Csesars, 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 the tyranny of the ciceroni; and, indeed, it would have been so much the more difficult, 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 surrendered themselves to their conductors.
Franz 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 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 deeply touched. Certainly no one can have any notion without having seen them of the majesty of such a ruin whose vast proportions appear twice as large when viewed by the mysterious beams of a southern moon, whose rays equal the twilight of the west.
Scarcely, therefore, had the reflective Franz walked a hundred steps beneath the interior porticos of the ruin, than, abandoning Albert to the guides, who would by no means yield their prescriptive right carrying their victims through the routine of the "Lion's Den," the ​ "Hall of the Gladiators," and the "State Box of the Emperor," he 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 chasm, which permitted him to view the giant of granite in all its majestic dimensions.
Franz had remained for nearly a quarter of an hour hidden by the column but watching Albert and his guides, who, holding torches in their hands, had emerged from a vomitorium placed at the opposite extremity of the Colosseum, and then again disappeared, like shadows after an ignis fatuus, down the steps conducting to the seats reserved for the Vestal virgins, when 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 morsel of granite giving way and falling heavily below; but it seemed to him that the substance that fell gave way beneath a foot, and that the sound of feet was approaching him, although he that caused it was trying his best to deaden the sound.
In a few seconds the figure of a man was visible, gradually emerging from the staircase opposite, which was lighted by the moon, while the steps going down were plunged in darkness.
The stranger might be a person who, like Franz, preferred the enjoyment of solitude to the frivolous gabble of the guides, and then his appearance would have nothing extraordinary in it; but the hesitation with which he proceeded onward, stopping and listening with anxious attention at every step he took, convinced Franz 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 himself and the stranger were placed, the roof had given way, leaving a large round aperture, through which might be seen the sky thickly studded with stars.
Around this opening, which had, possibly, for ages permitted a free entrance to the moonbeams, 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 creepers and strong shoots of ivy hung floating to and fro like so many waving strings.
The person 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, permitted the observer to see a pair of black pantaloons coquettishly falling over patent-leather boots.
The man, if not a member of the aristocracy, 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. Almost immediately a shadow seemed to ​ obstruct the light, and the figure of a man was clearly seen gazing into the darkness; then, as his eye caught sight of the man 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 wore the costume of a Transteverino.
"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 has just struck by the clock of Saint John 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," 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 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 mouse to gnaw the meshes of my net."
"Briefly, what did you learn?"
"That two executions 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 decapitate; and he, your excellency, is poor Peppino."
"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 an 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."
​ "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 act."
"I have resolved to stop at nothing to restore a poor devil to liberty who has got into this scrape solely from having served me. I should despise myself as a coward, did I desert the brave fellow."
"And what do you mean to do?"
"To surround the scaffold with twenty men, who, at a signal from me, will rush forward directly Peppino is brought for execution, and, stiletto in hand, carry off the prisoner."
"That seems to me as hazardous as uncertain, and convinces me my scheme is far better than yours."
"And what is your excellency's project?"
"Just this! I will so give two thousand piastres to some one I know, and he shall obtain a respite till next year for Peppino; and during that year, another skillfully placed one thousand piastres shall 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 my gold than you and all your troop could effect with their stilettos, pistols, carbines, and blunderbusses. Leave me, then, to act."
"All right, but we shall be in readiness in case your excellency should fail."
"Take what precautions you please, but rely upon my obtaining the reprieve."
"Remember, the execution is fixed for the day after to-morrow, and that you have but one day."
"And what then! Is not a day divided into twenty-four hours, each hour into sixty minutes, and every minute subdivided into sixty seconds! Now, in eighty-six thousand four hundred 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 Eospoli; should I have obtained the respite, the two outside windows will be hung with yellow damasks, and the center with white, having a large cross in red."
"And whom will you employ to carry the reprieve to the officer directing the execution!"
"Send one of your men disguised as a penitent, and I will give it to him; his dress will procure him the means of approaching the scaffold. ​ and he will deliver the order to the officer, who, in his turn, will hand it to the executioner. In the mean time, acquaint Peppino with the news, if it be only to prevent his dying of fear or losing his senses, because in either case a veiy 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 hope so, at least," replied the cavalier in the cloak.
"Well, then, if you save Peppino, henceforward you shall receive not only devotedness, but obedience."
"Have a care how far you pledge yourself, my good friend, for I may remind you of your promise some day, when I, in my turn, may require your aid."
"In the hour of need, your excellency will find me what I have found you to-day; and if from the other end of the world you but write me, 'Do this!' done it shall be, on the word of——"
"Hush!" interrupted the stranger; "I hear a noise."
"'Tis some travelers, 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 my reputation would suffer thereby."
"Well, then, if you obtain the reprieve!"
"The middle window at the Cafe Rospoli will be hung with white damask, bearing on it a red cross."
"And if you fail?"
"Then three 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."
"Adieu, your excellency; depend upon me as I do upon you."
​Franz let him proceed without interruption; he longed to be alone and able, undisturbedly, to ponder over all that had occurred.
One of the two men 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 heard them for him ever again to forget them. It was more especially when speaking in a manner half jesting, half bitter that Franz's ear recalled most vividly the strident, metallic voice that ​ had made him tremble in the grotto of Monte-Cristo and in the ruins of the Colosseum! He was quite convinced that the man was no other than "Sindbad the Sailor."
Under any other circumstances, his curiosity to know more of so singular a personage would have been so great that he would have sought to renew their acquaintance; but in the present instance, the conversation he had overheard made him 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; but fully promising not to let a second occasion slip, should chance afford him another opportunity.
Franz was too much occupied with his thoughts to sleep, and his night was passed in contemplation of the chain of circumstances connecting the visitor to the Colosseum arid the inhabitant of the grotto of Monte-Cristo, and tending to prove that they were one and the same person; and the more he thought, the firmer grew his opinion.
Worn out at length, he fell asleep at daybreak, and did not awake till late. Like a genuine Frenchman, Albert had arranged for the evening; he had sent to engage a box at the Teatro Argentine, 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; he had left his letters of introduction, and had received in return invitations for every evening, and had seen Rome. One day was for Albert ample time for all this.
Neither had he neglected to ascertain the name of the piece to be played that night at the Teatro Argentine, and also what performers appeared in it. The opera was "Parisina," and the actors were Coselli, Moriani, and La Spech.
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 theaters, with their orchestras from which nobody stirs, and the absence of balconies, or open boxes. This was hard on a man who had had his stall at the Bouffes and his share in the omnibus-box at the Opera. Still, in despite of this, Albert displayed his most dazzling and effective costume each time he visited the theaters; but, alas! his recherchee toilet was wholly thrown away; for, to the shame of one of the most worthy representatives of Parisian fashion, Albert, after four months' wanderings in Italy, had not met with a single adventure.
Sometimes Albert would affect to make a joke of his want of success, but internally he was deeply piqued to think that he, Albert de Morcerf, ​ the most admired young man of his day, should 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! Nothing of the kind happened; the lovely Genoese, Florentine, and Neapolitan countesses were all faithful, if not to their husbands, at least to their lovers; 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.
Albert, besides being an elegant young man, had considerable talent; moreover, he was a viscount a recently created one, certainly but in the present day who cares whether you dated from 1399 or merely 1815; but to crown all these advantages, he commanded an income of fifty thousand livres ($10,000), a more than sufficient sum to render him a personage of 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 at Rome, the Carnival being, in all the different states and kingdoms in which this festivity is celebrated, a period of liberty when even the gravest mingle in the follies of this time. The Carnival was to commence on the morrow; therefore Albert had not an instant to lose in setting forth his programme.
With this design he had engaged a box in the most conspicuous part of the theater, and made a most elaborate toilet. The box 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."
The box engaged for the two friends was sufficiently capacious to contain at least a dozen persons, yet had cost less than one for four at the Ambigu. Another motive had influenced Albert's selection of a seat: who knew but that, thus advantageously placed, he could not fail to 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?
​ The truth was, every one was talking of his own love-affairs, of the Carnival that began next day, of the next Holy Week, without thinking of the actors or the piece, except when they turned to listen to a recitative of Coselli, or to applaud Moriani or Spech, and then resumed the conversation.
Toward 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. Albert caught the start with which his friend beheld the new arrival, and turning to him, he said, hastily:
"Do you know the lady who has just entered the 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 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 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 this instant the countess perceived Franz, and graciously waved her hand to him, to which he replied with 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," returned Franz, calmly; "what makes us Frenchmen commit the most egregious blunders is our judging every thing by our Parisian notions. In Spain, and especially in Italy, never judge about intimacy between people because they are on familiar terms. We are in sympathy with the countess, nothing more."
"Pray tell me, is it sympathy of heart?"
"No; of taste!" continued Franz, gravely.
"In what manner?"
"By the countess's visiting the Colosseum, as we did last night, by moonlight, and nearly alone."
"You were with her, then?"
​"And you talked ——"
"Of the dead."
"Upon my word!" cried Albert, "it must have been very entertaining. All I can say is, if ever I should get such a chance with the fair countess, the living should be my theme."
"And you will probably be wrong"
"Meanwhile," said Albert, "are you not going to keep your promise of introducing me?"
"Certainly, directly the curtain falls."
"What a confounded long time this first act lasts!"
"Only listen to that charming finale! How exquisitely Coselli sings the part!" ​ "But what awkwardness!"
"Well, then, what do you say to La Spech? did you ever see any thing more dramatic?"
"Why, you know, my dear fellow, when one has been accustomed to
Malibran and Sontag——"
"At least, you must admire Moriani's style and execution."
"I do not like dark men who sing blonde."
"My good friend," said Franz, turning to him, while Albert continued to point his glass at every box in the theater, "you are really too difficult to please."
The curtain at length fell, to the infinite satisfaction of the Viscount de 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.
Franz, who had mutely interrogated the countess, and received from her a sign that he would be welcome, sought not to retard the gratification of Albert, but commenced at once the tour of the house, closely followed by Albert, who availed himself of a few minutes to settle his collar and the lapels of his coat; and knocked at the countess's box.
The door was immediately opened, and the young man who was seated beside the countess in the front of the loge instantly rose, in obedience to the Italian custom, 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, both as regarded his position and his talents; nor did he say more than the truth, for in Paris and the circle in which the viscount moved he was looked upon as a model. Franz added that his companion, deeply grieved at having been prevented the honor of being presented to the countess during her sojourn in Paris, had requested him to remedy the past misfortune by conducting him to her box, and concluded by ask ing pardon for his presumption in having taken upon himself to do so.
The countess, in reply, bowed gracefully to Albert, and extended her hand with cordial kindness to Franz.
Albert, at her invitation, took the vacant seat beside her; Franz the one behind her chair.
Albert was soon deeply discoursing upon Paris, and of the various persons they both knew there. Franz perceived how completely he was in his element; and, unwilling to interfere, took up Albert's lorgnette, and began in his turn to survey the audience.
Sitting alone, in the front of a box immediately opposite, on the third row, was a woman of exquisite beauty, dressed in a Greek cos​ tume, which it was evident, from the ease and grace with which she wore it, was her customary attire.
Behind her, but in shadow, was the outline of a man, whose features it was not possible to distinguish.
Franz could not forbear breaking in upon the conversation 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 remarked by either sex.
"All I can tell you about her," replied the countess, "is, that she has been at Eome since the beginning of the season; for I saw her where she now sits the very first night of the theater's opening, and since then she has never missed a performance,—sometimes accompanied by the man who is with her, and at others 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 survey of the Albanian. The curtain rose on the ballet, which was one of those excellent Italian ballets, put on the stage by Henri, who has established for himself a great reputation throughout Italy for his taste and skill in the choregraphic art one of those ballets in which the whole corps, from the principal dancers to the humblest supernumerary, are all engaged; and a hundred and fifty persons may be seen exhibiting the same attitude, or elevating the same arm or leg.
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 a childlike delight in watching it a delight contrasting strongly with the utter indifference of her companion, who, during the whole time the piece lasted, never even moved, but seemed to be enjoying bright celestial dreams, spite of the furious crashing din produced by the trumpets, cymbals, and Chinese bells in the orchestra.
The ballet at length came to a close, and the curtain fell amidst the loud plaudits of an enthusiastic audience.
Owing to the plan of dividing the acts of the opera with a ballet, the pauses are very short; the singers having time to repose themselves and change their costume 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, Franz observed the sleeper slowly arise and approach the ​ Greek, who turned round to say a few words to him, and then leaned forward again on her box.
The countenance of the person who had addressed her remained so completely in the shade that Franz could not distinguish a single feature.
The curtain drew up, and the attention of Franz was attracted by the actors; and his eyes quitted their gaze at the box containing the fair Greek, to watch the stage.
The second act of "Parisina" opens with the duet of the dream, in which Parisina, while sleeping, betrays to Azzo the secret of her love for Ugo. The injured husband goes through all the workings of jealousy, until, conviction seizing on his mind, he awakens her to announce his vengeance.
This duet is one of the finest, most expressive, and most terrible conceptions that has ever emanated from the fruitful pen of Donizetti. Franz now listened to it for the third time; yet its notes produced a profound effect. He rose to join the applause that followed; but suddenly 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 left his seat to stand up in the 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 man whose voice and figure had seemed so familiar to him the preceding evening in the ruins of the Colosseum.
All doubt was now at an end; his singular host evidently resided at Rome. The agitation of his mind no doubt imparted a corresponding expression to his features; for the countess, after gazing with a puzzled look, burst into a fit of laughter, and begged to know what had happened.
"Madame la Comtesse," returned Franz, "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 her."
"Perhaps you never before remarked 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," continued the countess, taking up the opera-glass and directing it to the box in question, "is, that the gentleman seems to me just dug up; a corpse permitted by some grave-digger to quit his tomb for a while. How ghastly pale he is!"
"Oh, he is always as colorless as you now see him," said Franz.
"Then you know him?" asked the countess. "Now it is my turn to ask who he is!"
​"And I can well understand," said the countess, shrugging up her beautiful shoulders as though a 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, since another felt the same.
"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 struck Franz; for if anything was likely to induce belief in the existence of vampires, it was this man.
"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."
"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 he had seen some. He described their looks. Oh! Exactly the same! the coal-black hair, large bright glittering eyes, in which a wild fire seems burning, the same ghastly paleness. Then observe, too, that the very girl he has with him is altogether unlike all others. She is a foreigner a stranger; a dealer in magical arts, like himself. I entreat of you not to go near him. To-morrow pursue your researches if you will; but to-night, I mean to keep you." Franz insisted.
"Listen to me," said the countess; "I am going home. I have a party at my house to-night, and therefore cannot possibly remain till the conclusion of the opera. Are you so devoid of gallantry as to refuse me your escort!"
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 that her uneasiness was not feigned; and Franz himself could not resist a species of superstitious dread so much the more natural in him, as it arose from recollection, while the terror of the countess sprang from an instinctive feeling.
Franz could even feel her arm tremble as he assisted her into the carriage. Franz escorted her home. There was no company; on the contrary, she was not expected so soon.
"Excuse me," said the countess, in reply to her companion's half-reproachful observation, "but that man had made me feel quite ill, and I longed to be alone."
Franz essayed to smile.
"Nay," said she, "smile not. It springs not from your heart. How ever, promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"Promise me, I say."
​"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 return to the promise you wished me to make," said Franz.
"Well, then, you must 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 afterward. 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. Try to sleep; 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 that 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 to tell you, once and forever, that you entertain a most erroneous notion concerning Italian ladies. I should have thought the failures you have met with might have taught you better."
"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, *where sounds the Si,' as Dante writes, 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 as the lovely Greek? 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! He is a fine-looking fellow admirably dressed a patron of Blin or Humann. Rather pale, certainly; but, then, you know, paleness is a mark of distinction."
​"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 corrupt 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. 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, I have a bright idea."
Franz looked at Albert as though he had not much confidence in his imagination.
"I tell you what, M. Franz!" cried Albert, "you deserve to be called out for such an incredulous glance."
"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."
"Well, now, what do you say to getting a cart?"
"Very possibly."
"And a pair of oxen?"
"As easily found as the cart."
​ "Well," said Franz, "this time, M. Albert? I am bound to give you credit for having hit upon a most capital idea."
"And quite a national one, too," replied Albert with gratified pride. "Pure Merovingian! Ha! ha! Messieurs les Remains; you thought to make us trot at the heels of your processions, like so many lazzaroni, because no carriages or horses are to be had. But you don't know us; when we can't have one thing, we invent another."
"And have you communicated your triumphant idea to any person?"
"Only to our host. Upon my return home I sent to desire he would come to me, 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. 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 effect that, so 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 Pastrini appeared. "Permesso?" inquired he.
"Certainly certainly," cried Franz.
"Now, then," asked Albert, eagerly, "have you found the desired cart and oxen?"
"Better than that!" replied 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 he, 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 small rooms, like two poor students in the back streets of Paris."
"Well, 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 Palace Rospoli." The friends looked at each other with 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 as noble as a Borghese and rich as a gold-mine."
"It seems to me," said Franz, speaking in an undertone to Albert, "that if he merited the high panegyrics of our landlord, he would have conveyed his invitation through another channel. He would have written—or——"
At this instant some one knocked at the door.
"Come in!" said Franz.
A servant, wearing a handsome livery, appeared at the threshold, and placing two cards in the landlord's hands, who forthwith presented them to the two young men, said:
"Please to deliver these, from M. le Comte de Monte-Cristo, to M. le Vicomte Albert de Morcerf and M. Franz Epinay. M. le Comte de 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 stated, Pastrini. The Count of Monte-Cristo is unquestionably a man of the world."
"Then you accept his offer?" said the host.
"Of course we do," said Albert. "Still I must own I am sorry to be obliged to give up the cart and the group of reapers. And were it not for the windows at the Palace 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 Palace Rospoli alone decided me."
The truth was, that the mention of two places in the Palace Rospoli had recalled to Franz's mind the conversation he had overheard the preceding evening in the ruins of the Colosseum between the mysterious ​ unknown and the Transteverino, in which the stranger in the cloak had undertaken to obtain the freedom of a condemned criminal.
Now, if this muffled-up individual proved, as Franz felt sure he would, the same as the person he had just seen in the Teatro Argentine, then he should be able to establish his identity, and also to satisfy his curiosity respecting him.
Franz passed the night in dreams respecting the two meetings, and in wishing for the morrow.
The next day must clear up every doubt, and unless the Count of Monte-Cristo possessed the ring of Gryges, and by its power were 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 profoundly asleep. The first act of Franz was to summon his landlord, who presented himself with his accustomed obsequiousness.
"Pray,Maitre Pastrini," asked Franz, "is not some execution appointed to take place to-day!"
"Yes, your excellence; 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, "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 excellence would have chosen to mingle with all the rabble that use it as an amphitheater."
"Very possibly I may not go," answered Franz; "but in case I feel disposed, give me some particulars of to-day's executions."
"What would you 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 excellence! Only a few minutes ago they brought me the tavolettes."
"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. This notice is to invite the faithful to 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 excellence; but I make an agreement with the man who pastes up the papers, and he brings them to me as he would ​ the play-bills, that in case any person staying at my hotel should like to witness an execution, he may obtain every requisite information."
"Upon my word, that is most delicate attention on your part, Maitre Pastrini," cried Franz.
"Why, your excellence," 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 patronage of the noble visitors to this poor hotel."
"I see that plainly enough, my most excellent host, and you may rely upon my repeating it wherever I go. Meanwhile, oblige me by a sight of one of these tavolettes."
"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, there will be executed in the Place del Popolo, by order of the Tribunal de la Rota, the so-called Andrea Rondolo, found guilty of the murder of a venerable and exemplary priest, named Don Cesar Torlini, canon of the church of Saint John Lateran; and the so-called Peppino, alias Rocca Priori, convicted of being an accomplice of the atrocious bandit, Luigi Vampa, and his troop. The first-named malefactor will be mazzolato, the second culprit, decapitate.
"'The prayers of all good Christians are entreated, that it may please God to grant the unfortunate culprits sincere repentance.'"
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 Transteverino was no other than the bandit Luigi Vampa himself, and the man shrouded in the mantle the same he had known as "Sindbad 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 cham ber, his friend entered the salon 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.
​"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?"
Visiting at the Opera
"Oh, certainly not!"
"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:
"Il Signori Francesi."
The domestic bowed respectfully, and invited them to enter. They passed through two rooms, furnished with a style and luxury they had not calculated on finding under the roof of Maitre Pastrini, and were shown into an elegantly fitted-up salon. Turkey carpets covered the floor, and soft couches offered their high-piled and yielding cushions; splendid paintings by the first masters were mingled with trophies of war, while heavy curtains of tapestry were suspended before the doors.
"If your excellencies will please to be seated," said the man, "I will let M. le Comte know you are here."
And with these words he disappeared behind one of the 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 breath of harmony to enter the salon.
Franz and Albert looked inquiringly at each other, then at the gorgeous fittings-up of the apartments.
All seemed even more splendid 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 our neighbor must either be some stock-jobber who has beared the Spanish funds or some prince traveling 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 afterward the tapestry was drawn aside, and the owner of all these riches stood before the two young men.
​ Franz Recognizes Monte-Cristo.