Chapter 34 The Colosseum
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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
H?tel 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. But
however the mind of the young man might he 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
C?sars, 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 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 C?sar'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 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 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 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; [1] 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; [2] 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
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." "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?" ""
exclaimed the man in the cloak, suddenly expressing himself in French. "What
did your excellency say?" inquired the other. "I
said, my good fellow, that I would do more single-handed by the means of
gold than you and all your troop could effect with stilettos, pistols,
carbines, and blunderbusses included. Leave me, then, to act, and have no
fears for the result." "At
least, there can be no harm in myself and party being in readiness, in
case your excellency should fail." "None
whatever. Take what precautions you please, if it is any satisfaction to
you to do so; but rely upon my obtaining the reprieve I seek." "Remember,
the execution is fixed for the day after tomorrow, and that you have but
one day to work in." "And
what of that? Is not a day divided into twenty-four hours, each hour into
sixty minutes, and every minute sub-divided into sixty seconds? Now in
86,400 seconds very many things can be done." "And
how shall I know whether your excellency has succeeded or not." "Oh,
that is very easily arranged. I have engaged the three lower windows at
the Cafиж Rospoli; should I have obtained
the requisite pardon for Peppino, the two outside windows will be hung
with yellow damasks, and the centre with white, having a large cross in
red marked on it." "And
whom will you employ to carry the reprieve to the officer directing the
execution?" "Send
one of your men, disguised as a penitent friar, and I will give it to him.
His dress will procure him the means of approaching the scaffold itself,
and he will deliver the official order to the officer, who, in his turn,
will hand it to the executioner; in the meantime, it will be as well to
acquaint Peppino with what we have determined on, if it be only to prevent
his dying of fear or losing his senses, because in either case a very
useless expense will have been incurred." "Your
excellency," said the man, "you are fully persuaded of my entire
devotion to you, are you not?" "Nay,
I flatter myself that there can be no doubt of it," replied the
cavalier in the cloak. "Well,
then, only fulfil your promise of rescuing Peppino, and henceforward you
shall receive not only devotion, but the most absolute obedience from
myself and those under me that one human being can render to
another." "Have
a care how far you pledge yourself, my good friend, for I may remind you
of your promise at some, perhaps, not very distant period, when I, in my
turn, may require your aid and influence." "Let
that day come sooner or later, your excellency will find me what I have
found you in this my heavy trouble; and if from the other end of the world
you but write me word to do such or such a thing, you may regard it as
done, for done it shall be, on the word and faith of"-- "Hush!"
interrupted the stranger; "I hear a noise." "'Tis
some travellers, who are visiting the Colosseum by torchlight." "'Twere
better we should not be seen together; those guides are nothing but spies,
and might possibly recognize you; and, however I may be honored by your
friendship, my worthy friend, if once the extent of our intimacy were
known, I am sadly afraid both my reputation and credit would suffer
thereby." "Well,
then, if you obtain the reprieve?" "The
middle window at the Cafиж
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 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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, 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 choregraphic
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 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 it's 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 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 call 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. "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." "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. 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," 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 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 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." "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 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." "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 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. "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 mazzolato, the second culprit,
decapitato. 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 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
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 portiииres. 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. |
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