Franz had so managed his route, that during the ride to the Colosseum
they passed not a single ancient ruin, so that no preliminary impression
interfered to mitigate the colossal proportions of the gigantic building
they came to admire. The road selected was a continuation of the Via
Sistina; then by cutting off the right angle of the street in which
stands Santa Maria Maggiore and proceeding by the Via Urbana and
San Pietro in Vincoli, the travellers would find themselves directly
opposite the Colosseum. This itinerary possessed another great
advantage,--that of leaving Franz at full liberty to indulge his deep
reverie upon the subject of Signor Pastrini's story, in which his
mysterious host of Monte Cristo was so strangely mixed up. Seated with
folded arms in a corner of the carriage, he continued to ponder over
the singular history he had so lately listened to, and to ask himself
an interminable number of questions touching its various circumstances
without, however, arriving at a satisfactory reply to any of them. One
fact more than the rest brought his friend "Sinbad the Sailor" back
to his recollection, and that was the mysterious sort of intimacy that
seemed to exist between the brigands and the sailors; and Pastrini's
account of Vampa's having found refuge on board the vessels of smugglers
and fishermen, reminded Franz of the two Corsican bandits he had found
supping so amicably with the crew of the little yacht, which had even
deviated from its course and touched at Porto-Vecchio for the sole
purpose of landing them. The very name assumed by his host of Monte
Cristo and again repeated by the landlord of the Hotel de Londres,
abundantly proved to him that his island friend was playing his
philanthropic part on the shores of Piombino, Civita-Vecchio, Ostia, and
Gaeta, as on those of Corsica, Tuscany, and Spain; and further, Franz
bethought him of having heard his singular entertainer speak both
of Tunis and Palermo, proving thereby how largely his circle of
acquaintances extended.
But however the mind of the young man might be absorbed in these
reflections, they were at once dispersed at the sight of the dark
frowning ruins of the stupendous Colosseum, through the various openings
of which the pale moonlight played and flickered like the unearthly
gleam from the eyes of the wandering dead. The carriage stopped near the
Meta Sudans; the door was opened, and the young men, eagerly alighting,
found themselves opposite a cicerone, who appeared to have sprung up
from the ground, so unexpected was his appearance.
The usual guide from the hotel having followed them, they had paid two
conductors, nor is it possible, at Rome, to avoid this abundant supply
of guides; besides the ordinary cicerone, who seizes upon you directly
you set foot in your hotel, and never quits you while you remain in the
city, there is also a special cicerone belonging to each monument--nay,
almost to each part of a monument. It may, therefore, be easily imagined
there is no scarcity of guides at the Colosseum, that wonder of all
ages, which Martial thus eulogizes: "Let Memphis cease to boast the
barbarous miracles of her pyramids, and the wonders of Babylon be talked
of no more among us; all must bow to the superiority of the gigantic
labor of the Caesars, and the many voices of Fame spread far and wide
the surpassing merits of this incomparable monument."
As for Albert and Franz, they essayed not to escape from their
ciceronian tyrants; and, indeed, it would have been so much the more
difficult to break their bondage, as the guides alone are permitted to
visit these monuments with torches in their hands. Thus, then, the
young men made no attempt at resistance, but blindly and confidingly
surrendered themselves into the care and custody of their conductors.
Albert had already made seven or eight similar excursions to the
Colosseum, while his less favored companion trod for the first time in
his life the classic ground forming the monument of Flavius Vespasian;
and, to his credit be it spoken, his mind, even amid the glib loquacity
of the guides, was duly and deeply touched with awe and enthusiastic
admiration of all he saw; and certainly no adequate notion of these
stupendous ruins can be formed save by such as have visited them, and
more especially by moonlight, at which time the vast proportions of the
building appear twice as large when viewed by the mysterious beams of
a southern moonlit sky, whose rays are sufficiently clear and vivid to
light the horizon with a glow equal to the soft twilight of an eastern
clime. Scarcely, therefore, had the reflective Franz walked a hundred
steps beneath the interior porticoes of the ruin, than, abandoning
Albert to the guides (who would by no means yield their prescriptive
right of carrying their victims through the routine regularly laid down,
and as regularly followed by them, but dragged the unconscious visitor
to the various objects with a pertinacity that admitted of no appeal,
beginning, as a matter of course, with the Lions' Den, and finishing
with Caesar's "Podium,"), to escape a jargon and mechanical survey
of the wonders by which he was surrounded, Franz ascended a
half-dilapidated staircase, and, leaving them to follow their monotonous
round, seated himself at the foot of a column, and immediately opposite
a large aperture, which permitted him to enjoy a full and undisturbed
view of the gigantic dimensions of the majestic ruin.
Franz had remained for nearly a quarter of an hour perfectly hidden
by the shadow of the vast column at whose base he had found a
resting-place, and from whence his eyes followed the motions of Albert
and his guides, who, holding torches in their hands, had emerged from
a vomitarium at the opposite extremity of the Colosseum, and then again
disappeared down the steps conducting to the seats reserved for the
Vestal virgins, resembling, as they 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; [*] he is an atrocious villain, who murdered the priest who
brought him up, and deserves not the smallest pity. The other sufferer
is sentenced to be decapitato; [**] and he, your excellency, is poor
Peppino."
* Knocked on the head.
** Beheaded.
"The fact is, that you have inspired not only the pontifical government,
but also the neighboring states, with such extreme fear, that they are
glad of all opportunity of making an example."
"But Peppino did not even belong to my band: he was merely a poor
shepherd, whose only crime consisted in furnishing us with provisions."
"Which makes him your accomplice to all intents and purposes. But mark
the distinction with which he is treated; instead of being knocked on
the head as you would be if once they caught hold of you, he is simply
sentenced to be guillotined, by which means, too, the amusements of
the day are diversified, and there is a spectacle to please every
spectator."
"Without reckoning the wholly unexpected one I am preparing to surprise
them with."
"My good friend," said the man in the cloak, "excuse me for saying that
you seem to me precisely in the mood to commit some wild or extravagant
act."
"Perhaps I am; but one thing I have resolved on, and that is, to stop at
nothing to restore a poor devil to liberty, who has got into this scrape
solely from having served me. I should hate and despise myself as a
coward did I desert the brave fellow in his present extremity."
"And what do you mean to do?"
"To surround the scaffold with twenty of my best men, who, at a signal
from me, will rush forward directly Peppino is brought for execution,
and, by the assistance of their stilettos, drive back the guard, and
carry off the prisoner."
"That seems to me as hazardous as uncertain, and convinces me that my
scheme is far better than yours."
"And what is your excellency's project?"
"Just this. I will so advantageously bestow 2,000 piastres, that the
person receiving them shall obtain a respite till next year for Peppino;
and during that year, another skilfully placed 1,000 piastres will
afford him the means of escaping from his prison."
"And do you feel sure of succeeding?"
"Pardieu!" exclaimed the man in the cloak, suddenly expressing himself
in French.
"What did your excellency say?" inquired the other.
"I said, my good fellow, that I would do more single-handed by the
means of gold than you and all your troop could effect with stilettos,
pistols, carbines, and blunderbusses included. Leave me, then, to act,
and have no fears for the result."
"At least, there can be no harm in myself and party being in readiness,
in case your excellency should fail."
"None whatever. Take what precautions you please, if it is any
satisfaction to you to do so; but rely upon my obtaining the reprieve I
seek."
"Remember, the execution is fixed for the day after tomorrow, and that
you have but one day to work in."
"And what of that? Is not a day divided into twenty-four hours, each
hour into sixty minutes, and every minute sub-divided into sixty
seconds? Now in 86,400 seconds very many things can be done."
"And how shall I know whether your excellency has succeeded or not."
"Oh, that is very easily arranged. I have engaged the three lower
windows at the Cafe Rospoli; should I have obtained the requisite pardon
for Peppino, the two outside windows will be hung with yellow damasks,
and the centre with white, having a large cross in red marked on it."
"And whom will you employ to carry the reprieve to the officer directing
the execution?"
"Send one of your men, disguised as a penitent friar, and I will give it
to him. His dress will procure him the means of approaching the scaffold
itself, and he will deliver the official order to the officer, who, in
his turn, will hand it to the executioner; in the meantime, it will be
as well to acquaint Peppino with what we have determined on, if it
be only to prevent his dying of fear or losing his senses, because in
either case a very useless expense will have been incurred."
"Your excellency," said the man, "you are fully persuaded of my entire
devotion to you, are you not?"
"Nay, I flatter myself that there can be no doubt of it," replied the
cavalier in the cloak.
"Well, then, only fulfil your promise of rescuing Peppino, and
henceforward you shall receive not only devotion, but the most absolute
obedience from myself and those under me that one human being can render
to another."
"Have a care how far you pledge yourself, my good friend, for I may
remind you of your promise at some, perhaps, not very distant period,
when I, in my turn, may require your aid and influence."
"Let that day come sooner or later, your excellency will find me what
I have found you in this my heavy trouble; and if from the other end
of the world you but write me word to do such or such a thing, you may
regard it as done, for done it shall be, on the word and faith of"--
"Hush!" interrupted the stranger; "I hear a noise."
"'Tis some travellers, who are visiting the Colosseum by torchlight."
"'Twere better we should not be seen together; those guides are nothing
but spies, and might possibly recognize you; and, however I may be
honored by your friendship, my worthy friend, if once the extent of our
intimacy were known, I am sadly afraid both my reputation and credit
would suffer thereby."
"Well, then, if you obtain the reprieve?"
"The middle window at the Cafe Rospoli will be hung with white damask,
bearing a red cross."
"And if you fail?"
"Then all three windows will have yellow draperies."
"And then?"
"And then, my good fellow, use your daggers in any way you please, and I
further promise you to be there as a spectator of your prowess."
"We understand each other perfectly, then. Adieu, your excellency;
depend upon me as firmly as I do upon you."
Saying these words, the Transteverin disappeared down the staircase,
while his companion, muffling his features more closely than before in
the folds of his mantle, passed almost close to Franz, and descended
to the arena by an outward flight of steps. The next minute Franz heard
himself called by Albert, who made the lofty building re-echo with the
sound of his friend's name. Franz, however, did not obey the summons
till he had satisfied himself that the two men whose conversation he had
overheard were at a sufficient distance to prevent his encountering them
in his descent. In ten minutes after the strangers had departed,
Franz was on the road to the Piazza de Spagni, listening with studied
indifference to the learned dissertation delivered by Albert, after the
manner of Pliny and Calpurnius, touching the iron-pointed nets used to
prevent the ferocious beasts from springing on the spectators. Franz let
him proceed without interruption, and, in fact, did not hear what
was said; he longed to be alone, and free to ponder over all that had
occurred. One of the two men, whose mysterious meeting in the Colosseum
he had so unintentionally 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
choreographic art--one of those masterly productions of grace, method,
and elegance in which the whole corps de ballet, from the principal
dancers to the humblest supernumerary, are all engaged on the stage at
the same time; and a hundred and fifty persons may be seen exhibiting
the same attitude, or elevating the same arm or leg with a simultaneous
movement, that would lead you to suppose that but one mind, one act of
volition, influenced the moving mass--the ballet was called "Poliska."
However much the ballet might have claimed his attention, Franz was too
deeply occupied with the beautiful Greek to take any note of it; while
she seemed to experience an almost childlike delight in watching it, her
eager, animated looks contrasting strongly with the utter indifference
of her companion, who, during the whole time the piece lasted, never
even moved, not even when the furious, crashing din produced by the
trumpets, cymbals, and Chinese bells sounded their loudest from the
orchestra. Of this he took no heed, but was, as far as appearances might
be trusted, enjoying soft repose and bright celestial dreams. The ballet
at length came to a close, and the curtain fell amid the loud, unanimous
plaudits of an enthusiastic and delighted audience.
Owing to the very judicious plan of dividing the two acts of the opera
with a ballet, the pauses between the performances are very short, the
singers in the opera having time to repose themselves and change
their costume, when necessary, while the dancers are executing their
pirouettes and exhibiting their graceful steps. The overture to the
second act began; and, at the first sound of the leader's bow across his
violin, Franz observed the sleeper slowly arise and approach the Greek
girl, who turned around to say a few words to him, and then, leaning
forward again on the railing of her box, she became as absorbed as
before in what was going on. The countenance of the person who had
addressed her remained so completely in the shade, that, though Franz
tried his utmost, he could not distinguish a single feature. The curtain
rose, and the attention of Franz was attracted by the actors; and his
eyes turned from the box containing the Greek girl and her strange
companion to watch the business of the stage.
Most of my readers are aware that the second act of "Parisina" opens
with the celebrated and effective duet in which Parisina, while
sleeping, betrays to Azzo the secret of her love for Ugo. The injured
husband goes through all the emotions of jealousy, until conviction
seizes on his mind, and then, in a frenzy of rage and indignation,
he awakens his guilty wife to tell her that he knows her guilt and to
threaten her with his vengeance. This duet is one of the most beautiful,
expressive and terrible conceptions that has ever emanated from the
fruitful pen of Donizetti. Franz now listened to it for the third
time; yet its notes, so tenderly expressive and fearfully grand as
the wretched husband and wife give vent to their different griefs and
passions, thrilled through the soul of Franz with an effect equal to his
first emotions upon hearing it. Excited beyond his usual calm
demeanor, Franz rose with the audience, and was about to join the
loud, enthusiastic applause that followed; but suddenly his purpose was
arrested, his hands fell by his sides, and the half-uttered "bravos"
expired on his lips. The occupant of the box in which the Greek girl sat
appeared to share the universal admiration that prevailed; for he left
his seat to stand up in front, so that, his countenance being fully
revealed, Franz had no difficulty in recognizing him as the mysterious
inhabitant of Monte Cristo, and the very same person he had encountered
the preceding evening in the ruins of the Colosseum, and whose voice and
figure had seemed so familiar to him. All doubt of his identity was now
at an end; his singular host evidently resided at Rome. The surprise
and agitation occasioned by this full confirmation of Franz's former
suspicion had no doubt imparted a corresponding expression to his
features; for the countess, after gazing with a puzzled look at
his face, burst into a fit of laughter, and begged to know what had
happened. "Countess," returned Franz, totally unheeding her raillery, "I
asked you a short time since if you knew any particulars respecting the
Albanian lady opposite; I must now beseech you to inform me who and what
is her husband?"
"Nay," answered the countess, "I know no more of him than yourself."
"Perhaps you never before noticed him?"
"What a question--so truly French! Do you not know that we Italians have
eyes only for the man we love?"
"True," replied Franz.
"All I can say is," continued the countess, taking up the lorgnette,
and directing it toward the box in question, "that the gentleman, whose
history I am unable to furnish, seems to me as though he had just
been dug up; he looks more like a corpse permitted by some friendly
grave-digger to quit his tomb for a while, and revisit this earth of
ours, than anything human. How ghastly pale he is!"
"Oh, he is always as colorless as you now see him," said Franz.
"Then you know him?" almost screamed the countess. "Oh, pray do, for
heaven's sake, tell us all about--is he a vampire, or a resuscitated
corpse, or what?"
"I fancy I have seen him before; and I even think he recognizes me."
"And I can well understand," said the countess, shrugging up her
beautiful shoulders, as though an involuntary shudder passed through her
veins, "that those who have once seen that man will never be likely
to forget him." The sensation experienced by Franz was evidently not
peculiar to himself; another, and wholly uninterested person, felt the
same unaccountable awe and misgiving. "Well." inquired Franz, after the
countess had a second time directed her lorgnette at the box, "what do
you think of our opposite neighbor?"
"Why, that he is no other than Lord Ruthven himself in a living form."
This fresh allusion to Byron [*] drew a smile to Franz's countenance;
although he could but allow that if anything was likely to induce belief
in the existence of vampires, it would be the presence of such a man as
the mysterious personage before him.
"I must positively find out who and what he is," said Franz, rising from
his seat.
"No, no," cried the countess; "you must not leave me. I depend upon you
to escort me home. Oh, indeed, I cannot permit you to go."
* Scott, of course: "The son of an ill-fated sire, and the
father of a yet more unfortunate family, bore in his looks
that cast of inauspicious melancholy by which the
physiognomists of that time pretended to distinguish those
who were predestined to a violent and unhappy death."--The
Abbot, ch. xxii.
"Is it possible," whispered Franz, "that you entertain any fear?"
"I'll tell you," answered the countess. "Byron had the most perfect
belief in the existence of vampires, and even assured me that he had
seen them. The description he gave me perfectly corresponds with
the features and character of the man before us. 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
subjected to the mazzuola, the second culprit beheaded. The prayers of
all good Christians are entreated for these unfortunate men, that it may
please God to awaken them to a sense of their guilt, and to grant them a
hearty and sincere repentance for their crimes.'"
This was precisely what Franz had heard the evening before in the ruins
of the Colosseum. No part of the programme differed,--the names of the
condemned persons, their crimes, and mode of punishment, all agreed
with his previous information. In all probability, therefore, the
Transteverin was no other than the bandit Luigi Vampa himself, and the
man shrouded in the mantle 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
portieres. As the door opened, the sound of a guzla reached the ears of
the young men, but was almost immediately lost, for the rapid closing
of the door merely allowed one rich swell of harmony to enter. Franz
and Albert looked inquiringly at each other, then at the gorgeous
furnishings of the apartment. Everything seemed more magnificent at a
second view than it had done at their first rapid survey.
"Well," said Franz to his friend, "what think you of all this?"
"Why, upon my soul, my dear fellow, it strikes me that our elegant and
attentive neighbor must either be some successful stock-jobber who has
speculated in the fall of the Spanish funds, or some prince travelling
incog."
"Hush, hush!" replied Franz; "we shall ascertain who and what he is--he
comes!" As Franz spoke, he heard the sound of a door turning on its
hinges, and almost immediately afterwards the tapestry was drawn aside,
and the owner of all these riches stood before the two young men. Albert
instantly rose to meet him, but Franz remained, in a manner, spellbound
on his chair; for in the person of him who had just entered he
recognized not only the mysterious visitant to the Colosseum, and the
occupant of the box at the Teatro Argentino, but also his extraordinary
host of Monte Cristo.
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