‘And he has not come home?’ said the duke.
‘I waited for him until now,’ Franz replied.
‘Do you know where he was going?’
‘Not precisely, but I believe that there was some kind of assignation.’
‘Damnation!’ said the duke. ‘This is a bad day – or, rather, a bad night – to be out late; don’t you think, Madame la Comtesse?’
The last words were addressed to Countess G—, who had just arrived, on the arm of M. Torlonia, the duke’s brother.
‘On the contrary, I think the night is charming,’ said the countess. ‘Those who are here will only have one thing to complain of, which is that it will go too quickly.’
The duke smiled. ‘I am not talking of those who are here, who run no risk except, if they are men, that of falling in love with you and, if they are women, falling ill with jealousy at seeing you so beautiful. I am thinking of those who are in the streets of Rome.’
‘Good heavens,’ said the countess. ‘Whoever would be in the streets at this time of night, unless coming to your ball?’
‘Our friend Albert de Morcerf, Countess, whom I left in pursuit of his beautiful stranger at seven o’clock this evening,’ said Franz. ‘I haven’t seen him since.’
‘What! And you don’t know where he is?’
‘I have not the slightest idea.’
‘Is he armed?’
‘He’s wearing clown’s dress.’
‘You should not have let him go,’ the duke said. ‘You know Rome better than he does.’
‘Perhaps, but it was not so easy: one might as well have tried to stop the number three horse which won today’s race,’ Franz replied. ‘In any case, what could happen to him?’
‘Who knows? The night is very black and the Tiber is quite close to the Via Macello.’
Franz felt his blood run cold at seeing the duke and the countess’s thoughts running along similar lines to the ones suggested by his own anxieties.
‘I informed the hotel that I should have the honour of spending the night at your house, Duke,’ he said. ‘They are to come and tell me when he returns.’
‘There!’ said the duke. ‘I think this is one of my servants looking for you now.’
He was right. Seeing Franz, the servant came over.
‘Excellency,’ he said, ‘the owner of the Hôtel de Londres wishes to inform you that a man is waiting there with a letter from the Vicomte de Morcerf.’
‘A letter from the vicomte!’ Franz exclaimed.
‘Yes.’
‘Who is this man?’
‘I cannot tell you.’
‘Why did he not bring it to me here?’
‘He gave me no explanation.’
‘Where is this messenger?’
‘He left as soon as he saw me come into the ballroom to speak to you.’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ the countess exclaimed. ‘Go quickly. Poor young man, perhaps he has had an accident.’
‘I’m going this moment,’ said Franz.
‘Will you come back and tell us any news?’ asked the countess.
‘Yes, if the matter is not serious; otherwise I cannot say where I will be myself.’
‘In any case, be prudent,’ said the countess.
‘Don’t worry, I shall.’
Franz took his hat and left hurriedly. He had sent away his carriage, ordering it for two o’clock; but fortunately the Palazzo Bracciano, which faces on to the Corso on one side and the Piazza dei Santi Apostoli on the other, is hardly ten minutes on foot from the Hôtel de Londres. As he approached the hotel, Franz saw a man standing in the middle of the street, and did not for an instant doubt that this was the messenger from Albert. The man was wearing a large cloak. He went over but, much to Franz’s surprise, it was the man who spoke first.
‘What do you want of me, Excellency?’ he said, stepping backwards like a man wanting to keep up his defences.
‘Aren’t you the person who is bringing me a letter from the Vicomte de Morcerf?’ Franz asked.
‘Is Your Excellency staying at Pastrini’s hotel?’
‘I am.’
‘And is Your Excellency the viscount’s travelling companion?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is Your Excellency’s name?’
‘Baron Franz d’Epinay.’
‘Then this letter is indeed addressed to Your Excellency.’
‘Is there to be any reply?’ Franz asked, taking the letter from the man’s hand.
‘Yes – at least your friend hopes so.’
‘Come up, then, and I’ll give it to you.’
‘I should prefer to wait here,’ the messenger said, laughing.
‘Why?’
‘Your Excellency will understand everything when you have read the letter.’
‘So, am I to meet you again here?’
‘Certainly.’
Franz went into the hotel and met Signor Pastrini on the stairs.
‘Well?’ the innkeeper asked.
‘Well, what?’ said Franz.
‘Did you see the man who wanted to speak with you on behalf of your friend?’ he asked Franz.
‘Yes, I saw him,’ he replied. ‘And he gave me this letter. Please bring lights to my room.’
The hotelier gave the order to a servant to go ahead of Franz with a candle. The young man had sensed that Signor Pastrini was afraid, and this made him even more anxious to read Albert’s letter. He went close to the candle as soon as it was lit and spread out the sheet of paper. The letter was in Albert’s hand and was signed by him. Franz read it twice, so unexpected were its contents. This is precisely what it said:
Dear Friend, as soon as you receive this, be so good as to take the letter of credit from my portfolio, which you will find in the square drawer of the writing table. If the amount is not enough, add your own. Go immediately to Torlonia’s, draw four thousand piastres and give them to the bearer. It is urgent that this amount should reach me without delay.
I shall not insist further: I count on you as you could count on me.
P.S. I believe now the Italian banditti.*
Your friend, ALBERT DE MORCERF
Beneath these lines was written in a strange hand these few words in Italian:
Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani, alla sette il conte Alberto avia cessato di vivere.†
LUIGI VAMPA
The second signature explained everything to Franz, who understood the messenger’s reluctance to come up to his room: the street would seem safer to him. Albert had fallen into the clutches of the famous bandit chief in whose existence he had so long refused to believe.
There was no time to be lost. He ran to the writing table and opened it; in the drawer mentioned, he found the portfolio and, in the portfolio, the letter of credit. In all it was for six thousand piastres, but Albert had already spent three thousand of them. As for Franz, he had no letter of credit. Since he was living in Florence and had come to Rome for only seven or eight days, he had taken about a hundred louis with him and, of these, at the most fifty were left.
This meant that the two of them, Franz and Albert together, were seven or eight hundred piastres short of the amount asked for. It is true that in such a case Franz could count on the understanding of Messrs Torlonia. He was consequently preparing to return to the Palazzo Bracciano immediately, when suddenly he had a brilliant idea. He thought of the Count of Monte Cristo. He was just about to give the order to send for Signor Pastrini when the man appeared in person at the door.
‘My dear Signor Pastrini,’ he said eagerly, ‘do you know if the count is in?’
‘Yes, Excellency. He has just returned.’
‘Will he have had time to go to bed yet?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Then kindly ring at his door and ask his permission for me to pay him a visit.’
Signor Pastrini hurried off to carry out these instructions and returned in five minutes.
&nbs
p; ‘The count is expecting Your Excellency,’ he said.
Franz crossed the landing and a servant showed him in to the count, who was in a little study that Franz had not yet seen, with divans around the walls. He came forward to meet him.
‘What fair wind brings you here at this hour?’ he asked. ‘Are you inviting me to take supper with you? That would be very obliging, I must say.’
‘No, I have come to speak with you on serious business.’
‘Business!’ said the count, giving Franz his usual penetrating look. ‘What business?’
‘Are we alone?’
The count went across to the door, then returned.
‘Completely alone,’ he said.
Franz gave him Albert’s letter. ‘Read this,’ he said.
The count read it and said only: ‘Ah!’
‘Did you see the postscript?’
‘Yes, certainly I did: “Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani, alla sette il conte Alberto avia cessato di vivere.”’
‘What do you say about that?’
‘Do you have the amount required?’
‘Yes, except for eight hundred piastres.’
The count went over to his writing table, opened it and pulled out a drawer full of gold. ‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that you will not insult me by going to anyone else?’
‘On the contrary, you see that I came straight to you,’ said Franz.
‘Thank you. Please take what you need.’ And he motioned towards the drawer.
‘Is it really necessary to send this money to Luigi Vampa?’ the young man asked, staring fixedly at the count in his turn.
‘By God! Ask yourself: the postscript is clear enough.’
‘It seems to me that, if you were to look for it, you would find a means to simplify the negotiation considerably,’ said Franz.
‘What means?’ asked the count in astonishment.
‘For example, if we were to go together to meet Luigi Vampa, I am sure that he would not refuse to grant you Albert’s freedom.’
‘Me? What influence could I have over this bandit?’
‘Have you not just rendered him the sort of service that is not easily forgotten?’
‘What service?’
‘Didn’t you just save Peppino’s life?’
‘Ah ha! Now who told you that?’
‘What does that matter? I know.’
The count stayed silent for a moment, frowning.
‘If I went to meet Vampa, would you come with me?’
‘If my company was not too displeasing to you.’
‘Very well. The night is fair and a walk in the Roman campagna can only do us good.’
‘Should we arm ourselves?’
‘What for?’
‘Should we take any money?’
‘There is no need. Where is the man who brought this note?’
‘Outside, in the street.’
‘Is he waiting for an answer?’
‘Yes.’
‘We must have some idea of where we are going. I’ll call him.’
‘It is pointless, he does not want to come up.’
‘To your apartments, perhaps, but he will not mind coming to mine.’
The count went to the window of the study, which overlooked the street, and whistled in a particular way. The man in the cloak stepped out of the shadows and into the middle of the street.
‘Salite!’ the count said, as if giving orders to a servant. The messenger obeyed at once without hesitation, even eagerly, and, leaping across the four steps at the entrance to the hotel, came in. Five seconds later, he was at the study door.
‘Ah, it’s you, Peppino!’ said the count.
Peppino, instead of answering, fell to his knees, grasped the count’s hand and pressed his lips to it repeatedly.
‘Well, I never,’ said the count. ‘You have not yet forgotten how I saved your life. Odd. It was already a week ago.’
‘No, Excellency, and I shall never forget,’ said Peppino, in a tone of voice that expressed the depth of his gratitude.
‘Never is a very long time, but it counts for a lot that you should believe it. Stand up and answer me.’
Peppino looked anxiously at Franz.
‘Oh! You can speak in front of His Excellency,’ the count said. ‘He is a friend of mine.’ Then he added, in French, turning to Franz: ‘I hope you will allow me to call you that. It is necessary to gain this man’s confidence.’
‘You may speak in front of me,’ Franz said. ‘I am a friend of the count’s.’
‘Fine!’ said Peppino, turning back to the count. ‘Your Excellency can ask the questions and I shall reply.’
‘How did Vicomte Albert fall into Luigi’s hands?’
‘Excellency, the Frenchman’s carriage drove several times past the one with Teresa in it.’
‘The chief’s mistress?’
‘Yes. The Frenchman flirted with her and it amused Teresa to reply. The Frenchman threw her bouquets, she threw some back. All this, of course, was with the chief’s consent. He was in the carriage himself.’
‘What!’ Franz exclaimed. ‘Luigi Vampa was in the carriage with the peasant women!’
‘He was driving it, disguised as the coachman.’
‘And then?’ asked the count.
‘Well, then the Frenchman took off his mask. Teresa, still with the chief’s agreement, did the same. The Frenchman asked for a rendez-vous, and Teresa agreed; however, in place of Teresa, it was Beppo who was waiting on the steps of San Giacomo.’
‘What!’ Franz exclaimed, interrupting him again. ‘The peasant girl who took his moccoletto from him… ?’
‘Was a fifteen-year-old boy,’ Peppino answered. ‘But there is no shame for your friend in the mistake; Beppo has fooled lots of others, take my word for it.’
‘And Beppo took him outside the walls?’ asked the count.
‘Just so. A carriage was waiting at the end of the Via Macello. Beppo got in and told the Frenchman to follow; he did not need asking twice. He graciously offered the right-hand seat to Beppo and sat beside him. Thereupon Beppo told him he would be driven to a villa a league outside Rome. The Frenchman assured Beppo that he was prepared to follow him to the end of the earth. At this, the coachman went up the Via Ripetta, through the Porta San Paolo and, two hundred yards into the countryside, as the Frenchman was starting to get a little too forward, Beppo stuck a pair of pistols in his throat; upon which the coachman stopped the horses, turned around in his seat and did the same. At the same time four of our men who had been hiding on the banks of the Almo rushed across to the doors. The Frenchman tried his best to defend himself and even, so I heard, half strangled Beppo, but there was not much to be done against five armed men. He had to give up. He was taken out of the coach, along the banks of the stream and eventually to Teresa and Luigi, who were waiting for him in the Catacombs of San Sebastian.’
‘Well, what do you say to that?’ said the count, turning towards Franz. ‘That’s not a bad story, I think. You are a connoisseur in such matters; what do you think?’
‘I think I would find it most amusing,’ Franz replied, ‘if it had happened to anyone except poor Albert.’
‘The fact is,’ said the count, ‘that if you had not found me there, your friend’s good fortune would have cost him dear. But don’t worry: in the event he will get away with a fright.’
‘We’re still going to find him?’
‘Certainly! All the more so since he is in a very picturesque spot. Do you know the Catacombs of Saint Sebastian?’
‘No, I have never been into them, but I had promised myself that I would visit them one day.’
‘Well, now you have a ready-made opportunity, and it would be hard to find a better one. Do you have your carriage?’
‘No.’
‘No matter. They invariably keep one ready harnessed for me, day and night.’
‘Ready harnessed?’
‘Yes, I must tell
you, I am a very capricious person. Sometimes I get up from the table at the end of my dinner, in the middle of the night, and have a sudden desire to set off for some part of the world; so I leave.’
The count rang and his valet appeared.
‘Bring the carriage out of the coachhouse,’ he said, ‘and take the pistols which you will find in the pockets. There is no sense in waking the coachman, Ali will drive.’
A moment later the carriage could be heard drawing up outside the door. The count took out his watch.
‘Half-past midnight,’ he said. ‘We could have left at five o’clock in the morning and still arrived in time; but that delay might have meant your friend spending an unpleasant night, so we had better set off at once to rescue him from the clutches of the infidel. Are you still set on accompanying me?’
‘More than ever.’
‘Well then, come.’
Franz and the count left, followed by Peppino. They found the carriage waiting at the door, with Ali on the box. Franz recognized the dumb slave from the grotto on Monte Cristo.
Franz and the count got into the carriage, a coupé. Peppino sat beside Ali and they set off at a gallop. Ali had had his orders in advance, for he followed the Corso, crossed the Campo Vaccino and drove up the Strada San Gregorio until they reached the Porto San Sebastiano. Here the gatekeeper tried to detain them, but the Count of Monte Cristo showed him an authorization from the governor of Rome allowing him to go in or out of the City at any time of the day or night, so the gateway was raised, the keeper had a louis for his trouble and they passed through.
The road that the carriage followed was the old Appian Way, lined with tombs. From time to time, in the light of the newly risen moon, Franz saw what he thought was a sentry gliding out of a ruin; but as soon as a sign had been exchanged between Peppino and this wraith, it vanished back into the shadows.
A little way before the amphitheatre of Caracalla, the carriage halted, Peppino opened the door, and Franz and the count got down. ‘In ten minutes,’ the count told his companion, ‘we shall be there.’ He took Peppino aside, whispered some order to him, and Peppino left after taking a torch which they found in the trunk of the coupé.
The Count of Monte Cristo (Penguin Classics eBook) Page 54