Count of Monte Cristo (abridged) (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Alexandre Dumas

  Franz was too far away to hear the words that passed between them, but they must have been friendly, for he saw them go away together arm in arm. He watched them for some time making their way through the crowd, but lost sight of them in the Via Macello. Suddenly the bell sounded signalling the close of Carnival, and at the same moment all the moccoletti were extinguished as if by magic. It was just as though one tremendous gust of wind had risen, carrying everything before it, and Franz found himself in complete darkness.

  The shouts ceased just as suddenly as though the strong wind had not only blown out the lights, but had also carried all the noise with it. No sound was heard save the rolling of carriages taking the revellers to their homes; no lights were to be seen save those at a few isolated windows. The Carnival was over.

  Chapter XXIX

  THE CATACOMBS OF ST SEBASTIAN

  In his whole life Franz had never experienced such a sudden change of impressions, such a swift transition from jollity to sadness as at that moment. It was as though Rome had been changed by the magic breath of some demon of darkness into a vast tomb. It so chanced, too, that the moon was on the wane and would not rise until about eleven o’clock, which added to the intensity of the darkness. The streets the young man traversed were, therefore, plunged into blackest obscurity. He had not far to go, however, and at the end of ten minutes his carriage, or rather the Count’s, stopped before the Hôtel de Londres.

  Dinner was waiting, but as Albert had said he did not expect to be in so soon, Franz sat down to table without him.

  At eleven o’clock Albert had not come back. Franz put on his coat and went out, telling his host that he was spending the evening at the Duke of Bracciano’s.

  The Duke of Bracciano’s house was at that time one of the most charming in Rome; his wife, who was one of the last descendants of the Colonnas, did the honours in the most perfect style, and the parties she gave attained European celebrity. Franz and Albert had brought letters of introduction to them, and the Duke’s first question was as to what had become of Albert. Franz replied that he had left him when they were extinguishing the moccoletti and had lost sight of him in the Via Miacello.

  “Do you know where he went to?” asked the Duke.

  “Not exactly, but I believe there was some question of a rendezvous.”

  “Good heavens!” cried the Duke. “It is a bad day, or rather night, to be out late. You know Rome better than he does and should not have let him go.”

  “I should just as easily have stopped number three of the barberi that won the race to-day. Besides, what could happen to him?”

  “Who knows! It is a very dark night and the Tiber is very close to the Via Macello.”

  Franz felt a shudder run down his back when he observed that the Duke was as uneasy in his mind as he himself was.

  “I left word at the hotel that I had the honour of spending the evening with you, Duke,” he said, “and that they were to inform me directly he returned.”

  “Wait a moment; I believe one of my servants is looking for you.”

  The Duke was not mistaken; on observing Franz, the servant came up to him.

  “Excellency,” said he, “the proprietor of the Hôtel de Londres has sent to inform you that a man is waiting for you there with a letter from Viscount Morcerf.”

  “A letter from the Viscount!” cried Franz. “Where is the messenger?”

  “He went away directly he saw me come into the ball-room to find you.”

  Franz took his hat and hastened away. As he neared the hotel, he saw a man standing in the middle of the road and did not doubt he was Albert’s messenger. He went up to him, and said:

  “Have you not brought me a letter from Viscount Morcerf ?”

  “What is Your Excellency’s name?”

  “Baron Franz d’Épinay.”

  “Then the letter is addressed to Your Excellency.”

  “Is there an answer?” asked Franz, taking the letter.

  “Your friend hopes so!”

  Franz went in and, as soon as his candle was lit, unfolded the paper. The letter was written in Albert’s handwriting and signed by him. Franz read it twice before he could comprehend the contents, which were as follows:

  DEAR FRANZ,

  Directly you receive this, be good enough to take my letter of credit from my portfolio in the drawer of the writing-desk and add yours to it should it not be enough. Hasten to Torlonia’s and draw out at once four thousand piastres, which give to bearer. It is urgent that this sum of money should be sent to me without delay.

  I will say no more, for I count on you as you would count on me.

  Yours ever,

  ALBERT DE MORCERF

  P. S.—I now believe in Italian bandits

  Beneath these lines the following words were written in a strange hand:

  Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani, alle sette il conte Alberto avrà cessato di vivere.bb

  LUIGI VAMPA

  This second signature explained all to Franz. Albert had fallen into the hands of the famous chief of banditti in whose existence he had for so long refused to believe.

  There was no time to lose. He hastened to the desk, opened it, found the portfolio in the drawer and in the portfolio the letter of credit: it was made out for six thousand piastres, but Albert had already spent three thousand. Franz had no letter of credit; as he lived at Florence and had come to Rome for but seven or eight days, he had only taken a hundred louis with him, and of these he had not more than fifty left.

  Seven or eight hundred piastres were therefore lacking to make up the requisite sum, but in such circumstances Franz could always be sure that Messrs Torlonia would oblige him. He was about to return to the Bracciano Palace without loss of time, when a bright idea occurred to him; he would appeal to the Count of Monte Cristo.

  The Count was in a small room which was surrounded by divans which Franz had not yet seen.

  “Well, what good wind blows you here at this hour?” said he. “Have you come to ask me to supper? That would indeed be very kind of you.”

  “No, I have come to speak to you of a very serious matter. Are we alone?”

  The Count went to the door and returned. “Quite alone,” said he.

  Franz gave him Albert’s letter. “Read that,” said he.

  The Count read it.

  “What do you say to that?” asked Franz.

  “Have you the money he demands?”

  “Yes, all but eight hundred piastres.”

  The Count went to his desk, opened a drawer filled with gold and said:

  “I hope you will not offend me by applying to anyone but me.”

  “You see that, on the contrary, I have come straight to you.”

  “Thank you. Take what you please.”

  “Is it absolutely necessary to send the money to Luigi Vampa?” asked the young man, looking fixedly at the Count.

  “Judge for yourself. The postscript is explicit.”

  “I have an idea that if you took the trouble to reflect, you would find an easier way out of it,” said Franz.

  “How so?” returned the Count with surprise.

  “I am sure that if we went together to Luigi Vampa, he would not refuse you Albert’s freedom.”

  “What influence can I possibly have over a bandit?”

  “Have you not just rendered him one of those services that are never forgotten?”

  “What is that?”

  “Have you not saved Peppino’s life?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “No matter. I know it.”

  The Count knit his brows and remained silent a moment.

  “And if I were to seek Vampa, would you accompany me?”

  “If my society would not be disagreeable.”

  “Very well, then. It is a lovely night, and a drive in the outskirts of Rome will do us both good. Where is the man who brought this letter?”

  “In the street.”

&
nbsp; “We must learn where we are going to. I will call him in.”

  The Count went to the window and whistled in a particular manner. The man left the cover of the wall and advanced into the centre of the street.

  “Salite!” bc said the Count in the same tone in which he would have given an order to a servant. The messenger obeyed without the least hesitation, with alacrity rather, and, coming up the steps at a bound, entered the hotel; five seconds later he was at the door.

  “Ah! it is you, Peppino,” said the Count.

  Instead of answering, Peppino threw himself on his knees and, seizing the Count’s hands, covered them with kisses.

  “You have not forgotten that I saved your life then!”

  “No, Excellency, and I shall never forget it!” returned Peppino in a tone of profound gratitude.

  “Never? That is a long time; but it is something that you believe so. Rise and answer me.”

  Peppino glanced anxiously at Franz.

  “Oh, you may speak before His Excellency,” said the Count, “he is one of my friends—permit me to give you this title,” continued the Count in French, “it is necessary so as to give this man confidence.”

  “Good,” returned Peppino, “I am ready to answer any questions Your Excellency may address to me.”

  “How did Viscount Albert fall into Luigi’s hands?”

  “Excellency, the Frenchman’s carriage several times passed the one in which Teresa was driving. The Frenchman threw her a bouquet; Teresa returned the compliment; of course with the consent of the chief, who was in the carriage.”

  “What!” cried Franz. “Was Luigi Vampa in the carriage with the Roman peasants?”

  “It was he who drove, disguised as a coachman. The Frenchman took off his mask, and Teresa, with the chief’s consent, did the same. The Frenchman asked for a rendezvous; Teresa gave him one, but instead of Teresa it was Beppo on the steps of the church of San Giacomo.”

  “What?” exclaimed Franz. “The peasant girl who snatched his moccoletto from him . . . ?”

  “Was a lad of fifteen,” replied Peppino. “But it was no shame on your friend to have been deceived. Beppo has taken in many more.”

  “And Beppo led him outside the walls?” asked the Count.

  “Exactly so. A carriage was waiting at the end of Via Macello. Beppo got in and invited the Frenchman to follow him, and he did not wait to be asked twice. Beppo told him he was going to take him to a villa a league from Rome; the Frenchman assured him he would follow him to the ends of the world. When they were about two hundred yards outside the gates, the Frenchman became somewhat too familiar, so Beppo put a brace of pistols to his head; the coachman pulled up and did likewise. At the same time four of the band, who were concealed on the banks of the Almo, dashed up to the carriage doors. The Frenchman tried to defend himself and indeed nearly strangled Beppo, but he was powerless against five armed men and was forced to give in. They made him get out and walk along the bank of the river, and thus brought him to Teresa and Luigi, who were waiting for him in the catacombs of Saint Sebastian.”

  “Well, this seems quite a likely story,” said the Count, turning to Franz. “What do you say to it?”

  “Why, that I should think it very funny if it had happened to anyone but Albert.”

  “He is in a very picturesque spot. Do you know the catacombs of Saint Sebastian?”

  “I have never been there, though I have often wanted to go.”

  “Well, here is an opportunity ready to hand and it would be difficult to find a better one.”

  The Count rang, and a footman appeared.

  “Order out the carriage,” he said, “and remove the pistols which are in the holsters. You need not awaken the coachman. Ali will drive.”

  In a very short time the noise of wheels was heard and the carriage stopped at the door. The Count took out his watch. “Half-past twelve,” he said. “If we started at five o’clock, we should be in time, but the delay might cause your friend an uneasy night, so we had better go with all speed to rescue him from the hands of the brigands. Are you still resolved to accompany me?”

  “More determined than ever.”

  “Well then, come along.”

  Franz and the Count went downstairs accompanied by Peppino and found the carriage at the door with Ali on the box. Franz and the Count got in, Peppino placed himself beside Ali, and they set off at a rapid pace. At the St Sebastian gate the porter raised objections, but the Count of Monte Cristo produced an authorization from the Governor of Rome to leave or enter the city at any hour of the day or night; the portcullis was therefore raised, the porter had a louis for his trouble, and they went on their way. The road which the carriage now traversed was the ancient Appian Way, with its border of tombs. By the light of the moon which was now rising, Franz imagined from time to time that he saw a sentry emerge from behind a ruin and at a sign from Peppino disappear again.

  A short time before they reached the Circus of Caracalla the carriage stopped; Peppino opened the door, and the Count and Franz alighted.

  “We shall be there in about ten minutes,” said the Count to his companion.

  Taking Peppino aside, he gave him some instructions in a low voice, and Peppino went away, taking with him a torch they had brought with them in the well of the carriage.

  Five minutes elapsed, during which time Franz saw a shepherd advance along a narrow path in between the irregularities of the ground and then disappear in the tall red grass that looked like the bristling mane of some gigantic lion.

  “Now, let us follow him,” said the Count. They went along the same path which, after about a hundred yards, led them down a sharp incline to the bottom of a little valley. There they perceived two men talking together in a sheltered nook. One of these men was Peppino, the other was a man on sentry-duty. Franz and the Count advanced, and the bandit saluted.

  “Excellency,” said Peppino, addressing the Count, “have the goodness to follow me; the opening to the catacombs is but two yards from here.”

  “Very well,” said the Count, “lead the way.”

  And there behind a clump of bushes in the midst of several rocks an opening presented itself which was hardly large enough for a man to pass through. Peppino was the first to creep through the crack, but had not gone many steps before the subterranean passage suddenly widened. He stopped, lighted his torch, and looked round to ascertain whether the others were following him. Franz and the Count were still compelled to stoop, and there was only just sufficient width to allow them to walk two abreast. They had proceeded about fifty yards in this manner when the cry: “Who goes there?” brought them to a standstill. At the same time, they saw the light of their torch reflected on the barrel of a carbine in the darkness beyond.

  “A friend,” said Peppino, and, advancing alone, he said a few words in an undertone to the sentry, who, like the first, saluted and signed to the nocturnal visitors to continue their way.

  Behind the sentry there were some twenty steps. Franz and the Count went down them and found themselves in front of the crossroads of a burial place. Five roads diverged like the rays of a star, and the sides of the walls, hollowed out into niches in the shape of coffins, indicated that they had at last come to the catacombs. In one of these cavities, of which it was impossible to discover the size, some rays of light were visible. The Count placed his hand on Franz’s shoulder and said: “Would you like to see a bandit camp at rest?”

  “I should indeed,” was Franz’s reply.

  “Come with me, then; Peppino, put out the torch!”

  Peppino obeyed, and they were in complete darkness. They proceeded in silence, the Count guiding Franz as if he possessed the peculiar faculty of seeing in the dark. Three arches confronted them, the centre one forming a door. On one side these arches opened on to the corridor in which Franz and the Count were standing, and on the other into a large square room entirely surrounded by niches similar to those already mentioned. In the centre of this room were
four stones, which had formerly served as an altar, as was evident from the cross which still surmounted them. A lamp, placed at the base of a pillar, lighted with a pale and flickering flame the singular scene which presented itself to the eyes of the two visitors concealed in the shadow. A man was seated reading, with his elbow on the column and his back to the arches, through which the newcomers watched him. This was the chief of the band, Luigi Vampa. Around him, grouped according to fancy, could be seen some twenty brigands lying on their mantles or with their backs against one of the stone seats which ran all around the Columbarium; each one had his carbine within reach. Down below, silent, scarcely visible, and like a shadow, was a sentry, who was walking up and down before a kind of opening. When the Count thought Franz had gazed long enough on this picturesque tableau, he raised his finger to his lips to warn him to be quiet, and, ascending the three steps which led from the corridor to the Columbarium, entered the room by the centre arch, and advanced toward Vampa, who was so intent on the book before him that he did not hear the sound of his footsteps.

  “Who goes there?” cried the sentry, who was on the alert and saw by the light of the lamp a growing shadow approaching his chief.

  At this cry Vampa rose quickly, at the same time taking a pistol from his belt. In a moment twenty bandits were on their feet with their carbines levelled at the Count.

  “Well,” said he in a perfectly calm voice, and without moving a muscle, “well, my dear Vampa, it appears to me that you receive your friends with a great deal of ceremony!”

  “Ground arms!” shouted the chief with a commanding sweep of one hand, whilst with the other he respectfully took off his hat. Then, turning to the singular person who was watching this scene, he said: “Excuse me, Count, but I was far from expecting the honour of a visit from you and did not recognize you.”