Chapter 35. La Mazzolata
Gentlemen,” said the Count of Monte Cristo as he entered, “I pray youexcuse me for suffering my visit to be anticipated; but I feared todisturb you by presenting myself earlier at your apartments; besides,you sent me word that you would come to me, and I have held myself atyour disposal.”
“Franz and I have to thank you a thousand times, count,” returnedAlbert; “you extricated us from a great dilemma, and we were on thepoint of inventing a very fantastic vehicle when your friendlyinvitation reached us.”
“Indeed,” returned the count, motioning the two young men to sit down.“It was the fault of that blockhead Pastrini, that I did not soonerassist you in your distress. He did not mention a syllable of yourembarrassment to me, when he knows that, alone and isolated as I am, Iseek every opportunity of making the acquaintance of my neighbors. Assoon as I learned I could in any way assist you, I most eagerly seizedthe opportunity of offering my services.”
The two young men bowed. Franz had, as yet, found nothing to say; he hadcome to no determination, and as nothing in the count’s mannermanifested the wish that he should recognize him, he did not knowwhether to make any allusion to the past, or wait until he had moreproof; besides, although sure it was he who had been in the box theprevious evening, he could not be equally positive that this was the manhe had seen at the Colosseum. He resolved, therefore, to let things taketheir course without making any direct overture to the count. Moreover,he had this advantage, he was master of the count’s secret, while thecount had no hold on Franz, who had nothing to conceal. However, heresolved to lead the conversation to a subject which might possiblyclear up his doubts.
“Count,” said he, “you have offered us places in your carriage, and atyour windows in the Rospoli Palace. Can you tell us where we can obtaina sight of the Piazza del Popolo?”
“Ah,” said the count negligently, looking attentively at Morcerf, “isthere not something like an execution upon the Piazza del Popolo?”
“Yes,” returned Franz, finding that the count was coming to the point hewished.
“Stay, I think I told my steward yesterday to attend to this; perhaps Ican render you this slight service also.”
He extended his hand, and rang the bell thrice.
“Did you ever occupy yourself,” said he to Franz, “with the employmentof time and the means of simplifying the summoning your servants? Ihave. When I ring once, it is for my valet; twice, for my majordomo;thrice, for my steward,—thus I do not waste a minute or a word. Here heis.”
A man of about forty-five or fifty entered, exactly resembling thesmuggler who had introduced Franz into the cavern; but he did not appearto recognize him. It was evident he had his orders.
“Monsieur Bertuccio,” said the count, “you have procured me windowslooking on the Piazza del Popolo, as I ordered you yesterday.”
“Yes, excellency,” returned the steward; “but it was very late.”
“Did I not tell you I wished for one?” replied the count, frowning.
“And your excellency has one, which was let to Prince Lobanieff; but Iwas obliged to pay a hundred——”
“That will do—that will do, Monsieur Bertuccio; spare these gentlemenall such domestic arrangements. You have the window, that is sufficient.Give orders to the coachman; and be in readiness on the stairs toconduct us to it.”
The steward bowed, and was about to quit the room.
“Ah!” continued the count, “be good enough to ask Pastrini if he hasreceived the tavoletta, and if he can send us an account of theexecution.”
“There is no need to do that,” said Franz, taking out his tablets; “forI saw the account, and copied it down.”
“Very well, you can retire, M. Bertuccio; I need you no longer. Let usknow when breakfast is ready. These gentlemen,” added he, turning to thetwo friends, “will, I trust, do me the honor to breakfast with me?”
“But, my dear count,” said Albert, “we shall abuse your kindness.”
“Not at all; on the contrary, you will give me great pleasure. You will,one or other of you, perhaps both, return it to me at Paris. M.Bertuccio, lay covers for three.”
He then took Franz’s tablets out of his hand. “‘We announce,’ he read,in the same tone with which he would have read a newspaper, ‘that today,the 23rd of February, will be executed Andrea Rondolo, guilty of murderon the person of the respected and venerated Don César Torlini, canon ofthe church of St. John Lateran, and Peppino, called Rocca Priori,convicted of complicity with the detestable bandit Luigi Vampa, and themen of his band.’
“Hum! ‘The first will be mazzolato, the second decapitato.’ Yes,”continued the count, “it was at first arranged in this way; but I thinksince yesterday some change has taken place in the order of theceremony.”
“Really?” said Franz.
“Yes, I passed the evening at the Cardinal Rospigliosi’s, and theremention was made of something like a pardon for one of the two men.”
“For Andrea Rondolo?” asked Franz.
“No,” replied the count, carelessly; “for the other (he glanced at thetablets as if to recall the name), for Peppino, called Rocca Priori. Youare thus deprived of seeing a man guillotined; but the mazzolata stillremains, which is a very curious punishment when seen for the firsttime, and even the second, while the other, as you must know, is verysimple. The mandaïa6 never fails, never trembles, never strikes thirtytimes ineffectually, like the soldier who beheaded the Count of Chalais,and to whose tender mercy Richelieu had doubtless recommended thesufferer. Ah,” added the count, in a contemptuous tone, “do not tell meof European punishments, they are in the infancy, or rather the old age,of cruelty.”
“Really, count,” replied Franz, “one would think that you had studiedthe different tortures of all the nations of the world.”
“There are, at least, few that I have not seen,” said the count coldly.
“And you took pleasure in beholding these dreadful spectacles?”
“My first sentiment was horror, the second indifference, the thirdcuriosity.”
“Curiosity—that is a terrible word.”
“Why so? In life, our greatest preoccupation is death; is it not then,curious to study the different ways by which the soul and body can part;and how, according to their different characters, temperaments, and eventhe different customs of their countries, different persons bear thetransition from life to death, from existence to annihilation? As formyself, I can assure you of one thing,—the more men you see die, theeasier it becomes to die yourself; and in my opinion, death may be atorture, but it is not an expiation.”
“I do not quite understand you,” replied Franz; “pray explain yourmeaning, for you excite my curiosity to the highest pitch.”
“Listen,” said the count, and deep hatred mounted to his face, as theblood would to the face of any other. “If a man had by unheard-of andexcruciating tortures destroyed your father, your mother, yourbetrothed,—a being who, when torn from you, left a desolation, a woundthat never closes, in your breast,—do you think the reparation thatsociety gives you is sufficient when it interposes the knife of theguillotine between the base of the occiput and the trapezal muscles ofthe murderer, and allows him who has caused us years of moral sufferingsto escape with a few moments of physical pain?”
“Yes, I know,” said Franz, “that human justice is insufficient toconsole us; she can give blood in return for blood, that is all; but youmust demand from her only what it is in her power to grant.”
“I will put another case to you,” continued the count; “that wheresociety, attacked by the death of a person, avenges death by death. Butare there not a thousand tortures by which a man may be made to sufferwithout society taking the least cognizance of them, or offering himeven the insufficient means of vengeance, of which we have just spoken?Are there not crimes for which the impalement of the Turks, the augersof the Persians, the stake and the brand of the Iroquois Indians, areinadequate tortures, and whi
ch are unpunished by society? Answer me, donot these crimes exist?”
“Yes,” answered Franz; “and it is to punish them that duelling istolerated.”
“Ah, duelling,” cried the count; “a pleasant manner, upon my soul, ofarriving at your end when that end is vengeance! A man has carried offyour mistress, a man has seduced your wife, a man has dishonored yourdaughter; he has rendered the whole life of one who had the right toexpect from Heaven that portion of happiness God has promised toeveryone of his creatures, an existence of misery and infamy; and youthink you are avenged because you send a ball through the head, or passa sword through the breast, of that man who has planted madness in yourbrain, and despair in your heart. And remember, moreover, that it isoften he who comes off victorious from the strife, absolved of all crimein the eyes of the world. No, no,” continued the count, “had I to avengemyself, it is not thus I would take revenge.”
“Then you disapprove of duelling? You would not fight a duel?” askedAlbert in his turn, astonished at this strange theory.
“Oh, yes,” replied the count; “understand me, I would fight a duel for atrifle, for an insult, for a blow; and the more so that, thanks to myskill in all bodily exercises, and the indifference to danger I havegradually acquired, I should be almost certain to kill my man. Oh, Iwould fight for such a cause; but in return for a slow, profound,eternal torture, I would give back the same, were it possible; an eyefor an eye, a tooth for a tooth, as the Orientalists say,—our masters ineverything,—those favored creatures who have formed for themselves alife of dreams and a paradise of realities.”
“But,” said Franz to the count, “with this theory, which renders you atonce judge and executioner of your own cause, it would be difficult toadopt a course that would forever prevent your falling under the powerof the law. Hatred is blind, rage carries you away; and he who pours outvengeance runs the risk of tasting a bitter draught.”
“Yes, if he be poor and inexperienced, not if he be rich and skilful;besides, the worst that could happen to him would be the punishment ofwhich we have already spoken, and which the philanthropic FrenchRevolution has substituted for being torn to pieces by horses or brokenon the wheel. What matters this punishment, as long as he is avenged? Onmy word, I almost regret that in all probability this miserable Peppinowill not be beheaded, as you might have had an opportunity then ofseeing how short a time the punishment lasts, and whether it is wortheven mentioning; but, really this is a most singular conversation forthe Carnival, gentlemen; how did it arise? Ah, I recollect, you askedfor a place at my window; you shall have it; but let us first sit downto table, for here comes the servant to inform us that breakfast isready.”
As he spoke, a servant opened one of the four doors of the apartment,saying:
“Al suo commodo!”
The two young men arose and entered the breakfast-room.
During the meal, which was excellent, and admirably served, Franz lookedrepeatedly at Albert, in order to observe the impressions which hedoubted not had been made on him by the words of their entertainer; butwhether with his usual carelessness he had paid but little attention tohim, whether the explanation of the Count of Monte Cristo with regard toduelling had satisfied him, or whether the events which Franz knew ofhad had their effect on him alone, he remarked that his companion didnot pay the least regard to them, but on the contrary ate like a man whofor the last four or five months had been condemned to partake ofItalian cookery—that is, the worst in the world.
As for the count, he just touched the dishes; he seemed to fulfil theduties of a host by sitting down with his guests, and awaited theirdeparture to be served with some strange or more delicate food. Thisbrought back to Franz, in spite of himself, the recollection of theterror with which the count had inspired the Countess G——, and her firmconviction that the man in the opposite box was a vampire.
At the end of the breakfast Franz took out his watch.
“Well,” said the count, “what are you doing?”
“You must excuse us, count,” returned Franz, “but we have still much todo.”
“What may that be?”
“We have no masks, and it is absolutely necessary to procure them.”
“Do not concern yourself about that; we have, I think, a private room inthe Piazza del Popolo; I will have whatever costumes you choose broughtto us, and you can dress there.”
“After the execution?” cried Franz.
“Before or after, whichever you please.”
“Opposite the scaffold?”
“The scaffold forms part of the fête.”
“Count, I have reflected on the matter,” said Franz, “I thank you foryour courtesy, but I shall content myself with accepting a place in yourcarriage and at your window at the Rospoli Palace, and I leave you atliberty to dispose of my place at the Piazza del Popolo.”
“But I warn you, you will lose a very curious sight,” returned thecount.
“You will describe it to me,” replied Franz, “and the recital from yourlips will make as great an impression on me as if I had witnessed it. Ihave more than once intended witnessing an execution, but I have neverbeen able to make up my mind; and you, Albert?”
“I,” replied the viscount,—“I saw Castaing executed, but I think I wasrather intoxicated that day, for I had quitted college the same morning,and we had passed the previous night at a tavern.”
“Besides, it is no reason because you have not seen an execution atParis, that you should not see one anywhere else; when you travel, it isto see everything. Think what a figure you will make when you are asked,‘How do they execute at Rome?’ and you reply, ‘I do not know!’ And,besides, they say that the culprit is an infamous scoundrel, who killedwith a log of wood a worthy canon who had brought him up like his ownson. Diable! when a churchman is killed, it should be with a differentweapon than a log, especially when he has behaved like a father. If youwent to Spain, would you not see the bull-fights? Well, suppose it is abull-fight you are going to see? Recollect the ancient Romans of theCircus, and the sports where they killed three hundred lions and ahundred men. Think of the eighty thousand applauding spectators, thesage matrons who took their daughters, and the charming Vestals who madewith the thumb of their white hands the fatal sign that said, ‘Come,despatch the dying.’”
“Shall you go, then, Albert?” asked Franz.
“Ma foi, yes; like you, I hesitated, but the count’s eloquence decidesme.”
“Let us go, then,” said Franz, “since you wish it; but on our way to thePiazza del Popolo, I wish to pass through the Corso. Is this possible,count?”
“On foot, yes, in a carriage, no.”
“I will go on foot, then.”
“Is it important that you should go that way?”
“Yes, there is something I wish to see.”
“Well, we will go by the Corso. We will send the carriage to wait for uson the Piazza del Popolo, by the Via del Babuino, for I shall be glad topass, myself, through the Corso, to see if some orders I have given havebeen executed.”
“Excellency,” said a servant, opening the door, “a man in the dress of apenitent wishes to speak to you.”
“Ah! yes,” returned the count, “I know who he is, gentlemen; will youreturn to the salon? you will find good cigars on the centre table. Iwill be with you directly.”
The young men rose and returned into the salon, while the count, againapologizing, left by another door. Albert, who was a great smoker, andwho had considered it no small sacrifice to be deprived of the cigars ofthe Café de Paris, approached the table, and uttered a cry of joy atperceiving some veritable puros.
“Well,” asked Franz, “what think you of the Count of Monte Cristo?”
“What do I think?” said Albert, evidently surprised at such a questionfrom his companion; “I think he is a delightful fellow, who does thehonors of his table admirably; who has travelled much, read much, is,like Brutus, of the Stoic school, and moreover,” added he, sending avolume of smoke u
p towards the ceiling, “that he has excellent cigars.”
Such was Albert’s opinion of the count, and as Franz well knew thatAlbert professed never to form an opinion except upon long reflection,he made no attempt to change it.
“But,” said he, “did you observe one very singular thing?”
“What?”
“How attentively he looked at you.”
“At me?”
“Yes.”
Albert reflected. “Ah,” replied he, sighing, “that is not verysurprising; I have been more than a year absent from Paris, and myclothes are of a most antiquated cut; the count takes me for aprovincial. The first opportunity you have, undeceive him, I beg, andtell him I am nothing of the kind.”
Franz smiled; an instant after the count entered.
“I am now quite at your service, gentlemen,” said he. “The carriage isgoing one way to the Piazza del Popolo, and we will go another; and, ifyou please, by the Corso. Take some more of these cigars, M. deMorcerf.”
“With all my heart,” returned Albert; “Italian cigars are horrible. Whenyou come to Paris, I will return all this.”
“I will not refuse; I intend going there soon, and since you allow me, Iwill pay you a visit. Come, we have not any time to lose, it is half-past twelve—let us set off.”
All three descended; the coachman received his master’s orders, anddrove down the Via del Babuino. While the three gentlemen walked alongthe Piazza di Spagna and the Via Frattina, which led directly betweenthe Fiano and Rospoli palaces, Franz’s attention was directed towardsthe windows of that last palace, for he had not forgotten the signalagreed upon between the man in the mantle and the Transtevere peasant.
“Which are your windows?” asked he of the count, with as muchindifference as he could assume.
“The three last,” returned he, with a negligence evidently unaffected,for he could not imagine with what intention the question was put.
Franz glanced rapidly towards the three windows. The side windows werehung with yellow damask, and the centre one with white damask and a redcross. The man in the mantle had kept his promise to the Transteverin,and there could now be no doubt that he was the count.
The three windows were still untenanted. Preparations were making onevery side; chairs were placed, scaffolds were raised, and windows werehung with flags. The masks could not appear; the carriages could notmove about; but the masks were visible behind the windows, thecarriages, and the doors.
Franz, Albert, and the count continued to descend the Corso. As theyapproached the Piazza del Popolo, the crowd became more dense, and abovethe heads of the multitude two objects were visible: the obelisk,surmounted by a cross, which marks the centre of the square, and infront of the obelisk, at the point where the three streets, del Babuino,del Corso, and di Ripetta, meet, the two uprights of the scaffold,between which glittered the curved knife of the mandaïa.
At the corner of the street they met the count’s steward, who wasawaiting his master. The window, let at an exorbitant price, which thecount had doubtless wished to conceal from his guests, was on the secondfloor of the great palace, situated between the Via del Babuino and theMonte Pincio. It consisted, as we have said, of a small dressing-room,opening into a bedroom, and, when the door of communication was shut,the inmates were quite alone. On chairs were laid elegant masqueradecostumes of blue and white satin.
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“As you left the choice of your costumes to me,” said the count to thetwo friends, “I have had these brought, as they will be the most wornthis year; and they are most suitable, on account of the confetti(sweetmeats), as they do not show the flour.”
Franz heard the words of the count but imperfectly, and he perhaps didnot fully appreciate this new attention to their wishes; for he waswholly absorbed by the spectacle that the Piazza del Popolo presented,and by the terrible instrument that was in the centre.
It was the first time Franz had ever seen a guillotine,—we sayguillotine, because the Roman mandaïa is formed on almost the same modelas the French instrument.7 The knife, which is shaped like a crescent,that cuts with the convex side, falls from a less height, and that isall the difference.
Two men, seated on the movable plank on which the victim is laid, wereeating their breakfasts, while waiting for the criminal. Their repastconsisted apparently of bread and sausages. One of them lifted theplank, took out a flask of wine, drank some, and then passed it to hiscompanion. These two men were the executioner’s assistants.
At this sight Franz felt the perspiration start forth upon his brow.
The prisoners, transported the previous evening from the Carceri Nuoveto the little church of Santa Maria del Popolo, had passed the night,each accompanied by two priests, in a chapel closed by a grating, beforewhich were two sentinels, who were relieved at intervals. A double lineof carbineers, placed on each side of the door of the church, reached tothe scaffold, and formed a circle around it, leaving a path about tenfeet wide, and around the guillotine a space of nearly a hundred feet.
All the rest of the square was paved with heads. Many women held theirinfants on their shoulders, and thus the children had the best view. TheMonte Pincio seemed a vast amphitheatre filled with spectators; thebalconies of the two churches at the corner of the Via del Babuino andthe Via di Ripetta were crammed; the steps even seemed a parti-coloredsea, that was impelled towards the portico; every niche in the wall heldits living statue. What the count said was true—the most curiousspectacle in life is that of death.
And yet, instead of the silence and the solemnity demanded by theoccasion, laughter and jests arose from the crowd. It was evident thatthe execution was, in the eyes of the people, only the commencement ofthe Carnival.
Suddenly the tumult ceased, as if by magic, and the doors of the churchopened. A brotherhood of penitents, clothed from head to foot in robesof gray sackcloth, with holes for the eyes, and holding in their handslighted tapers, appeared first; the chief marched at the head.
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Behind the penitents came a man of vast stature and proportions. He wasnaked, with the exception of cloth drawers at the left side of whichhung a large knife in a sheath, and he bore on his right shoulder aheavy iron sledge-hammer.
This man was the executioner.
He had, moreover, sandals bound on his feet by cords.
Behind the executioner came, in the order in which they were to die,first Peppino and then Andrea. Each was accompanied by two priests.Neither had his eyes bandaged.
Peppino walked with a firm step, doubtless aware of what awaited him.Andrea was supported by two priests. Each of them, from time to time,kissed the crucifix a confessor held out to them.
At this sight alone Franz felt his legs tremble under him. He looked atAlbert—he was as white as his shirt, and mechanically cast away hiscigar, although he had not half smoked it. The count alone seemedunmoved—nay, more, a slight color seemed striving to rise in his palecheeks. His nostrils dilated like those of a wild beast that scents itsprey, and his lips, half opened, disclosed his white teeth, small andsharp like those of a jackal. And yet his features wore an expression ofsmiling tenderness, such as Franz had never before witnessed in them;his black eyes especially were full of kindness and pity.
However, the two culprits advanced, and as they approached their facesbecame visible. Peppino was a handsome young man of four or five-and-twenty, bronzed by the sun; he carried his head erect, and seemed on thewatch to see on which side his liberator would appear. Andrea was shortand fat; his visage, marked with brutal cruelty, did not indicate age;he might be thirty. In prison he had suffered his beard to grow; hishead fell on his shoulder, his legs bent beneath him, and his movementswere apparently automatic and unconscious.
“I thought,” said Franz to the count, “that you told me there would bebut one execution.”
“I told you true,” replied he coldly.
“And yet here are two culprits.”
“Yes; but only one of these two is about
to die; the other has manyyears to live.”
“If the pardon is to come, there is no time to lose.”
“And see, here it is,” said the count. At the moment when Peppinoreached the foot of the mandaïa, a priest arrived in some haste, forcedhis way through the soldiers, and, advancing to the chief of thebrotherhood, gave him a folded paper. The piercing eye of Peppino hadnoticed all. The chief took the paper, unfolded it, and, raising hishand, “Heaven be praised, and his Holiness also,” said he in a loudvoice; “here is a pardon for one of the prisoners!”
“A pardon!” cried the people with one voice; “a pardon!”
At this cry Andrea raised his head.
“Pardon for whom?” cried he.
Peppino remained breathless.
“A pardon for Peppino, called Rocca Priori,” said the principal friar.And he passed the paper to the officer commanding the carbineers, whoread and returned it to him.
“For Peppino!” cried Andrea, who seemed roused from the torpor in whichhe had been plunged. “Why for him and not for me? We ought to dietogether. I was promised he should die with me. You have no right to putme to death alone. I will not die alone—I will not!”
And he broke from the priests struggling and raving like a wild beast,and striving desperately to break the cords that bound his hands. Theexecutioner made a sign, and his two assistants leaped from the scaffoldand seized him.
“What is going on?” asked Franz of the count; for, as all the talk wasin the Roman dialect, he had not perfectly understood it.
“Do you not see?” returned the count, “that this human creature who isabout to die is furious that his fellow-sufferer does not perish withhim? and, were he able, he would rather tear him to pieces with histeeth and nails than let him enjoy the life he himself is about to bedeprived of. Oh, man, man—race of crocodiles,” cried the count,extending his clenched hands towards the crowd, “how well do I recognizeyou there, and that at all times you are worthy of yourselves!”
Meanwhile Andrea and the two executioners were struggling on the ground,and he kept exclaiming, “He ought to die!—he shall die!—I will not diealone!”
“Look, look,” cried the count, seizing the young men’s hands; “look, foron my soul it is curious. Here is a man who had resigned himself to hisfate, who was going to the scaffold to die—like a coward, it is true,but he was about to die without resistance. Do you know what gave himstrength? do you know what consoled him? It was, that another partook ofhis punishment—that another partook of his anguish—that another was todie before him! Lead two sheep to the butcher’s, two oxen to theslaughterhouse, and make one of them understand that his companion willnot die; the sheep will bleat for pleasure, the ox will bellow with joy.But man—man, whom God created in his own image—man, upon whom God haslaid his first, his sole commandment, to love his neighbor—man, to whomGod has given a voice to express his thoughts—what is his first cry whenhe hears his fellow-man is saved? A blasphemy. Honor to man, thismasterpiece of nature, this king of the creation!”
And the count burst into a laugh; a terrible laugh, that showed he musthave suffered horribly to be able thus to laugh.
However, the struggle still continued, and it was dreadful to witness.The two assistants carried Andrea up to the scaffold; the people alltook part against Andrea, and twenty thousand voices cried, “Put him todeath! put him to death!”
Franz sprang back, but the count seized his arm, and held him before thewindow.
“What are you doing?” said he. “Do you pity him? If you heard the cry of‘Mad dog!’ you would take your gun—you would unhesitatingly shoot thepoor beast, who, after all, was only guilty of having been bitten byanother dog. And yet you pity a man who, without being bitten by one ofhis race, has yet murdered his benefactor; and who, now unable to killanyone, because his hands are bound, wishes to see his companion incaptivity perish. No, no—look, look!”
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The recommendation was needless. Franz was fascinated by the horriblespectacle.
The two assistants had borne Andrea to the scaffold, and there, in spiteof his struggles, his bites, and his cries, had forced him to his knees.During this time the executioner had raised his mace, and signed to themto get out of the way; the criminal strove to rise, but, ere he hadtime, the mace fell on his left temple. A dull and heavy sound washeard, and the man dropped like an ox on his face, and then turned overon his back.
The executioner let fall his mace, drew his knife, and with one strokeopened his throat, and mounting on his stomach, stamped violently on itwith his feet. At every stroke a jet of blood sprang from the wound.
This time Franz could contain himself no longer, but sank, halffainting, into a seat.
Albert, with his eyes closed, was standing grasping the window-curtains.
The count was erect and triumphant, like the Avenging Angel!
The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated Page 36