Chapter 98. The Bell and Bottle Tavern
And now let us leave Mademoiselle Danglars and her friend pursuing theirway to Brussels, and return to poor Andrea Cavalcanti, so inopportunelyinterrupted in his rise to fortune. Notwithstanding his youth, MasterAndrea was a very skilful and intelligent boy. We have seen that on thefirst rumor which reached the salon he had gradually approached thedoor, and crossing two or three rooms at last disappeared. But we haveforgotten to mention one circumstance, which nevertheless ought not tobe omitted; in one of the rooms he crossed, the trousseau of the bride-elect was on exhibition. There were caskets of diamonds, cashmereshawls, Valenciennes lace, English veils, and in fact all the temptingthings, the bare mention of which makes the hearts of young girls boundwith joy, and which is called the corbeille.22 Now, in passing throughthis room, Andrea proved himself not only to be clever and intelligent,but also provident, for he helped himself to the most valuable of theornaments before him.
Furnished with this plunder, Andrea leaped with a lighter heart from thewindow, intending to slip through the hands of the gendarmes. Tall andwell proportioned as an ancient gladiator, and muscular as a Spartan, hewalked for a quarter of an hour without knowing where to direct hissteps, actuated by the sole idea of getting away from the spot where ifhe lingered he knew that he would surely be taken. Having passed throughthe Rue du Mont-Blanc, guided by the instinct which leads thieves alwaysto take the safest path, he found himself at the end of the Rue LaFayette. There he stopped, breathless and panting. He was quite alone;on one side was the vast wilderness of the Saint-Lazare, on the other,Paris enshrouded in darkness.
“Am I to be captured?” he cried; “no, not if I can use more activitythan my enemies. My safety is now a mere question of speed.”
At this moment he saw a cab at the top of the Faubourg Poissonnière. Thedull driver, smoking his pipe, was plodding along toward the limits ofthe Faubourg Saint-Denis, where no doubt he ordinarily had his station.
“Ho, friend!” said Benedetto.
“What do you want, sir?” asked the driver.
“Is your horse tired?”
“Tired? oh, yes, tired enough—he has done nothing the whole of thisblessed day! Four wretched fares, and twenty sous over, making in allseven francs, are all that I have earned, and I ought to take ten to theowner.”
“Will you add these twenty francs to the seven you have?”
“With pleasure, sir; twenty francs are not to be despised. Tell me whatI am to do for this.”
“A very easy thing, if your horse isn’t tired.”
“I tell you he’ll go like the wind,—only tell me which way to drive.”
“Towards the Louvres.”
“Ah, I know the way—you get good sweetened rum over there.”
“Exactly so; I merely wish to overtake one of my friends, with whom I amgoing to hunt tomorrow at Chapelle-en-Serval. He should have waited forme here with a cabriolet till half-past eleven; it is twelve, and, tiredof waiting, he must have gone on.”
“It is likely.”
“Well, will you try and overtake him?”
“Nothing I should like better.”
“If you do not overtake him before we reach Bourget you shall havetwenty francs; if not before Louvres, thirty.”
“And if we do overtake him?”
“Forty,” said Andrea, after a moment’s hesitation, at the end of whichhe remembered that he might safely promise.
“That’s all right,” said the man; “hop in, and we’re off! Who-o-o-pla!”
Andrea got into the cab, which passed rapidly through the FaubourgSaint-Denis, along the Faubourg Saint-Martin, crossed the barrier, andthreaded its way through the interminable Villette. They never overtookthe chimerical friend, yet Andrea frequently inquired of people on footwhom he passed and at the inns which were not yet closed, for a greencabriolet and bay horse; and as there are a great many cabriolets to beseen on the road to the Low Countries, and as nine-tenths of them aregreen, the inquiries increased at every step. Everyone had just seen itpass; it was only five hundred, two hundred, one hundred steps inadvance; at length they reached it, but it was not the friend. Once thecab was also passed by a calash rapidly whirled along by two post-horses.
“Ah,” said Cavalcanti to himself, “if I only had that britzka, those twogood post-horses, and above all the passport that carries them on!” Andhe sighed deeply.
The calash contained Mademoiselle Danglars and Mademoiselle d’Armilly.
“Hurry, hurry!” said Andrea, “we must overtake him soon.”
And the poor horse resumed the desperate gallop it had kept up sinceleaving the barrier, and arrived steaming at Louvres.
“Certainly,” said Andrea, “I shall not overtake my friend, but I shallkill your horse, therefore I had better stop. Here are thirty francs; Iwill sleep at the Cheval Rouge, and will secure a place in the firstcoach. Good-night, friend.”
And Andrea, after placing six pieces of five francs each in the man’shand, leaped lightly on to the pathway. The cabman joyfully pocketed thesum, and turned back on his road to Paris. Andrea pretended to gotowards the hotel of the Cheval Rouge, but after leaning an instantagainst the door, and hearing the last sound of the cab, which wasdisappearing from view, he went on his road, and with a lusty stridesoon traversed the space of two leagues. Then he rested; he must be nearChapelle-en-Serval, where he pretended to be going.
It was not fatigue that stayed Andrea here; it was that he might formsome resolution, adopt some plan. It would be impossible to make use ofa diligence, equally so to engage post-horses; to travel either way apassport was necessary. It was still more impossible to remain in thedepartment of the Oise, one of the most open and strictly guarded inFrance; this was quite out of the question, especially to a man likeAndrea, perfectly conversant with criminal matters.
He sat down by the side of the moat, buried his face in his hands andreflected. Ten minutes after he raised his head; his resolution wasmade. He threw some dust over the topcoat, which he had found time tounhook from the antechamber and button over his ball costume, and goingto Chapelle-en-Serval he knocked loudly at the door of the only inn inthe place.
The host opened.
“My friend,” said Andrea, “I was coming from Mortefontaine to Senlis,when my horse, which is a troublesome creature, stumbled and threw me. Imust reach Compiègne tonight, or I shall cause deep anxiety to myfamily. Could you let me hire a horse of you?”
An innkeeper has always a horse to let, whether it be good or bad. Thehost called the stable-boy, and ordered him to saddle Le Blanc then heawoke his son, a child of seven years, whom he ordered to ride beforethe gentleman and bring back the horse. Andrea gave the innkeeper twentyfrancs, and in taking them from his pocket dropped a visiting card. Thisbelonged to one of his friends at the Café de Paris, so that theinnkeeper, picking it up after Andrea had left, was convinced that hehad let his horse to the Count of Mauléon, 25 Rue Saint-Dominique, thatbeing the name and address on the card.
Le Blanc was not a fast animal, but he kept up an easy, steady pace; inthree hours and a half Andrea had traversed the nine leagues whichseparated him from Compiègne, and four o’clock struck as he reached theplace where the coaches stop. There is an excellent tavern at Compiègne,well remembered by those who have ever been there. Andrea, who had oftenstayed there in his rides about Paris, recollected the Bell and Bottleinn; he turned around, saw the sign by the light of a reflected lamp,and having dismissed the child, giving him all the small coin he hadabout him, he began knocking at the door, very reasonably concludingthat having now three or four hours before him he had best fortifyhimself against the fatigues of the morrow by a sound sleep and a goodsupper. A waiter opened the door.
“My friend,” said Andrea, “I have been dining at Saint-Jean-aux-Bois,and expected to catch the coach which passes by at midnight, but like afool I have lost my way, and have been walking for the last four hoursin the forest. Show me into one of those pretty little room
s whichoverlook the court, and bring me a cold fowl and a bottle of Bordeaux.”
The waiter had no suspicions; Andrea spoke with perfect composure, hehad a cigar in his mouth, and his hands in the pocket of his top coat;his clothes were fashionably made, his chin smooth, his bootsirreproachable; he looked merely as if he had stayed out very late, thatwas all. While the waiter was preparing his room, the hostess arose;Andrea assumed his most charming smile, and asked if he could have No.3, which he had occupied on his last stay at Compiègne. Unfortunately,No. 3 was engaged by a young man who was travelling with his sister.Andrea appeared in despair, but consoled himself when the hostessassured him that No. 7, prepared for him, was situated precisely thesame as No. 3, and while warming his feet and chatting about the lastraces at Chantilly, he waited until they announced his room to be ready.
Andrea had not spoken without cause of the pretty rooms looking out uponthe court of the Bell Hotel, which with its triple galleries like thoseof a theatre, with the jessamine and clematis twining round the lightcolumns, forms one of the prettiest entrances to an inn that you canimagine. The fowl was tender, the wine old, the fire clear andsparkling, and Andrea was surprised to find himself eating with as goodan appetite as though nothing had happened. Then he went to bed andalmost immediately fell into that deep sleep which is sure to visit menof twenty years of age, even when they are torn with remorse. Now, herewe are obliged to own that Andrea ought to have felt remorse, but thathe did not.
This was the plan which had appealed to him to afford the best chance ofhis security. Before daybreak he would awake, leave the inn afterrigorously paying his bill, and reaching the forest, he would, underpretence of making studies in painting, test the hospitality of somepeasants, procure himself the dress of a woodcutter and a hatchet,casting off the lion’s skin to assume that of the woodman; then, withhis hands covered with dirt, his hair darkened by means of a leadencomb, his complexion embrowned with a preparation for which one of hisold comrades had given him the recipe, he intended, by following thewooded districts, to reach the nearest frontier, walking by night andsleeping in the day in the forests and quarries, and only enteringinhabited regions to buy a loaf from time to time.
Once past the frontier, Andrea proposed making money of his diamonds;and by uniting the proceeds to ten bank-notes he always carried aboutwith him in case of accident, he would then find himself possessor ofabout 50,000 livres, which he philosophically considered as no verydeplorable condition after all. Moreover, he reckoned much on theinterest of the Danglars to hush up the rumor of their ownmisadventures. These were the reasons which, added to the fatigue,caused Andrea to sleep so soundly. In order that he might wake early hedid not close the shutters, but contented himself with bolting the doorand placing on the table an unclasped and long-pointed knife, whosetemper he well knew, and which was never absent from him.
About seven in the morning Andrea was awakened by a ray of sunlight,which played, warm and brilliant, upon his face. In all well-organizedbrains, the predominating idea—and there always is one—is sure to be thelast thought before sleeping, and the first upon waking in the morning.Andrea had scarcely opened his eyes when his predominating ideapresented itself, and whispered in his ear that he had slept too long.He jumped out of bed and ran to the window. A gendarme was crossing thecourt. A gendarme is one of the most striking objects in the world, evento a man void of uneasiness; but for one who has a timid conscience, andwith good cause too, the yellow, blue, and white uniform is really veryalarming.
“Why is that gendarme there?” asked Andrea of himself.
Then, all at once, he replied, with that logic which the reader has,doubtless, remarked in him, “There is nothing astonishing in seeing agendarme at an inn; instead of being astonished, let me dress myself.”And the youth dressed himself with a facility his valet de chambre hadfailed to rob him of during the two months of fashionable life he hadled in Paris.
“Now then,” said Andrea, while dressing himself, “I’ll wait till heleaves, and then I’ll slip away.”
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And, saying this, Andrea, who had now put on his boots and cravat, stolegently to the window, and a second time lifted up the muslin curtain.Not only was the first gendarme still there, but the young man nowperceived a second yellow, blue, and white uniform at the foot of thestaircase, the only one by which he could descend, while a third, onhorseback, holding a musket in his fist, was posted as a sentinel at thegreat street-door which alone afforded the means of egress. Theappearance of the third gendarme settled the matter, for a crowd ofcurious loungers was extended before him, effectually blocking theentrance to the hotel.
“They’re after me!” was Andrea’s first thought. “Diable!”
A pallor overspread the young man’s forehead, and he looked around himwith anxiety. His room, like all those on the same floor, had but oneoutlet to the gallery in the sight of everybody. “I am lost!” was hissecond thought; and, indeed, for a man in Andrea’s situation, an arrestmeant the assizes, trial, and death,—death without mercy or delay.
For a moment he convulsively pressed his head within his hands, andduring that brief period he became nearly mad with terror; but soon aray of hope glimmered in the multitude of thoughts which bewildered hismind, and a faint smile played upon his white lips and pallid cheeks. Helooked around and saw the objects of his search upon the chimney-piece;they were a pen, ink, and paper. With forced composure he dipped the penin the ink, and wrote the following lines upon a sheet of paper:
“I have no money to pay my bill, but I am not a dishonest man; I leavebehind me as a pledge this pin, worth ten times the amount. I shall beexcused for leaving at daybreak, for I was ashamed.”
He then drew the pin from his cravat and placed it on the paper. Thisdone, instead of leaving the door fastened, he drew back the bolts andeven placed the door ajar, as though he had left the room, forgetting toclose it, and slipping into the chimney like a man accustomed to thatkind of gymnastic exercise, after replacing the chimney-board, whichrepresented Achilles with Deidamia, and effacing the very marks of hisfeet upon the ashes, he commenced climbing the hollow tunnel, whichafforded him the only means of escape left.
At this precise time, the first gendarme Andrea had noticed walkedupstairs, preceded by the commissary of police, and supported by thesecond gendarme who guarded the staircase and was himself reinforced bythe one stationed at the door.
Andrea was indebted for this visit to the following circumstances. Atdaybreak, the telegraphs were set at work in all directions, and almostimmediately the authorities in every district had exerted their utmostendeavors to arrest the murderer of Caderousse. Compiègne, that royalresidence and fortified town, is well furnished with authorities,gendarmes, and commissaries of police; they therefore began operationsas soon as the telegraphic despatch arrived, and the Bell and Bottlebeing the best-known hotel in the town, they had naturally directedtheir first inquiries there.
Now, besides the reports of the sentinels guarding the Hôtel de Ville,which is next door to the Bell and Bottle, it had been stated by othersthat a number of travellers had arrived during the night. The sentinelwho was relieved at six o’clock in the morning, remembered perfectlythat, just as he was taking his post a few minutes past four, a youngman arrived on horseback, with a little boy before him. The young man,having dismissed the boy and horse, knocked at the door of the hotel,which was opened, and again closed after his entrance. This late arrivalhad attracted much suspicion, and the young man being no other thanAndrea, the commissary and gendarme, who was a brigadier, directed theirsteps towards his room. They found the door ajar.
“Oh, oh,” said the brigadier, who thoroughly understood the trick; “abad sign to find the door open! I would rather find it triply bolted.”
And, indeed, the little note and pin upon the table confirmed, or rathercorroborated, the sad truth. Andrea had fled. We say corroborated,because the brigadier was too experienced to be convinced by a singleproof. He glanced around, lo
oked in the bed, shook the curtains, openedthe closets, and finally stopped at the chimney. Andrea had taken theprecaution to leave no traces of his feet in the ashes, but still it wasan outlet, and in this light was not to be passed over without seriousinvestigation.
The brigadier sent for some sticks and straw, and having filled thechimney with them, set a light to it. The fire crackled, and the smokeascended like the dull vapor from a volcano; but still no prisoner felldown, as they expected. The fact was, that Andrea, at war with societyever since his youth, was quite as deep as a gendarme, even though hewere advanced to the rank of brigadier, and quite prepared for the fire,he had climbed out on the roof and was crouching down against thechimney-pots.
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At one time he thought he was saved, for he heard the brigadier exclaimin a loud voice, to the two gendarmes, “He is not here!” But venturingto peep, he perceived that the latter, instead of retiring, as mighthave been reasonably expected upon this announcement, were watching withincreased attention.
It was now his turn to look about him; the Hôtel de Ville, a massivesixteenth century building, was on his right; anyone could descend fromthe openings in the tower, and examine every corner of the roof below,and Andrea expected momentarily to see the head of a gendarme appear atone of these openings. If once discovered, he knew he would be lost, forthe roof afforded no chance of escape; he therefore resolved to descend,not through the same chimney by which he had come up, but by a similarone conducting to another room.
He looked around for a chimney from which no smoke issued, and havingreached it, he disappeared through the orifice without being seen byanyone. At the same minute, one of the little windows of the Hôtel deVille was thrown open, and the head of a gendarme appeared. For aninstant it remained motionless as one of the stone decorations of thebuilding, then after a long sigh of disappointment the head disappeared.The brigadier, calm and dignified as the law he represented, passedthrough the crowd, without answering the thousand questions addressed tohim, and re-entered the hotel.
“Well?” asked the two gendarmes.
“Well, my boys,” said the brigadier, “the brigand must really haveescaped early this morning; but we will send to the Villers-Coterets andNoyon roads, and search the forest, when we shall catch him, no doubt.”
The honorable functionary had scarcely expressed himself thus, in thatintonation which is peculiar to brigadiers of the gendarmerie, when aloud scream, accompanied by the violent ringing of a bell, resoundedthrough the court of the hotel.
“Ah, what is that?” cried the brigadier.
“Some traveller seems impatient,” said the host. “What number was itthat rang?”
“Number 3.”
“Run, waiter!”
At this moment the screams and ringing were redoubled.
“Aha!” said the brigadier, stopping the servant, “the person who isringing appears to want something more than amwaiter; we will attendupon him with a gendarme. Who occupies Number 3?”
“The little fellow who arrived last night in a post-chaise with hissister, and who asked for an apartment with two beds.”
The bell here rang for the third time, with another shriek of anguish.
“Follow me, Mr. Commissary!” said the brigadier; “tread in my steps.”
“Wait an instant,” said the host; “Number 3 has two staircases,—insideand outside.”
“Good,” said the brigadier. “I will take charge of the inside one. Arethe carbines loaded?”
“Yes, brigadier.”
“Well, you guard the exterior, and if he attempts to fly, fire upon him;he must be a great criminal, from what the telegraph says.”
The brigadier, followed by the commissary, disappeared by the insidestaircase, accompanied by the noise which his assertions respectingAndrea had excited in the crowd.
This is what had happened: Andrea had very cleverly managed to descendtwo-thirds of the chimney, but then his foot slipped, andnotwithstanding his endeavors, he came into the room with more speed andnoise than he intended. It would have signified little had the room beenempty, but unfortunately it was occupied. Two ladies, sleeping in onebed, were awakened by the noise, and fixing their eyes upon the spotwhence the sound proceeded, they saw a man. One of these ladies, thefair one, uttered those terrible shrieks which resounded through thehouse, while the other, rushing to the bell-rope, rang with all herstrength. Andrea, as we can see, was surrounded by misfortune.
“For pity’s sake,” he cried, pale and bewildered, without seeing whom hewas addressing,—“for pity’s sake do not call assistance! Save me!—I willnot harm you.”
“Andrea, the murderer!” cried one of the ladies.
“Eugénie! Mademoiselle Danglars!” exclaimed Andrea, stupefied.
“Help, help!” cried Mademoiselle d’Armilly, taking the bell from hercompanion’s hand, and ringing it yet more violently.
“Save me, I am pursued!” said Andrea, clasping his hands. “For pity, formercy’s sake do not deliver me up!”
“It is too late, they are coming,” said Eugénie.
“Well, conceal me somewhere; you can say you were needlessly alarmed;you can turn their suspicions and save my life!”
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The two ladies, pressing closely to one another, and drawing thebedclothes tightly around them, remained silent to this supplicatingvoice, repugnance and fear taking possession of their minds.
“Well, be it so,” at length said Eugénie; “return by the same road youcame, and we will say nothing about you, unhappy wretch.”
“Here he is, here he is!” cried a voice from the landing; “here he is! Isee him!”
The brigadier had put his eye to the keyhole, and had discovered Andreain a posture of entreaty. A violent blow from the butt end of the musketburst open the lock, two more forced out the bolts, and the broken doorfell in. Andrea ran to the other door, leading to the gallery, ready torush out; but he was stopped short, and he stood with his body a littlethrown back, pale, and with the useless knife in his clenched hand.
“Fly, then!” cried Mademoiselle d’Armilly, whose pity returned as herfears diminished; “fly!”
“Or kill yourself!” said Eugénie (in a tone which a Vestal in theamphitheatre would have used, when urging the victorious gladiator tofinish his vanquished adversary). Andrea shuddered, and looked on theyoung girl with an expression which proved how little he understood suchferocious honor.
“Kill myself?” he cried, throwing down his knife; “why should I do so?”
“Why, you said,” answered Mademoiselle Danglars, “that you would becondemned to die like the worst criminals.”
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“Bah,” said Cavalcanti, crossing his arms, “one has friends.”
The brigadier advanced to him, sword in hand.
“Come, come,” said Andrea, “sheathe your sword, my fine fellow; there isno occasion to make such a fuss, since I give myself up;” and he heldout his hands to be manacled.
The two girls looked with horror upon this shameful metamorphosis, theman of the world shaking off his covering and appearing as a galley-slave. Andrea turned towards them, and with an impertinent smile asked,“Have you any message for your father, Mademoiselle Danglars, for in allprobability I shall return to Paris?”
Eugénie covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, oh!” said Andrea, “you need not be ashamed, even though you didpost after me. Was I not nearly your husband?”
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And with this raillery Andrea went out, leaving the two girls a prey totheir own feelings of shame, and to the comments of the crowd. An hourafter they stepped into their calash, both dressed in feminine attire.The gate of the hotel had been closed to screen them from sight, butthey were forced, when the door was open, to pass through a throng ofcurious glances and whispering voices.
Eugénie closed her eyes; but though she could not see, she could hear,and the sneers of the crowd reached her in the carriage.
; “Oh, why is not the world a wilderness?” she exclaimed, throwing herselfinto the arms of Mademoiselle d’Armilly, her eyes sparkling with thesame kind of rage which made Nero wish that the Roman world had but oneneck, that he might sever it at a single blow.
The next day they stopped at the Hôtel de Flandre, at Brussels. The sameevening Andrea was incarcerated in the Conciergerie.
The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated Page 99