Instinctively Franz withdrew behind his column.
The individual whose mysterious arrival had attracted his attention stood partly in the shadow of the ruins, so that Franz was unable to distinguish his features, although the details of his dress were plainly discernible. He wore a large, dark-brown cloak, one end of which was thrown over his left shoulder in such a way as to hide the lower part of his face, while a broad-brimmed hat concealed the upper part.
He had been standing there for some minutes and began to show visible signs of impatience, when another man appeared.
“I crave your pardon for keeping you waiting, Excellency,” said he with a Roman accent. “I am, however, but a few minutes late; it has just struck ten by the clock on Saint John Lateran. I have just come from the Castle of Saint Angelo and had great difficulty in seeing Beppo.”
“Who is Beppo?”
“Beppo is employed in the prison, and I pay him a small fee every year for information as to what is going on in His Holiness’s Palace.”
“Ha ha! I see you are a prudent man.”
“Why, just so, Excellency! One never knows what may happen. One day I may be entrapped like poor Peppino and shall also be in need of a rat to gnaw the cords that keep me a prisoner.”
“To come to the point, what news did you glean?”
“There will be two executions on Tuesday at two o’clock, as is customary in Rome at the commencement of all great festivals. One of the condemned men will be mazzolato.at He is a worthless wretch who has murdered the priest that brought him up and therefore deserves no pity. The other one will be decapitato,au and he, Your Excellency, is no other than poor Peppino.”
“What can you expect, my dear friend? You have struck such terror into the pontifical government and the neighbouring kingdoms, that they are going to make an example of him.”
“But Peppino does not even belong to my gang. He is a poor shepherd whose only crime consisted in supplying us with provisions.”
“Which certainly made him your accomplice. But mark the consideration that is being shown him. Instead of clubbing him to death, as they will do to you if they ever get hold of you, they content themselves with merely guillotining him.”
“I am in the mood to do anything and everything to prevent the execution of this poor wretch who has got himself into trouble by doing me a service. Per la Madonna! I should be a coward if I did not do something for the poor fellow!”
“What do you intend doing?”
“I shall place a score of men round the scaffold and the moment they bring him out I shall give the signal, and, with daggers drawn, my men and I will throw ourselves on the guard and carry off their prisoner.”
“That seems to me very risky. I veritably believe my plan is better than yours.”
“What is your plan, Excellency?”
“I shall give ten thousand piastres to a friend of mine who will arrange to have Peppino’s execution delayed until next year. In the course of the year I shall give another ten thousand piastres to someone else I know, by which means his escape from prison shall be effected.”
“Are you sure of success?”
“I shall do more with my gold than you and your people will do with all your daggers, pistols, carbines, and blunder-busses. Leave it to me.”
“Splendid! We will, however, keep ourselves in readiness in case your plan should fail.”
“Certainly do so if you like, but you can count on the reprieve.”
“How shall we know whether you have been successful?”
“That is easily arranged. I have hired the three last windows of the Café Ruspoli. If I obtain the reprieve, the two corner windows will be draped in yellow damask, while the centre one will be hung with white damask, having a large red cross marked upon it.”
“Excellent! But who will bring the reprieve?”
“Send me one of your men disguised as a friar, and I will give it to him. His dress will give him access to the foot of the scaffold. There he can give the bull to the officer in charge, who will hand it to the executioner. In the meantime, however, I would advise you to let Peppino know lest he should die of fright or go mad, which would mean that we had gone to unnecessary expenditure on his behalf.”
“If you save Peppino, Excellency, you may count not only on my devotion to you but on my absolute obedience.”
“Be careful what you say, my friend. I may remind you of that one day! Sh . . . I hear a noise. It is unnecessary for us to be seen together. All these guides are spies and they might recognize you, and, though I appreciate your friendship, I fear my reputation would suffer if they knew we were on such a friendly footing.”
“Farewell, then, Excellency, I rely on you as you may rely on me.”
With these words the last speaker disappeared down the stairs, while the other, covering himself more closely with his cloak, almost touched Franz as he descended to the arena by the outer steps.
Just then Franz heard his name echoing through the vaults. It was Albert calling him. Ten minutes later the two were rumbling along toward the hotel, and Franz was listening in a very indifferent and distracted manner to the learned dissertations Albert made, in the style of Pliny and Calpurnius, on the iron-pointed nets used to prevent the ferocious beasts from springing on the spectators. He let him talk on without interruption; he wanted to be alone to think undisturbed over what had happened.
The next day Franz had several letters to write and left Albert to his own devices. Albert made the most of his time; he took his letters of introduction to their addresses, and received invitations for every evening. He also achieved the great feat of seeing all Rome in one day, and spent the evening at the opera. Moreover, by the time he reached his hotel he had solved the carriage question. When the two friends were smoking their last cigar in their sitting-room before retiring for the night, Albert suddenly said:
“I have arranged a little surprise for you. You know how impossible it is to procure a carriage. Well, I have a wonderful idea.”
Franz looked at his friend as though he had no great confidence in his imagination.
“We cannot get a carriage and horses, but what about a wagon and a pair of oxen?”
Franz stared, and a smile of amused interest played about his lips.
“Yes, a wagon and a yoke of oxen. We will have the wagon decorated and we will dress ourselves up as Neapolitan harvesters, and represent a living picture after the magnificent painting by Leopold Robert.”
“Bravo!” exclaimed Franz. “For once you have hit upon a capital idea. Have you told anyone about it?”
“I have told our host. When I came in, I sent for him and explained to him all that I should require. He assured me that it would be quite easy to obtain everything. I wanted to have the oxen’s horns decorated, but he told me it would take three days to do it, so we must do without this superfluity.”
“Where is our host now?”
“Gone out in search of our things.”
As he spoke, the door opened, and their landlord put his head in.
“Permesso?” said he.
“Certainly,” Franz replied.
“Well, have you found the wagon and oxen for us?” said Albert.
“I have done better than that,” he replied in a very self-satisfied manner. “Your Excellencies are aware that the Count of Monte Cristo is on the same floor as yourselves. Hearing of the dilemma in which you are placed, he offers you two seats in his carriage and two seats at his window in the Palazzo Ruspoli.”
Albert and Franz exchanged looks.
“But can we accept this offer from a stranger, a man we do not even know?” asked Albert.
“It seems to me,” said Franz to Albert, “that if this man is as well-mannered as our host says he is, he would have conveyed his invitation to us in some other way, either in writing or—”
At this instant there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said Franz.
A servant wearing a very
smart livery made his appearance.
“From the Count of Monte Cristo to Monsieur Franz d’Epinay and the Viscount Albert de Morcerf,” said he, handing two cards to the host, who gave them to the young men.
“The Count of Monte Cristo asks permission to call upon you tomorrow morning,” continued the servant. “He will be honoured to know what hour is convenient to you.”
“Upon my word, there is nothing to find fault with here,” said Albert to Franz. “Everything is as it should be.”
“Tell the Count that, on the contrary, we shall do ourselves the honour of calling upon him.”
The servant withdrew.
“That is what I should call assaulting us with politeness,” said Albert. “Signor Pastrini, your Count of Monte Cristo is a very gentlemanly fellow.”
“You accept his offer then?”
“Of course we do,” replied Albert. “Nevertheless, I must own that I regret the wagon and the harvesters, and if it were not for the window at the Palazzo Ruspoli to compensate us for our loss, I think I should revert to my first idea. What about you, Franz?”
“The window in the Palazzo Ruspoli is the deciding point with me, too.” In truth, the offer of two seats in the Palazzo Ruspoli reminded Franz of the conversation he had overheard in the ruins of the Colosseum, when the man in the cloak undertook to obtain the condemned man’s reprieve. Were he and the Count one and the same person? He would doubtless recognize him, and then nothing would deter him from satisfying his curiosity regarding him.
The next morning Franz woke up at eight o’clock, and, as soon as he was dressed, sent for the landlord, who presented himself with his usual obsequiousness.
“Signor Pastrini,” said Franz, “is there not an execution to-day?”
“There is, Your Excellency; but if you ask me because you wish to have a window, it is too late.”
“No, that is not the reason,” replied Franz. “What I want to know is how many condemned men there are, their names, and the nature of their punishment.”
“What a bit of good luck, Your Excellency! They have just brought me the tavolette.”
“What are the tavolette?”
“They are wooden tablets put up at the corners of the streets on the evening before an execution, giving the names of the condemned men, the reason of their condemnation, and the nature of their punishment. The purpose of the notice is to invite the faithful to pray to God that He may grant the culprits sincere repentance.”
“I should like to read one of the tavolette,” said Franz.
“Nothing could be easier,” said the landlord, opening the door, “I have had one put on the landing.” Taking the tavolette from the wall, he handed it to Franz. A literal translation of the wording on the tablet is as follows:
It is hereby made known to all that the following will be executed in the Piazza del Popolo by order of the Rota Tribunal on Tuesday, the 22nd of February, the first day of Carnival: Andrea Rondolo, accused of the murder of the highly honoured and venerable priest Don Cesare Terlini, canon at the church of St. John Lateran, and Peppino, alias Rocca Priori, accused of complicity with the detestable bandit Luigi Vampa and other members of his gang.
The first-named shall be mazzolato, the latter shall be decap- itato.
All charitable souls are hereby entreated to pray God to grant these two unfortunates the grace of sincere repentance.
This was exactly what Franz had heard the previous evening in the ruins of the Colosseum.
Time was passing, however; it was nine o’clock, and Franz was just going to waken Albert when, to his great astonishment, he came out of his room fully dressed.
“Well, now that we are ready, do you think we could go and pay our respects to the Count of Monte Cristo?” Franz inquired of his host.
“Certainly,” was the reply. “The Count of Monte Cristo is an early riser and I feel sure he has been up these two hours.”
“Then you do not think we shall be committing an act of indiscretion if we call on him now?”
“I am sure we should not.”
“Then, Albert, if you are ready, let us go and thank our neighbour for his courtesy.”
They had only to cross the landing; the landlord preceded them and rang the bell. A servant opened the door.
“I signori francesi,” said the landlord.
The servant bowed and invited them to enter.
They were conducted through two rooms, more luxuriously furnished than they had thought possible in Pastrini’s hotel, and were then shown into a very elegant sitting-room. A Turkey carpet covered the parquet floor, and the most comfortably upholstered settees and chairs seemed to invite one to their soft, well-sprung seats and slanting backs. Magnificent paintings intermingled with glorious war trophies decorated the walls, while rich tapestried curtains hung before the door.
“If Your Excellencies will take a seat,” said the servant, “I will let the Count know you are here.” And he disappeared through one of the doors.
As the door opened, the sound of a guzlaav reached the ears of the two friends but was immediately lost; the door, being closed almost as soon as it was opened, merely permitted one swell of harmony to penetrate the room.
Franz and Albert looked at one another and then at the furniture, pictures, and trophies. On closer inspection it all appeared to them even more magnificent than at first.
“Well, what do you think of it all?” Franz asked his friend.
“Upon my word, I think our neighbour must be some stockbroker who has speculated on the fall of Spanish funds; or else some prince travelling incognito.”
“Hush! hush! that is what we are now going to find out, for here he comes.”
As he finished speaking the sound of a door turning on its hinges was heard, and almost immediately the tapestry was drawn aside to admit the owner of all these riches.
Albert advanced toward him, but Franz remained glued to his seat. He who entered was no other than the cloaked man of the Colosseum.
Chapter XXVIII
THE CARNIVAL AT ROME
Messieurs,” said the Count of Monte Cristo as he entered, “pray accept my excuses for allowing myself to be forestalled, but I feared I might disturb you if I called on you at an early hour. Besides, you advised me you were coming, and I held myself at your disposal.”
“Franz and I owe you a thousand thanks, Count,” said Albert. “You have truly extricated us from a great dilemma.”
“Indeed!” returned the Count, motioning the two young men to be seated on a settee, “it is only that idiot Pastrini’s fault that you were not relieved of your anxiety sooner. As soon as I learnt that I could be of use to you, I eagerly seized the opportunity of paying you my respects.”
The two young men bowed. Franz had not yet found anything to say; he was still undecided whether this was the same man he had seen at the Colosseum. He determined, therefore, to turn the conversation to a subject which might possibly throw light on the situation.
“You have offered us seats in your carriage, Count,” said he, “as well as at your window in the Palazzo Ruspoli! Could you now tell us where we can obtain a view of the Piazza del Popolo?”
“Yes, I believe there is to be an execution in the Piazza del Popolo, is there not?” said the Count in a casual tone.
“That is so,” replied Franz, delighted to see that the Count was at last coming to the point he wished.
“Just one moment, I believe I told my steward to attend to this yesterday. Perhaps I can be of service to you in this matter also.”
He put out his hand toward the bell-rope and pulled it three times. The Count’s steward immediately appeared.
“Signor Bertuccio,” said the Count, “have you procured a window overlooking the Piazza del Popolo, as I instructed you to do?”
“Yes, Excellency,” replied the steward, “but it was very late.”
“What!” said the Count frowning, “did I not tell you that I wanted one?”
“And You
r Excellency has one, the one which had been let to Prince Lobanieff, but I had to pay a hundred . . .”
“That will do, that will do, Signor Bertuccio! Spare these gentlemen such domestic details. You have procured a window and that is all I want to know. Give the coachman the address and hold yourself in readiness on the staircase to conduct us thither. You may go.”
The steward bowed and was about to retire when the Count said: “Ah! be good enough to ask Signor Pastrini if he has received the tavolette and if he will send me the program of the execution.”
“It is unnecessary,” said Franz, taking his notebook from his pocket, “I have seen the tablets and copied them here.”
“Very well. In that case I require nothing more; you can retire. Let me know when breakfast is ready.” Then turning to Albert and Franz he said: “You will, I hope, do me the honour of staying to breakfast with me.”
“Nay, Count, that would really be abusing your hospitality,” replied Albert.
“Not at all. On the contrary, you will give me great pleasure, and perhaps one of you, or even both, will return the compliment one day in Paris. Signor Bertuccio, have covers laid for three.”
He took the notebook out of Franz’s hand.
“We were saying,” he continued in the same tone in which he would have read a gossipy newspaper paragraph, “that ‘the following will be executed on the Piazza del Popolo by order of the Rota Tribunal on Tuesday, the twenty-second of February, the first day of the Carnival; Andrea Rondolo, accused of the murder of the highly honoured and venerable priest Don Cesare Terlini, Canon of the Church of Saint John Lateran, and Peppino, alias Rocca Priori, accused of complicity with the detestable bandit, Luigi Vampa, and the other members of his gang.
“‘The first-named shall be mazzolato, the latter shall be de- capitato.
“‘All charitable souls are hereby entreated to pray God to grant these two unfortunates the grace of sincere repentance.’ Hm! ‘The first-named shall be mazzolato, the latter shall be de- capitato.’ Quite right,” continued the Count, “this is how it was arranged first, but since yesterday, I think, some change has been made in the order of the ceremony.”