The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (72 page)

Suddenly the bell which signals the end of the carnival rang out and at the same moment all the
moccoli
went out simultaneously, as if by enchantment. You would have thought that one single, enormous breath of wind had extinguished them all.

Franz found himself in total darkness.

At the same moment, all the cries ceased, as if the breath of wind that had put out the lights had carried off the noise at the same time. All that could be heard was the rumbling of the carriages as they took the masked figures home. All that could still be seen were the few lights burning behind the windows.

The carnival was over.

Never in his life, perhaps, had Franz ever felt such a sharply defined and rapid transformation from merriment to sadness as he did at that moment. You would have thought that Rome, under the magic wand of some demon of the night, had changed into one vast tomb. By an eventuality which added to the blackness of the night, the moon was waning and not due to rise until eleven o’clock, so the
streets through which the young man walked were plunged in utter darkness. But the journey was short. In ten minutes his carriage – that is to say, the count’s – stopped at the Hôtel de Londres.

Dinner was waiting for him but, since Albert had warned him that he might not return immediately, Franz sat down to eat without waiting for him.

Signor Pastrini, who was used to seeing them dine together, asked why Albert was not there, but Franz said no more than that his friend had received an invitation two days earlier and had accepted it. The sudden extinction of the
moccoletti
, the darkness that had replaced the light and the silence that had followed the din had left Franz feeling melancholy, and even a little tense; so he dined in total silence, even though Signor Pastrini was as attentive as ever and came in two or three times to ask if he had everything he needed.

Franz was determined to wait up as late as possible for Albert, so he ordered the carriage only for eleven o’clock, asking Signor Pastrini to inform him immediately if Albert reappeared at the hotel for any reason. At eleven Albert had not returned, so Franz dressed and left, telling his host that he would be spending the night at the Duke of Bracciano’s.

The Duke of Bracciano’s house is one of the most delightful in Rome. His wife, one of the last heirs of the Colonna family, is a perfect hostess. Consequently the duke’s entertainments are famous throughout Europe. Franz and Albert had arrived in Rome with letters of introduction to him, so his first question was to ask Franz what had become of his travelling companion. Franz replied that he had left him at the moment just as the
moccoli
were about to be extinguished and that he had lost sight of him in the Via Macello.

‘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.

‘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?’