Literary Love

by Gabrielle Vigot

  “Why did you not tell me all this — you?” inquired the brigand chief, turning towards his men, who all retreated before his look. “Why have you caused me thus to fail in my word towards a gentleman like the count, who has all our lives in his hands? By heavens, if I thought one of you knew that the young gentleman was the friend of his excellency, I would blow his brains out with my own hand!”

  “Well,” said the count, turning towards Franz, “I told you there was some mistake in this.”

  “Are you not alone?” asked Vampa with uneasiness.

  “I am with the person to whom this letter was addressed, and to whom I desired to prove that Luigi Vampa was a man of his word. Come, your excellency,” the count added, turning to Franz, “here is Luigi Vampa, who will himself express to you his deep regret at the mistake he has committed.” Franz approached, the chief advancing several steps to meet him. “Welcome among us, your excellency,” he said to him; “you heard what the count just said, and also my reply; let me add that I would not for the four thousand piastres at which I had fixed your friend’s ransom, that this had happened.”

  “But,” said Franz, looking round him uneasily, “where is the Viscount? — I do not see him.”

  “Nothing has happened to him, I hope,” said the count frowningly.

  “The prisoner is there,” replied Vampa, pointing to the hollow space in front of which the bandit was on guard, “and I will go myself and tell him he is free.” The chief went towards the place he had pointed out as Albert’s prison, and Franz and the count followed him. “What is the prisoner doing?” inquired Vampa of the sentinel.

  “Ma foi, captain,” replied the sentry, “I do not know; for the last hour I have not heard him stir.”

  “Come in, your excellency,” said Vampa. The count and Franz ascended seven or eight steps after the chief, who drew back a bolt and opened a door. Then, by the gleam of a lamp, similar to that which lighted the columbarium, Albert was to be seen wrapped up in a cloak which one of the bandits had lent him, lying in a corner in profound slumber. “Come,” said the count, smiling with his own peculiar smile, “not so bad for a man who is to be shot at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.” Vampa looked at Albert with a kind of admiration; he was not insensible to such a proof of courage.

  “You are right, your excellency,” he said; “this must be one of your friends.” Then going to Albert, he touched him on the shoulder, saying, “Will your excellency please to awaken?” Albert stretched out his arms, rubbed his eyelids, and opened his eyes. “Oh,” said he, “is it you, captain? You should have allowed me to sleep. I had such a delightful dream. I was dancing the galop at Torlonia’s with the Countess G — — .” Then he drew his watch from his pocket, that he might see how time sped.

  “Half-past one only?” said he. “Why the devil do you rouse me at this hour?”

  “To tell you that you are free, your excellency.”

  “My dear fellow,” replied Albert, with perfect ease of mind, “remember, for the future, Napoleon’s maxim, ‘Never awaken me but for bad news;’ if you had let me sleep on, I should have finished my galop, and have been grateful to you all my life. So, then, they have paid my ransom?”

  “No, your excellency.”

  “Well, then, how am I free?”

  “A person to whom I can refuse nothing has come to demand you.”

  “Come hither?”

  “Yes, hither.”

  “Really? Then that person is a most amiable person.” Albert looked around and perceived Franz. “What,” said he, “is it you, my dear Franz, whose devotion and friendship are thus displayed?”

  “No, not I,” replied Franz, “but our neighbor, the Count of Monte Cristo.”

  “Oh, my dear count,” said Albert gaily, arranging his cravat and wristbands, “you are really most kind, and I hope you will consider me as under eternal obligations to you, in the first place for the carriage, and in the next for this visit,” and he put out his hand to the Count, who shuddered as he gave his own, but who nevertheless did give it. The bandit gazed on this scene with amazement; he was evidently accustomed to see his prisoners tremble before him, and yet here was one whose gay temperament was not for a moment altered; as for Franz, he was enchanted at the way in which Albert had sustained the national honor in the presence of the bandit. “My dear Albert,” he said, “if you will make haste, we shall yet have time to finish the night at Torlonia’s. You may conclude your interrupted galop, so that you will owe no ill-will to Signor Luigi, who has, indeed, throughout this whole affair acted like a gentleman.”

  “You are decidedly right, and we may reach the Palazzo by two o’clock. Signor Luigi,” continued Albert, “is there any formality to fulfill before I take leave of your excellency?”

  “None, sir,” replied the bandit, “you are as free as air.”

  “Well, then, a happy and merry life to you. Come, gentlemen, come.”

  And Albert, followed by Franz and the count, descended the staircase, crossed the square chamber, where stood all the bandits, hat in hand.” Peppino,” said the brigand chief, “give me the torch.”

  “What are you going to do?” inquired the count.

  “I will show you the way back myself,” said the captain; “that is the least honor that I can render to your excellency.” And taking the lighted torch from the hands of the herdsman, he preceded his guests, not as a servant who performs an act of civility, but like a king who precedes ambassadors. On reaching the door, he bowed. “And now, your excellency,” added he, “allow me to repeat my apologies, and I hope you will not entertain any resentment at what has occurred.”

  “No, my dear Vampa,” replied the count; “besides, you compensate for your mistakes in so gentlemanly a way, that one almost feels obliged to you for having committed them.”

  “Gentlemen,” added the chief, turning towards the young men, “perhaps the offer may not appear very tempting to you; but if you should ever feel inclined to pay me a second visit, wherever I may be, you shall be welcome.” Franz and Albert bowed. The count went out first, then Albert. Franz paused for a moment. “Has your excellency anything to ask me?” said Vampa with a smile.

  “Yes, I have,” replied Franz; “I am curious to know what work you were perusing with so much attention as we entered.”

  “Caesar’s ‘Commentaries,’” said the bandit, “it is my favorite work.”

  “Well, are you coming?” asked Albert.

  “Yes,” replied Franz, “here I am,” and he, in his turn, left the caves. They advanced to the plain. “Ah, your pardon,” said Albert, turning round; “will you allow me, captain?” And he lighted his cigar at Vampa’s torch. “Now, my dear count,” he said, “let us on with all the speed we may. I am enormously anxious to finish my night at the Duke of Bracciano’s.” They found the carriage where they had left it. The count said a word in Arabic to Ali, and the horses went on at great speed. It was just two o’clock by Albert’s watch when the two friends entered into the dancing-room. Their return was quite an event, but as they entered together, all uneasiness on Albert’s account ceased instantly. “Madame,” said the Viscount of Morcerf, advancing towards the countess, “yesterday you were so condescending as to promise me a gallop; I am rather late in claiming this gracious promise, but here is my friend, whose character for veracity you well know, and he will assure you the delay arose from no fault of mine.” And as at this moment the orchestra gave the signal for the waltz, Albert put his arm round the waist of the countess, and disappeared with her in the whirl of dancers. In the meanwhile Franz was considering the singular shudder that had passed over the Count of Monte Cristo at the moment when he had been, in some sort, forced to give his hand to Albert.

  Chapter 12. The Compact.

  The first words that Albert uttered to his friend, on the following morning, contained a request that Franz would accompany him on a visit to the count; true, the young man had warmly and energetically thanked the count on the previous even
ing; but services such as he had rendered could never be too often acknowledged. Franz, who seemed attracted by some invisible influence towards the count, in which terror was strangely mingled, felt an extreme reluctance to permit his friend to be exposed alone to the singular fascination that this mysterious personage seemed to exercise over him, and therefore made no objection to Albert’s request, but at once accompanied him to the desired spot, and, after a short delay, the count joined them in the salon. “My dear count,” said Albert, advancing to meet him, “permit me to repeat the poor thanks I offered last night, and to assure you that the remembrance of all I owe to you will never be effaced from my memory; believe me, as long as I live, I shall never cease to dwell with grateful recollection on the prompt and important service you rendered me; and also to remember that to you I am indebted even for my life.”

  “My very good friend and excellent neighbor,” replied the count, with a smile, “you really exaggerate my trifling exertions. You owe me nothing but some trifle of 20,000. francs, which you have been saved out of your travelling expenses, so that there is not much of a score between us; — but you must really permit me to congratulate you on the ease and unconcern with which you resigned yourself to your fate, and the perfect indifference you manifested as to the turn events might take.”

  “Upon my word,” said Albert, “I deserve no credit for what I could not help, namely, a determination to take everything as I found it, and to let those bandits see, that although men get into troublesome scrapes all over the world, there is no nation but the French that can smile even in the face of grim Death himself. All that, however, has nothing to do with my obligations to you, and I now come to ask you whether, in my own person, my family, or connections, I can in any way serve you? My father, the Comte de Morcerf, although of Spanish origin, possesses considerable influence, both at the court of France and Madrid, and I unhesitatingly place the best services of myself, and all to whom my life is dear, at your disposal.”

  “Monsieur de Morcerf,” replied the count, “your offer, far from surprising me, is precisely what I expected from you, and I accept it in the same spirit of hearty sincerity with which it is made; — nay, I will go still further, and say that I had previously made up my mind to ask a great favor at your hands.”

  “Oh, pray name it.”

  “I am wholly a stranger to Paris — it is a city I have never yet seen.”

  “Is it possible,” exclaimed Albert, “that you have reached your present age without visiting the finest capital in the world? I can scarcely credit it.”

  “Nevertheless, it is quite true; still, I agree with you in thinking that my present ignorance of the first city in Europe is a reproach to me in every way, and calls for immediate correction; but, in all probability, I should have performed so important, so necessary a duty, as that of making myself acquainted with the wonders and beauties of your justly celebrated capital, had I known any person who would have introduced me into the fashionable world, but unfortunately I possessed no acquaintance there, and, of necessity, was compelled to abandon the idea.”

  “So distinguished an individual as yourself,” cried Albert, “could scarcely have required an introduction.”

  “You are most kind; but as regards myself, I can find no merit I possess, save that, as a millionaire, I might have become a partner in the speculations of M. Aguado and M. Rothschild; but as my motive in travelling to your capital would not have been for the pleasure of dabbling in stocks, I stayed away till some favorable chance should present itself of carrying my wish into execution. Your offer, however, smoothes all difficulties, and I have only to ask you, my dear M. de Morcerf” (these words were accompanied by a most peculiar smile), “whether you undertake, upon my arrival in France, to open to me the doors of that fashionable world of which I know no more than a Huron or a native of Cochin-China?”

  “Oh, that I do, and with infinite pleasure,” answered Albert; “and so much the more readily as a letter received this morning from my father summons me to Paris, in consequence of a treaty of marriage (my dear Franz, do not smile, I beg of you) with a family of high standing, and connected with the very cream of Parisian society.”

  “Connected by marriage, you mean,” said Franz, laughingly.

  “Well, never mind how it is,” answered Albert, “it comes to the same thing in the end. Perhaps by the time you return to Paris, I shall be quite a sober, staid father of a family! A most edifying representative I shall make of all the domestic virtues — don’t you think so? But as regards your wish to visit our fine city, my dear count, I can only say that you may command me and mine to any extent you please.”

  “Then it is settled,” said the count, “and I give you my solemn assurance that I only waited an opportunity like the present to realize plans that I have long meditated.” Franz did not doubt that these plans were the same concerning which the count had dropped a few words in the grotto of Monte Cristo, and while the Count was speaking the young man watched him closely, hoping to read something of his purpose in his face, but his countenance was inscrutable especially when, as in the present case, it was veiled in a sphinx-like smile. “But tell me now, count,” exclaimed Albert, delighted at the idea of having to chaperon so distinguished a person as Monte Cristo; “tell me truly whether you are in earnest, or if this project of visiting Paris is merely one of the chimerical and uncertain air castles of which we make so many in the course of our lives, but which, like a house built on the sand, is liable to be blown over by the first puff of wind?”

  “I pledge you my honor,” returned the count, “that I mean to do as I have said; both inclination and positive necessity compel me to visit Paris.”

  “When do you propose going thither?”

  “Have you made up your mind when you shall be there yourself?”

  “Certainly I have; in a fortnight or three weeks’ time, that is to say, as fast as I can get there!”

  “Nay,” said the Count; “I will give you three months ere I join you; you see I make an ample allowance for all delays and difficulties.

  “And in three months’ time,” said Albert, “you will be at my house?”

  “Shall we make a positive appointment for a particular day and hour?” inquired the count; “only let me warn you that I am proverbial for my punctilious exactitude in keeping my engagements.”

  “Day for day, hour for hour,” said Albert; “that will suit me to a dot.”

  “So be it, then,” replied the count, and extending his hand towards a calendar, suspended near the chimney-piece, he said, “to-day is the 21stof February;” and drawing out his watch, added, “it is exactly half-past ten o’clock. Now promise me to remember this, and expect me the 21st of May at the same hour in the forenoon.”

  “Capital,” exclaimed Albert; “your breakfast shall be waiting.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “No. 27, Rue du Helder.”

  “Have you bachelor’s apartments there? I hope my coming will not put you to any inconvenience.”

  “I reside in my father’s house, but occupy a pavilion at the farther side of the courtyard, entirely separated from the main building.”

  “Quite sufficient,” replied the count, as, taking out his tablets, he wrote down “No. 27, Rue du Helder, 21st May, half-past ten in the morning.”

  “Now then,” said the count, returning his tablets to his pocket, “make yourself perfectly easy; the hand of your timepiece will not be more accurate in marking the time than myself.”

  “Shall I see you again ere my departure?” asked Albert.

  “That depends; when do you leave?”

  “Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock.”

  “In that case I must say adieu to you, as I am compelled to go to Naples, and shall not return hither before Saturday evening or Sunday morning. And you, baron,” pursued the count, addressing Franz, “do you also depart tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “For France?”

&nbs
p; “No, for Venice; I shall remain in Italy for another year or two.”

  “Then we shall not meet in Paris?”

  “I fear I shall not have that honor.”

  “Well, since we must part,” said the count, holding out a hand to each of the young men, “allow me to wish you both a safe and pleasant journey.” It was the first time the hand of Franz had come in contact with that of the mysterious individual before him, and unconsciously he shuddered at its touch, for it felt cold and icy as that of a corpse. “Let us understand each other,” said Albert; “it is agreed — is it not? — that you are to be at No. 27, in the Rue du Helder, on the 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning, and your word of honor passed for your punctuality?”

  “The 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning, Rue du Helder, No. 27,” replied the Count. The young men then rose, and bowing to the count, quitted the room. “What is the matter?” asked Albert of Franz, when they had returned to their own apartments; “you seem more than commonly thoughtful.”

  “I will confess to you, Albert,” replied Franz, “the count is a very singular person, and the appointment you have made to meet him in Paris fills me with a thousand apprehensions.”

  “My dear fellow,” exclaimed Albert, “what can there possibly be in that to excite uneasiness? Why, you must have lost your senses.”

  “Whether I am in my senses or not,” answered Franz, “that is the way I feel.”

  “Listen to me, Franz,” said Albert; “I am glad that the occasion has presented itself for saying this to you, for I have noticed how cold you are in your bearing towards the count, while he, on the other hand, has always been courtesy itself to us. Have you anything particular against him?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Did you ever meet him previously to coming hither?”

  “I have.”

  “And where?”

  “Will you promise me not to repeat a single word of what I am about to tell you?”