http://www.arcamax.com/fiction/b-1180-38
The Count of Monte Cristo
"Well, then, if you obtain the reprieve?"
"The middle window at the Cafe Rospoli will be hung with white damask,
bearing a red cross."
"And if you fail?"
"Then all three windows will have yellow draperies."
"And then?"
"And then, my good fellow, use your daggers in any way you please, and
I further promise you to be there as a spectator of your prowess."
"We understand each other perfectly, then. Adieu, your excellency;
depend upon me as firmly as I do upon you."
Saying these words, the Transteverin disappeared down the staircase,
while his companion, muffling his features more closely than before in
the folds of his mantle, passed almost close to Franz, and descended
to the arena by an outward flight of steps. The next minute Franz
heard himself called by Albert, who made the lofty building re-echo
with the sound of his friend's name. Franz, however, did not obey the
summons till he had satisfied himself that the two men whose
conversation he had overheard were at a sufficient distance to prevent
his encountering them in his descent. In ten minutes after the
strangers had departed, Franz was on the road to the Piazza de Spagni,
listening with studied indifference to the learned dissertation
delivered by Albert, after the manner of Pliny and Calpurnius,
touching the iron-pointed nets used to prevent the ferocious beasts
from springing on the spectators. Franz let him proceed without
interruption, and, in fact, did not hear what was said; he longed to
be alone, and free to ponder over all that had occurred. One of the
two men, whose mysterious meeting in the Colosseum he had so
unintentionally witnessed, was an entire stranger to him, but not so
the other; and though Franz had been unable to distinguish his
features, from his being either wrapped in his mantle or obscured by
the shadow, the tones of his voice had made too powerful an impression
on him the first time he had heard them for him ever again to forget
them, hear them when or where he might. It was more especially when
this man was speaking in a manner half jesting, half bitter, that
Franz's ear recalled most vividly the deep sonorous, yet well-pitched
voice that had addressed him in the grotto of Monte Cristo, and which
he heard for the second time amid the darkness and ruined grandeur of
the Colosseum. And the more he thought, the more entire was his
conviction, that the person who wore the mantle was no other than his
former host and entertainer, "Sinbad the Sailor."
Under any other circumstances, Franz would have found it impossible to
resist his extreme curiosity to know more of so singular a personage,
and with that intent have sought to renew their short acquaintance;
but in the present instance, the confidential nature of the
conversation he had overheard made him, with propriety, judge that his
appearance at such a time would be anything but agreeable. As we have
seen, therefore, he permitted his former host to retire without
attempting a recognition, but fully promising himself a rich indemnity
for his present forbearance should chance afford him another
opportunity. In vain did Franz endeavor to forget the many perplexing
thoughts which assailed him; in vain did he court the refreshment of
sleep. Slumber refused to visit his eyelids and the night was passed
in feverish contemplation of the chain of circumstances tending to
prove the identity of the mysterious visitant to the Colosseum with
the inhabitant of the grotto of Monte Cristo; and the more he thought,
the firmer grew his opinion on the subject. Worn out at length, he
fell asleep at daybreak, and did not awake till late. Like a genuine
Frenchman, Albert had employed his time in arranging for the evening's
diversion; he had sent to engage a box at the Teatro Argentino; and
Franz, having a number of letters to write, relinquished the carriage
to Albert for the whole of the day. At five o'clock Albert returned,
delighted with his day's work; he had been occupied in leaving his
letters of introduction, and had received in return more invitations
to balls and routs than it would be possible for him to accept;
besides this, he had seen (as he called it) all the remarkable sights
at Rome. Yes, in a single day he had accomplished what his more
serious-minded companion would have taken weeks to effect. Neither had
he neglected to ascertain the name of the piece to be played that
night at the Teatro Argentino, and also what performers appeared in
it.
The opera of "Parisina" was announced for representation, and the
principal actors were Coselli, Moriani, and La Specchia. The young
men, therefore, had reason to consider themselves fortunate in having
the opportunity of hearing one of the best works by the composer of
"Lucia di Lammermoor," supported by three of the most renowned
vocalists of Italy. Albert had never been able to endure the Italian
theatres, with their orchestras from which it is impossible to see,
and the absence of balconies, or open boxes; all these defects pressed
hard on a man who had had his stall at the Bouffes, and had shared a
lower box at the Opera. Still, in spite of this, Albert displayed his
most dazzling and effective costumes each time he visited the
theatres; but, alas, his elegant toilet was wholly thrown away, and
one of the most worthy representatives of Parisian fashion had to
carry with him the mortifying reflection that he had nearly overrun
Italy without meeting with a single adventure.
Sometimes Albert would affect to make a joke of his want of success;
but internally he was deeply wounded, and his self-love immensely
piqued, to think that Albert de Morcerf, the most admired and most
sought after of any young person of his day, should thus be passed
over, and merely have his labor for his pains. And the thing was so
much the more annoying, as, according to the characteristic modesty of
a Frenchman, Albert had quitted Paris with the full conviction that he
had only to show himself in Italy to carry all before him, and that
upon his return he should astonish the Parisian world with the recital
of his numerous love-affairs. Alas, poor Albert! none of those
interesting adventures fell in his way; the lovely Genoese,
Florentines, and Neapolitans were all faithful, if not to their
husbands, at least to their lovers, and thought not of changing even
for the splendid appearance of Albert de Morcerf; and all he gained
was the painful conviction that the ladies of Italy have this
advantage over those of France, that they are faithful even in their
infidelity. Yet he could not restrain a hope that in Italy, as
elsewhere, there might be an exception to the general rule. Albert,
besides being an elegant, well-looking young man, was also possessed
of considerable talent and ability; moreover, he was a viscount -- a
recently created one, certainly, but in the present day it is not
necessary to go as far back as Noah in tracing a descent, and a
genealogical tree is equally estimated, whether dated from 1399 or
merely 1815; but to crown all these advantages, Albert de Morcerf
commanded an income of 50,000 livres, a more than sufficient sum to
render him a personage of considerable importance in Paris. It was
therefore no small mortification to him to have visited most of the
principal cities in Italy without having excited the most trifling
observation. Albert, however, hoped to indemnify himself for all these
slights and indifferences during the Carnival, knowing full well that
among the different states and kingdoms in which this festivity is
celebrated, Rome is the spot where even the wisest and gravest throw
off the usual rigidity of their lives, and deign to mingle in the
follies of this time of liberty and relaxation.
The Carnival was to commence on the morrow; therefore Albert had not
an instant to lose in setting forth the programme of his hopes,
expectations, and claims to notice. With this design he had engaged a
box in the most conspicuous part of the theatre, and exerted himself
to set off his personal attractions by the aid of the most rich and
elaborate toilet. The box taken by Albert was in the first circle;
although each of the three tiers of boxes is deemed equally
aristocratic, and is, for this reason, generally styled the
"nobility's boxes," and although the box engaged for the two friends
was sufficiently capacious to contain at least a dozen persons, it had
cost less than would be paid at some of the French theatres for one
admitting merely four occupants. Another motive had influenced
Albert's selection of his seat, -- who knew but that, thus
advantageously placed, he might not in truth attract the notice of
some fair Roman, and an introduction might ensue that would procure
him the offer of a seat in a carriage, or a place in a princely
balcony, from which he might behold the gayeties of the Carnival?
These united considerations made Albert more lively and anxious to
please than he had hitherto been. Totally disregarding the business of
the stage, he leaned from his box and began attentively scrutinizing
the beauty of each pretty woman, aided by a powerful opera-glass; but,
alas, this attempt to attract notice wholly failed; not even curiosity
had been excited, and it was but too apparent that the lovely
creatures, into whose good graces he was desirous of stealing, were
all so much engrossed with themselves, their lovers, or their own
thoughts, that they had not so much as noticed him or the manipulation
of his glass.
The truth was, that the anticipated pleasures of the Carnival, with
the "holy week" that was to succeed it, so filled every fair breast,
as to prevent the least attention being bestowed even on the business
of the stage. The actors made their entries and exits unobserved or
unthought of; at certain conventional moments, the spectators would
suddenly cease their conversation, or rouse themselves from their
musings, to listen to some brilliant effort of Moriani's, a
well-executed recitative by Coselli, or to join in loud applause at
the wonderful powers of La Specchia; but that momentary excitement
over, they quickly relapsed into their former state of preoccupation
or interesting conversation. Towards the close of the first act, the
door of a box which had been hitherto vacant was opened; a lady
entered to whom Franz had been introduced in Paris, where indeed, he
had imagined she still was. The quick eye of Albert caught the
involuntary start with which his friend beheld the new arrival, and,
turning to him, he said hastily, "Do you know the woman who has just
entered that box?"
"Yes; what do you think of her?"
"Oh, she is perfectly lovely -- what a complexion! And such
magnificent hair! Is she French?"
"No; a Venetian."
"And her name is -- "
"Countess G---- ."
"Ah, I know her by name!" exclaimed Albert; "she is said to possess as
much wit and cleverness as beauty. I was to have been presented to her
when I met her at Madame Villefort's ball."
"Shall I assist you in repairing your negligence?" asked Franz.
"My dear fellow, are you really on such good terms with her as to
venture to take me to her box?"
"Why, I have only had the honor of being in her society and conversing
with her three or four times in my life; but you know that even such
an acquaintance as that might warrant my doing what you ask." At that
instant, the countess perceived Franz, and graciously waved her hand
to him, to which he replied by a respectful inclination of the head.
"Upon my word," said Albert, "you seem to be on excellent terms with
the beautiful countess."
"You are mistaken in thinking so," returned Franz calmly; "but you
merely fall into the same error which leads so many of our countrymen
to commit the most egregious blunders, -- I mean that of judging the
habits and customs of Italy and Spain by our Parisian notions; believe
me, nothing is more fallacious than to form any estimate of the degree
of intimacy you may suppose existing among persons by the familiar
terms they seem upon; there is a similarity of feeling at this instant
between ourselves and the countess -- nothing more."
"Is there, indeed, my good fellow? Pray tell me, is it sympathy of
heart?"
"No; of taste," continued Franz gravely.
"And in what manner has this congeniality of mind been evinced?"
"By the countess's visiting the Colosseum, as we did last night, by
moonlight, and nearly alone."
"You were with her, then?"
"I was."
"And what did you say to her?"
"Oh, we talked of the illustrious dead of whom that magnificent ruin
is a glorious monument!"
"Upon my word," cried Albert, "you must have been a very entertaining
companion alone, or all but alone, with a beautiful woman in such a
place of sentiment as the Colosseum, and yet to find nothing better a
talk about than the dead! All I can say is, if ever I should get such
a chance, the living should be my theme."
"And you will probably find your theme ill-chosen."
"But," said Albert, breaking in upon his discourse, "never mind the
past; let us only remember the present. Are you not going to keep your
promise of introducing me to the fair subject of our remarks?"
"Certainly, directly the curtain falls on the stage."
"What a confounded time this first act takes. I believe, on my soul,
that they never mean to finish it."
"Oh, yes, they will; only listen to that charming finale. How
exquisitely Coselli sings his part."
"But what an awkward, inelegant fellow he is."
"Well, then, what do you say to La Specchia? Did you ever see anything
more perfect than her acting?"
"Why, you know, my dear fellow, when one has been accustomed to
Malibran and Sontag, such singers as these don't make the same
impression on you they perhaps do on others."
"At least, you must admire Moriani's style and execution."
"I never fancied men of his dark, ponderous appearance singing with a
voice like a woman's."
"My good friend," said Franz, turning to him, while Albert continued
to point his glass at every box in the theatre, "you seem determined
not to approve; you are really too difficult to please." The curtain
at length fell on the performances, to the infinite satisfaction of
the Viscount of Morcerf, who seized his hat, rapidly passed his
fingers through his hair, arranged his cravat and wristbands, and
signified to Franz that he was waiting for him to lead the way. Franz,
who had mutely interrogated the countess, and received from her a
gracious smile in token that he would be welcome, sought not to retard
the gratification of Albert's eager impatience, but began at once the
tour of the house, closely followed by Albert, who availed himself of
the few minutes required to reach the opposite side of the theatre to
settle the height and smoothness of his collar, and to arrange the
lappets of his coat. This important task was just completed as they
arrived at the countess's box. At the knock, the door was immediately
opened, and the young man who was seated beside the countess, in
obedience to the Italian custom, instantly rose and surrendered his
place to the strangers, who, in turn, would be expected to retire upon
the arrival of other visitors.
Franz presented Albert as one of the most distinguished young men of
the day, both as regarded his position in society and extraordinary
talents; nor did he say more than the truth, for in Paris and the
circle in which the viscount moved, he was looked upon and cited as a
model of perfection. Franz added that his companion, deeply grieved at
having been prevented the honor of being presented to the countess
during her sojourn in Paris, was most anxious to make up for it, and
had requested him (Franz) to remedy the past misfortune by conducting
him to her box, and concluded by asking pardon for his presumption in
having taken it upon himself to do so. The countess, in reply, bowed
gracefully to Albert, and extended her hand with cordial kindness to
Franz; then, inviting Albert to take the vacant seat beside her, she
recommended Franz to take the next best, if he wished to view the
ballet, and pointed to the one behind her own chair. Albert was soon
deeply engrossed in discoursing upon Paris and Parisian matters,
speaking to the countess of the various persons they both knew there.
Franz perceived how completely he was in his element; and, unwilling
to interfere with the pleasure he so evidently felt, took up Albert's
glass, and began in his turn to survey the audience. Sitting alone, in
the front of a box immediately opposite, but situated on the third
row, was a woman of exquisite beauty, dressed in a Greek costume,
which evidently, from the ease and grace with which she wore it, was
her national attire. Behind her, but in deep shadow, was the outline
of a masculine figure; but the features of this latter personage it
was not possible to distinguish. Franz could not forbear breaking in
upon the apparently interesting conversation passing between the
countess and Albert, to inquire of the former if she knew who was the
fair Albanian opposite, since beauty such as hers was well worthy of
being observed by either sex. "All I can tell about her," replied the
countess, "is, that she has been at Rome since the beginning of the
season; for I saw her where she now sits the very first night of the
season, and since then she has never missed a performance. Sometimes
she is accompanied by the person who is now with her, and at others
she is merely attended by a black servant."