“In half an hour, then,” said Maximilian in a grim voice, “our name will be dishonoured.”
“Blood washes out dishonour!” said Morrel.
“You are right, Father. I understand.”
Morrel was about to throw himself on his knees before his son, but Maximilian caught him in his arms and for a moment these two noble hearts beat one against the other.
“You know it is not my fault?” said Morrel.
Maximilian smiled. “I know, Father, that you are the most honourable man I have ever known!”
“Good, my son; enough is said. Now go and rejoin your mother and sister.”
“Father,” said the young man, kneeling down, “bless me!”
Morrel seized his son’s head between his two hands and, pressing his lips to it again and again, said: “Yes, yes, I bless you in my own name and in the name of three generations of irreproachable men. See to it, my son, that our name shall not be dishonoured. Work, fight zealously and courageously; see that you, your mother and sister, expend only what is strictly necessary so that the sacred trust I leave to you of repaying my debts of honour may be speedily fulfilled. Think how glorious the day will be, how grand and solemn, when you can restore all, and when, sitting at this same desk, you will say: ‘My father died because he could not do what I am doing to-day, but he died in peace and at rest because he knew he could put his faith in me.’”
“Oh, Father, Father!” cried the young man. “If only you could live!”
“I should be looked upon as a man who has broken his word and failed in his engagements. If I lived you would be ashamed of my name. When I am dead, you will raise your head and say ‘I am the son of him who killed himself because, for the first time in his life, he was unable to keep his word.’ Now,” continued Morrel, “leave me alone and keep your mother away. Once more farewell. Go, go, I need to be alone. You will find my will in the desk in my room.”
When his son had gone Morrel sank into his chair and looked up at the clock. He had only seven minutes left and the hand seemed to move round with incredible rapidity. The pistols were loaded; stretching out his hand, he seized one, murmuring his daughter’s name. Putting the weapon down again, he took up his pen to write a few words. It occurred to him he might have been more affectionate in his farewell to his beloved daughter.
Then he turned to the clock again; he no longer counted by minutes, but by seconds. Taking the weapon once more, he opened his mouth with his eyes on the clock. The noise he made in cocking the pistol sent a shiver through him: a cold perspiration broke out on his forehead and he was seized by a mortal anguish.
He heard the outer door creak on its hinges. The inner door opened. The clock was about to strike eleven. Morrel did not turn round.
He put the pistol to his mouth . . . Suddenly he heard a cry . . . It was his daughter’s voice. He turned round and saw Julie. The pistol dropped from his hands.
“Father!” cried the girl out of breath and overcome with joy. “You are saved! You are saved!”
She threw herself into his arms, at the same time holding out to him a red silk purse.
“Saved, my child?” said he. “What do you mean?”
“Yes, saved! See here!”
Morrel started at sight of the purse, for he had a faint recollection that it had once belonged to him. He took it in his hand. At one end it held the receipted bill for 287,500 francs, at the other a diamond as big as a nut, with these two words written on a piece of parchment attached to it:
JULIE’S DOWRY
Morrel passed his hand across his brow: he thought he must be dreaming. At the same moment the clock struck eleven.
“Explain, my child,” said he. “Where did you find this purse?”
“On the corner of the mantelshelf of a miserable little room on the fifth floor of number fifteen, Allées de Meilhan.”
“But this purse is not yours!”
Julie showed her father the letter she had received that morning.
Just then Emmanuel came rushing in full of excitement and joy.
“The Pharaon!” cried he. “The Pharaon!”
“What? The Pharaon? Are you mad, Emmanuel? You know quite well she is lost.”
Then in came Maximilian. “Father, how could you say the Pharaon was lost? The look-out has just signalled her, and she is putting into port.”
“If that is the case, my friends,” said his father, “it must be a miracle. Let us go and see, but God have pity on us if it is a false report.”
They all went out and on the stairs met Mme Morrel, who had not dared to go into the office. They were soon on the Cannebière, where a large crowd was gathered. All made way for Morrel, and every voice was calling out: “The Pharaon! The Pharaon!”
True enough, though wonderful to relate, there, in front of the St Jean tower, was a ship with the words “Pharaon (Morrel and Son, Marseilles)” in white letters on her stern; she was the exact counterpart of the other Pharaon, and also carried a cargo of indigo and cochineal. She was casting her anchor with all sails brailed. On the deck Captain Gaumard was issuing orders.
As Morrel and his son were embracing each other on the quay-side amid the applause of the onlookers, a man whose face was half hidden by a black beard and who had been watching the scene from behind a sentry-box, muttered to himself: “Be happy, noble heart. May you be blessed for all the good you have done and will do hereafter!” And with a smile of joy he left his hiding-place without being observed, descended the steps to the water, and called out three times: “Jacopo! Jacopo! Jacopo!”
A shallop came alongside, took him on board, and conveyed him to a beautifully rigged yacht. He jumped on deck with the nimbleness of a sailor, and from thence once more gazed on the happy scene on the quay.
“Now, farewell to kindness, humanity, gratitude,” said he. “Farewell to all the sentiments which rejoice the heart. I have played the part of Providence in recompensing the good, may the god of vengeance now permit me to punish the wicked!”
Muttering these words, he made a sign, and the yacht immediately put out to sea.
Chapter XXVI
ROMAN BANDITS
Toward the beginning of the year 1838 two young men belonging to the best society of Paris were staying at Florence: one was Viscount Albert de Morcerf and the other Baron Franz d’Épinay. They had decided to spend the Carnival together at Rome, and Franz, who had lived in Italy for more than four years, was to be his friend’s cicerone.ar
As it is no small matter to spend the Carnival at Rome, especially when you have no great desire to sleep in the Piazza del Popolo or the Campo Vaccino, they wrote to Signor Pastrini, the proprietor of the Hôtel de Londres, to ask him to reserve a comfortable suite for them.
On the Saturday evening before the Carnival they arrived in Rome. The suite reserved for them consisted of two small bedrooms and a sitting-room. The bedrooms overlooked the street, a fact which Pastrini commented upon as a priceless advantage. The remaining rooms on that floor were let to an immensely rich gentleman who was supposed to be either a Sicilian or a Maltese, the proprietor was not quite sure which.
“That is all very well, Pastrini,” said Franz, “but we want some supper at once, and also a carriage for to-morrow and the following days.”
“You shall have supper instantly, signore, but as for the carriage . . . we will do all we can to procure one for you, and that is all I can say.”
“Then we shall harness the horses to mine; it is a little the worse for the journey but that doesn’t matter.”
“You will not find any horses,” said Pastrini.
Albert looked at Franz with the expression of a man who has been given an incomprehensible answer.
“Do you understand that, Franz? No horses! Then surely we can have post horses?”
“They were hired out a month ago, and there are now none left but those absolutely necessary for the postal service.”
“What do you say to that?” asked Franz.
> “What I say is that when a thing surpasses my comprehension, I cease to think about it at all. Supper ready, Pastrini?”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“Well, then, let us go and have it.”
“But what about the carriage and horses?”
“Make your mind easy about that, my friend, they will come by themselves. It is only a question of price.”
And with that admirable philosophy which believes nothing impossible to a full purse and a well-lined pocket-book, Morcerf supped, went to bed, and dreamed he was racing all over Rome in a carriage and six.
The next morning Franz was the first to wake and immediately rang the bell. The tinkling had not yet ceased when mine host appeared.
“Well, Excellency,” said he triumphantly, “I was quite right not to promise you anything yesterday. You are too late; there is not a single carriage to be had in Rome, in any case not for the last three days of the Carnival.”
“Well, I don’t think much of your Eternal City!”
“That is to say, Excellency, there are no more carriages to be had from Sunday morning till Tuesday evening, but until Sunday you can have fifty if you wish,” replied Pastrini, anxious to preserve the dignity of the capital of the Christian world in the eyes of his guests.
“Ah, that is something,” said Albert. “To-day is Thursday. Who knows what good things will come our way by Sunday?”
“Ten to twelve thousand trippers to make it more difficult than ever!” was Franz’s reply.
“My friend, let us enjoy the present and give no thought to the evils of the future.”
“I presume we can at least have a window?” asked Franz.
“Where?”
“Overlooking the Corso, naturally!”
“Impossible! Absolutely out of the question!” exclaimed Pastrini. “There was only one left on the fifth floor of the Do ria Palace and that has been taken by a Russian Prince for twenty sequins a day.”
The two friends looked at each other astounded.
“In that case,” said Franz to Albert, “we had better go to Venice for the Carnival. Even if we don’t find a carriage there, we shall be sure to find a gondola.”
“No fear,” cried Albert, “I have made up my mind to see the Carnival at Rome, and see it I will, even if I have to go about on stilts.”
“Do Your Excellencies still wish for a carriage until Sunday?”
“What do you think?” said Albert. “Do you imagine we are going to run about the streets of Rome on foot like lawyers’ clerks?”
“I will hasten to execute Your Excellencies’ orders,” said Pastrini. “I will do my best, and I hope you may be satisfied. At what time do you wish the carriage?”
“In an hour.”
“Very well, Excellency. In an hour it shall be at the door.”
When Albert and Franz descended an hour later, the carriage was there.
“Where do Your Excellencies wish to go?” asked the cicerone.
“To St Peter’s, of course, and then on to the Colosseum,” said Albert.
Albert did not know, however, that it takes a day to see St Peter’s and a month to study it. Suddenly the two friends noticed that the day was drawing to a close. Franz took out his watch—it was half-past four.
They immediately returned to the hotel. At the door Franz ordered the coachman to be ready again at eight. He wanted to show Albert the Colosseum by moonlight, as he had seen St Peter’s by daylight. They were to leave by the Porta del Popolo, follow the outer walls, and return by the Porta San Giovanni.
When they had finished their dinner the innkeeper appeared before them.
“I hear,” he said, “that you have ordered the carriage for eight o’clock and that you propose visiting the Colosseum?”
“You have heard aright.”
“Is it also true that you intend to start from the Porta del Popolo, then to follow the outer walls, and to return by the Porta San Giovanni?”
“Those were my very words.”
“Your itinerary is impossible, or to say the least very dangerous.”
“Dangerous! Why?”
“Because of the bandit, Luigi Vampa.”
“Prick up your ears, Albert! Here’s a bandit for you at last!”
“Well, and what has that to do with my orders to the coachman to leave by the Porta del Popolo and return by the Porta San Giovanni?”
“Simply that you may leave by the one, but I very much doubt whether you will return by the other, and because, as soon as night falls, one is not safe fifty yards from the gates.”
“Here’s a great adventure for us, old man,” said Albert, turning to Franz. “We will fill our carriage with pistols, blun derbusses, and double-barrelled guns. Instead of Luigi Vampa holding us up, we will hold him up. We will take him to Rome and present him to His Holiness the Pope, who will ask us what recompense we desire for such great service. We shall merely ask for a carriage and pair. Then we shall have a carriage for the Carnival and, what is more, the Roman people will in all probability give expression to their gratitude by crowning us in the Capitol and proclaiming us the saviours of their country.”
“Your Excellency knows that it is not customary to defend oneself when attacked by bandits.”
“What!” cried Albert, whose courage revolted at the idea of letting himself be robbed without making any resistance. “It is not customary, did you say?”
“No, for it would be useless. What would you do against a dozen bandits suddenly springing out at you from a ditch, a ruin, or an aqueduct, with their guns levelled at your head?”
Albert poured himself out a glass of Lachryma Christi,as which he drank in sips, muttering unintelligibly to himself all the time.
“Well, Signor Pastrini,” said Franz, “now that my companion has cooled down and you can appreciate our peaceful intentions, tell us who this Luigi Vampa is. Is he a shepherd or a nobleman? Is he young or old? Tall or short? Describe him to us, so that if by any chance we should meet him we shall recognize him.”
“I knew Luigi Vampa when he was a mere boy. He was a shepherd on a farm belonging to the Count de San Felice. He is now about twenty-two years of age and is of medium height. When hardly more than a youth, he killed the captain of a gang of bandits and himself became their captain. I fell into his hands once when going from Ferentino to Alatri. Luckily for me he remembered me and not only set me free without making me pay a ransom, but also made me a present of a beautiful watch.”
“What do you think of Luigi Vampa now, old man?” said Franz, turning to his friend.
“I say that he is a myth and that he has never existed.”
“Do you say he still carries on his business in the outskirts of Rome?”
“Yes, and with a boldness unequalled by any before him.”
“What is his procedure in regard to foreigners?”
“Oh, that is quite simple. According to the distance from the town he gives them eight, twelve, or twenty-four hours wherein to pay their ransom; after this time has elapsed, he grants an hour’s grace. If he has not received the money by the sixtieth minute of that hour, he blows out his prisoner’s brains with one shot, or thrusts a dagger into his heart, and the matter is ended.”
“What do you think about it?” Franz asked his companion. “Are you still inclined to go to the Colosseum by the outer Boulevards?”
“Certainly, if the route is picturesque,” was the reply.
Nine o’clock struck and the door opened to admit the coachman. “Excellencies,” said he, “your carriage is waiting.”
“To the Colosseum then!” said Franz.
“By the Porta del Popolo, Your Excellencies, or through the streets?”
“Through the streets; most certainly through the streets!” cried Franz.
“Really, my dear friend, I thought you were braver than that,” said Albert, rising and lighting his third cigar.
The two young men went down the stairs and entered the carriage.
Chapter XXVII
THE APPARITION
Franz arranged the route in such a way that Albert might reach the Colosseum without passing a single ancient ruin, so that nothing should attract his eye till the Colosseum itself burst upon him in all its gigantic proportions. They therefore followed the Via Sistina, cut across in front of Santa Maria Maggiore, and drove along the Via Urbana and by San Pietro in Vincoli until they came to the Via del Colosseo.
When they arrived at the sombre-looking and gigantic Colosseum the long, pale rays of the moon were pouring through the gaping apertures in its massive walls.
The carriage stopped a few yards from the Meta Sudans. The coachman opened the door of the carriage, whereupon the two young men leapt out and found themselves face to face with a cicerone who seemed to have sprung from nowhere.
Franz had already visited the Colosseum some ten times. His companion, however, had never set foot in it before, and it must be said to his credit that, in spite of the ignorant prattle of his guide, he was deeply impressed. And, indeed, no one who has not beheld it can have any idea of the majesty of a ruin such as this, with its proportions magnified by the mysterious clearness of a southern moon which darts forth rays that are like the phantasy of an Eastern twilight.
Scarcely had Franz, the pensive one, gone a hundred yards under the inner portals, however, when he left Albert to his guide, who would not renounce his prescriptive right to show him all around the Lions’ Den, the Loggia of the Gladiators, the Podium of the Caesars. Ascending a half-dilapidated staircase, Franz seated himself in the shadow of a column facing a niche which gave him an all-embracing view of the gigantic dimensions of this majestic ruin.
He had been sitting thus for about a quarter of an hour when he seemed to hear a stone rolling down the staircase opposite the one by which he had ascended. It was no strange matter for a stone, loosened by age, to break away, but it seemed to Franz that this stone had been displaced by the pressure of a human foot, and that the sound of a muffled footstep reached his ears.
He was not mistaken; a moment later a man appeared, and from the hesitating manner in which he came up the last few steps and stopped at the top, apparently listening, it was obvious he had come for some particular purpose and was expecting to meet someone.