Revolution has substituted for being torn to pieces by horses or broken
on the wheel. What matters this punishment, as long as he is avenged? On
my word, I almost regret that in all probability this miserable Peppino
will not be beheaded, as you might have had an opportunity then of
seeing how short a time the punishment lasts, and whether it is worth
even mentioning; but, really this is a most singular conversation for
the Carnival, gentlemen; how did it arise? Ah, I recollect, you asked
for a place at my window; you shall have it; but let us first sit down
to table, for here comes the servant to inform us that breakfast is
ready." As he spoke, a servant opened one of the four doors of the
apartment, saying--"Al suo commodo!" The two young men arose and entered
the breakfast-room.
During the meal, which was excellent, and admirably served, Franz looked
repeatedly at Albert, in order to observe the impressions which he
doubted not had been made on him by the words of their entertainer; but
whether with his usual carelessness he had paid but little attention to
him, whether the explanation of the Count of Monte Cristo with regard
to duelling had satisfied him, or whether the events which Franz knew
of had had their effect on him alone, he remarked that his companion did
not pay the least regard to them, but on the contrary ate like a man
who for the last four or five months had been condemned to partake of
Italian cookery--that is, the worst in the world. As for the count, he
just touched the dishes; he seemed to fulfil the duties of a host by
sitting down with his guests, and awaited their departure to be served
with some strange or more delicate food. This brought back to Franz, in
spite of himself, the recollection of the terror with which the count
had inspired the Countess G----, and her firm conviction that the man in
the opposite box was a vampire. At the end of the breakfast Franz took
out his watch. "Well," said the count, "what are you doing?"
"You must excuse us, count," returned Franz, "but we have still much to
do."
"What may that be?"
"We have no masks, and it is absolutely necessary to procure them."
"Do not concern yourself about that; we have, I think, a private room in
the Piazza del Popolo; I will have whatever costumes you choose brought
to us, and you can dress there."
"After the execution?" cried Franz.
"Before or after, whichever you please."
"Opposite the scaffold?"
"The scaffold forms part of the fete."
"Count, I have reflected on the matter," said Franz, "I thank you for
your courtesy, but I shall content myself with accepting a place in your
carriage and at your window at the Rospoli Palace, and I leave you at
liberty to dispose of my place at the Piazza del Popolo."
"But I warn you, you will lose a very curious sight," returned the
count.
"You will describe it to me," replied Franz, "and the recital from your
lips will make as great an impression on me as if I had witnessed it. I
have more than once intended witnessing an execution, but I have never
been able to make up my mind; and you, Albert?"
"I," replied the viscount,--"I saw Castaing executed, but I think I was
rather intoxicated that day, for I had quitted college the same morning,
and we had passed the previous night at a tavern."
"Besides, it is no reason because you have not seen an execution at
Paris, that you should not see one anywhere else; when you travel, it is
to see everything. Think what a figure you will make when you are asked,
'How do they execute at Rome?' and you reply, 'I do not know'! And,
besides, they say that the culprit is an infamous scoundrel, who killed
with a log of wood a worthy canon who had brought him up like his own
son. Diable, when a churchman is killed, it should be with a different
weapon than a log, especially when he has behaved like a father. If you
went to Spain, would you not see the bull-fight? Well, suppose it is
a bull-fight you are going to see? Recollect the ancient Romans of
the Circus, and the sports where they killed three hundred lions and
a hundred men. Think of the eighty thousand applauding spectators, the
sage matrons who took their daughters, and the charming Vestals who made
with the thumb of their white hands the fatal sign that said, 'Come,
despatch the dying.'"
"Shall you go, then, Albert?" asked Franz.
"Ma foi, yes; like you, I hesitated, but the count's eloquence decides
me."
"Let us go, then," said Franz, "since you wish it; but on our way to the
Piazza del Popolo, I wish to pass through the Corso. Is this possible,
count?"
"On foot, yes, in a carriage, no."
"I will go on foot, then."
"Is it important that you should go that way?"
"Yes, there is something I wish to see."
"Well, we will go by the Corso. We will send the carriage to wait for us
on the Piazza del Popolo, by the Strada del Babuino, for I shall be glad
to pass, myself, through the Corso, to see if some orders I have given
have been executed."
"Excellency," said a servant, opening the door, "a man in the dress of a
penitent wishes to speak to you."
"Ah, yes" returned the count, "I know who he is, gentlemen; will you
return to the salon? you will find good cigars on the centre table. I
will be with you directly." The young men rose and returned into the
salon, while the count, again apologizing, left by another door. Albert,
who was a great smoker, and who had considered it no small sacrifice to
be deprived of the cigars of the Cafe de Paris, approached the table,
and uttered a cry of joy at perceiving some veritable puros.
"Well," asked Franz, "what think you of the Count of Monte Cristo?"
"What do I think?" said Albert, evidently surprised at such a question
from his companion; "I think he is a delightful fellow, who does the
honors of his table admirably; who has travelled much, read much, is,
like Brutus, of the Stoic school, and moreover," added he, sending a
volume of smoke up towards the ceiling, "that he has excellent cigars."
Such was Albert's opinion of the count, and as Franz well knew that
Albert professed never to form an opinion except upon long reflection,
he made no attempt to change it. "But," said he, "did you observe one
very singular thing?"
"What?"
"How attentively he looked at you."
"At me?"
"Yes."--Albert reflected. "Ah," replied he, sighing, "that is not very
surprising; I have been more than a year absent from Paris, and
my clothes are of a most antiquated cut; the count takes me for a
provincial. The first opportunity you have, undeceive him, I beg, and
tell him I am nothing of the kind." Franz smiled; an instant after the
count entered.
"I am now quite at your service, gentlemen," said he. "The carriage is
going one way to the Piazza del Popolo, and we will go another; and,
if you please, by the Corso. Take some more of these cigars, M. de
Morcerf."
"With all my heart," returned Albert; "Italian cigars are horrible. When
you come to Paris, I will return all this."
"I will not refuse; I intend going there soon, and since you allow me,
I will pay you a visit. Come, we have not any time to lose, it is
half-past twelve--let us set off." All three descended; the coachman
received his master's orders, and drove down the Via del Babuino.
While the three gentlemen walked along the Piazza de Spagni and the
Via Frattina, which led directly between the Fiano and Rospoli palaces,
Franz's attention was directed towards the windows of that last palace,
for he had not forgotten the signal agreed upon between the man in the
mantle and the Transtevere peasant. "Which are your windows?" asked he
of the count, with as much indifference as he could assume. "The three
last," returned he, with a negligence evidently unaffected, for he could
not imagine with what intention the question was put. Franz glanced
rapidly towards the three windows. The side windows were hung with
yellow damask, and the centre one with white damask and a red cross. The
man in the mantle had kept his promise to the Transteverin, and there
could now be no doubt that he was the count. The three windows were
still untenanted. Preparations were making on every side; chairs were
placed, scaffolds were raised, and windows were hung with flags. The
masks could not appear; the carriages could not move about; but the
masks were visible behind the windows, the carriages, and the doors.
Franz, Albert, and the count continued to descend the Corso. As they
approached the Piazza del Popolo, the crowd became more dense, and
above the heads of the multitude two objects were visible: the obelisk,
surmounted by a cross, which marks the centre of the square, and in
front of the obelisk, at the point where the three streets, del Babuino,
del Corso, and di Ripetta, meet, the two uprights of the scaffold,
between which glittered the curved knife of the mandaia. At the corner
of the street they met the count's steward, who was awaiting his master.
The window, let at an exorbitant price, which the count had doubtless
wished to conceal from his guests, was on the second floor of the great
palace, situated between the Via del Babuino and the Monte Pincio. It
consisted, as we have said, of a small dressing-room, opening into a
bedroom, and, when the door of communication was shut, the inmates were
quite alone. On chairs were laid elegant masquerade costumes of blue and
white satin. "As you left the choice of your costumes to me," said the
count to the two friends, "I have had these brought, as they will be
the most worn this year; and they are most suitable, on account of the
confetti (sweetmeats), as they do not show the flour."
Franz heard the words of the count but imperfectly, and he perhaps did
not fully appreciate this new attention to their wishes; for he was
wholly absorbed by the spectacle that the Piazza del Popolo presented,
and by the terrible instrument that was in the centre. It was the first
time Franz had ever seen a guillotine,--we say guillotine, because
the Roman mandaia is formed on almost the same model as the French
instrument. [*] The knife, which is shaped like a crescent, that cuts
with the convex side, falls from a less height, and that is all the
difference. Two men, seated on the movable plank on which the victim
is laid, were eating their breakfasts, while waiting for the criminal.
Their repast consisted apparently of bread and sausages. One of them
lifted the plank, took out a flask of wine, drank some, and then passed
it to his companion. These two men were the executioner's assistants.
At this sight Franz felt the perspiration start forth upon his brow. The
prisoners, transported the previous evening from the Carcere Nuovo to
the little church of Santa Maria del Popolo, had passed the night, each
accompanied by two priests, in a chapel closed by a grating, before
which were two sentinels, who were relieved at intervals. A double line
of carbineers, placed on each side of the door of the church, reached
to the scaffold, and formed a circle around it, leaving a path about ten
feet wide, and around the guillotine a space of nearly a hundred feet.
All the rest of the square was paved with heads. Many women held their
infants on their shoulders, and thus the children had the best view.
The Monte Pincio seemed a vast amphitheatre filled with spectators; the
balconies of the two churches at the corner of the Via del Babuino and
the Via di Ripetta were crammed; the steps even seemed a parti-colored
sea, that was impelled towards the portico; every niche in the wall
held its living statue. What the count said was true--the most curious
spectacle in life is that of death. And yet, instead of the silence and
the solemnity demanded by the occasion, laughter and jests arose from
the crowd. It was evident that the execution was, in the eyes of the
people, only the commencement of the Carnival. Suddenly the tumult
ceased, as if by magic, and the doors of the church opened. A
brotherhood of penitents, clothed from head to foot in robes of gray
sackcloth, with holes for the eyes, and holding in their hands lighted
tapers, appeared first; the chief marched at the head. Behind the
penitents came a man of vast stature and proportions. He was naked, with
the exception of cloth drawers at the left side of which hung a large
knife in a sheath, and he bore on his right shoulder a heavy iron
sledge-hammer. This man was the executioner. He had, moreover, sandals
bound on his feet by cords. Behind the executioner came, in the order
in which they were to die, first Peppino and then Andrea. Each was
accompanied by two priests. Neither had his eyes bandaged. Peppino
walked with a firm step, doubtless aware of what awaited him. Andrea was
supported by two priests. Each of them, from time to time, kissed the
crucifix a confessor held out to them. At this sight alone Franz felt
his legs tremble under him. He looked at Albert--he was as white as his
shirt, and mechanically cast away his cigar, although he had not half
smoked it. The count alone seemed unmoved--nay, more, a slight color
seemed striving to rise in his pale cheeks. His nostrils dilated like
those of a wild beast that scents its prey, and his lips, half opened,
disclosed his white teeth, small and sharp like those of a jackal. And
yet his features wore an expression of smiling tenderness, such as Franz
had never before witnessed in them; his black eyes especially were full
of kindness and pity. However, the two culprits advanced, and as they
approached their faces became visible. Peppino was a handsome young
