Stories to remember - Chapter 47

THE BILL OF FARE

Danglars looked up in surprise at the bandit who was still holding his wrist tightly.

'What! A hundred thousand francs for that chicken?' he said.

'Your Excellency, you can't imagine how difficult it is to raise chickens in these caves.'

'Come, come,' said Danglars, 'that's very funny-very amusing, I agree; but as I'm very hungry, please allow me to eat. Anyway, there's another piastre for you.'

'Now that leaves only 16,665 piastres you owe me,' said the guard calmly. 'I shall get them all in time.'

'Ah! if you think that,' shouted Danglars, now getting angry, 'then you don't know me. You'll never get all that money out of me.'

The guard made a sign, and the man who had brought the chicken hastily removed it. Danglars lay down on his bed in the corner and the guard began eating his food again. Danglars could smell the peas and bacon. He began to feel more and more hungry. He waited for half an hour, which seemed to him like a hundred years. Then he could stand it no more. He got up and went to the door.

'Come,' said he to the guard, 'don't keep me starving here any longer, but tell me what they want with me.'

'No, your Excellency! You must say what you want with us. Give us your orders, and we will carry them out.'

'Then give me something to eat, quickly. I want to eat-to eat; do you hear?'

'What would your Excellency like to eat?'

'A piece of dry bread, since the chickens are beyond all price in this dreadful place.'

'Very well,' said the guard. He called out, 'Some bread for his Excellency.'

When the bread came, Danglars asked how much it would cost him.

'Only, 16,665 piastres,' said the guard; 'you have already paid two piastres in advance.'

'What, a hundred thousand francs for a loaf?'

'One hundred thousand francs', said the guard.

'But you only asked a hundred thousand francs for a chicken!'

'We don't charge according to the bill of fare. We serve only at a fixed price. It makes no difference whether you eat a lot or a little, whether you have ten dishes or one; it's always the same price.'

'What ! Still keeping up this silly joke? My dear fellow, it is stupid ! You may as well tell me that you want me to die of starvation.'

'Oh no, your Excellency, we don't want you to do that. Pay and eat!'

'And what shall I pay with, fool? Do you think I carry a hundred thousand francs in my pocket?'

'Your Excellency, you have a cheque book in your pocket and five million francs in the bank. That's enough for fifty chickens at a hundred thousand francs each.'

Danglars now understood that this was no joke, but part of the ransom which the bandits were demanding for his release.

'If I pay you a hundred thousand francs,' he said, 'will you be satisfied and let me eat in peace?'

'Certainly,' said the guard.

Danglars decided to pay. He took out his cheque book and asked for a pen and ink. When it was brought to him, he wrote out a cheque for 16,665 piastres.

'Here you are,' he said, giving it to the guard.

'And here is your chicken,' said the guard.

Danglars sighed when he cut up the chicken. It looked very thin for the price it had cost him. As for the guard, he looked carefully at the cheque, put it in his pocket, and continued eating his peas and bacon. 

Stories to remember - Chapter 46

DANGLARS ORDERS A MEAL

After a good night's sleep, Danglars awoke. He did not realise at first where he was. Then he remembered.

'Yes, yes,' he murmured, 'I am in the hands of the same bandits who captured Albert Morcerf. They haven't killed or wounded me yet, but perhaps they've robbed me.' He put his hands in his pockets. The money he had with him was still there.

'What peculiar bandits!' he exclaimed. 'They have left me with my money and my watch. Still, I suppose they'll soon demand money to set me free.'

He looked at his watch and saw that it was six o'clock in the morning. He decided to wait and see what the bandits wanted.

At twelve o'clock, the guard outside his door went off duty and another one came and sat down there. Danglars could see him through a small hole in the door.

The man started eating some black bread, cheese, and onions. 'I don't know how he can eat such awful food,' said Danglars to himself.

But as he watched the man eating, Danglars also began to feel hungry.

'Come!' he called to the man, 'I think it's time somebody gave me something to eat also.'

The man outside the door took no notice of him.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, another guard came on duty. This man had brought with him some peas stewed with bacon, a basket of grapes and a bottle of wine. Danglars' mouth began to water. He tapped on the door of his cell and the guard came to see what he wanted. Danglars noticed that he was the same man who had told him so rudely, the evening before, to put his head back inside the carriage. But he decided that this was not the time for a quarrel. So, with a pleasant smile, he said politely, 'Excuse me, but aren't they going to give me any dinner?'

'Does your Excellency happen to be hungry?' said the guard.

'Happen to be hungry! That's good, when I haven't eaten for twenty-four hours,' muttered Danglars, but he said aloud, 'Yes, I'm very hungry.'

'And your Excellency would like to eat?'

'Yes, and quickly, if that's possible.'

''Of course, your Excellency. Here you can have whatever you wish for as long as you pay for it. That's the custom among all honest people.'

'Of course!' said Danglars, 'although those who capture you and imprison you ought at least to feed their prisoners.'

'Ah, your Excellency,' replied the guard, 'that is not the custom here.'

'That's a poor reason,' said Danglars, 'but anyway bring me something to eat.'

'What would your Excellency like? Just give your orders!'

''Have you kitchens and cooks here, then?'

'Yes, very good ones.'

'Why, it's just like being in Paris,' murmured Danglars. Then he said to the guard, 'Very well, then, bring me a roast chicken.'

The guard turned around and called out, 'A roast chicken for his Excellency!'

In a minute, a young man appeared, carrying a roast chicken on a silver dish.

'Here, your Excellency!' said the guard, taking the chicken and putting it on the table in the cell. Danglars asked for a knife and fork.

'Here, your Excellency!' said the guard, giving them to him.

Danglars took the knife in one hand and the fork in the other, and was about to cut up the chicken.

'Pardon me, your Excellency,' said the guard. 'People pay here before they eat. Otherwise, they might refuse to pay afterwards.'

'Ah!' thought Danglars. 'This is no longer like Paris. But I'll pay them well. Chickens can't cost much here.' He gave the guard one piastre, which he reckoned was enough to buy about a hundred chickens in Rome. The guard took the piastre and Danglars again prepared to cut up the chicken with his knife and fork.

'Just a moment, your Excellency,' said the guard, 'you still owe me something.'

'How do I owe you anything?' asked Danglars, surprised.

'Your Excellency has given me only one piastre.'

'Only one piastre for a chicken! Isn't that more than enough?'

'Oh no, your Excellency, you still owe me 16,666 piastres.'

Danglars opened his eyes wide when he heard this huge joke.

'Ah! very funny,' he murmured, 'very funny!' He got ready to cut the chicken again, but the guard seized his wrist with one hand and held out his other hand for the money. 'Come,' said he.

'Aren't you joking?' said Danglars.

'We never joke, your Excellency,' replied the guard.

Stories to remember - Chapter 45

ROMAN BANDITS

Danglars sat back in the carriage and thought for a while. Suddenly, as he looked at the countryside, he realised that he was not being taken back to Rome. They were approaching some caves.

'Good heavens!' he said to himself. 'I have another idea. What if they should be......?'

His hair stood on end. He remembered those interesting stories, that no one had believed in Paris, about the bandits of Rome who had captured young Albert Morcerf.

'Perhaps they are robbers,' he muttered.

Just then, the man riding on the right-hand side said something and the carriage stopped. At the same time, the door on the left-hand side was opened.

'Scendi!' said a voice. Danglars quickly descended. Although he did not yet speak Italian, he already seemed to understand it quite well.

The men now led him into the caves, and along many underground passages. The baron did not doubt it any longer. He was in the hands of bandits. After some time the narrow passage opened out into a big cave. A sentinel stopped them at the entrance, but let them pass through when he saw who they were.

Danglars was taken to the chief of the bandits, who was sitting down in the cave, reading a book.

'Is this the man?' asked the bandit chief.

'Yes, captain,' said one of the men who had brought Danglars.

'Let me see him!'

At this order, one of the guards, who was carrying a blazing torch, raised it to Danglars' face, so that his chief might see him better. Danglars jumped back hastily, to avoid having his eyebrows burned. He looked terrified as the light of the torch shone upon him.

'He looks tired,' said the bandit chief. 'Take him to his bed!'

'Oh!oh!' thought Danglars. 'They are going to kill me. My 'bed' will be a grave, I am sure.'

He was taken away, along some more narrow passages, and up some steep steps. Then, a low door opened in front of him. Bending his head, he went into a small room cut out of the rock. He was very surprised to see that he was not going to be killed yet, for there was a bed, made of leaves and goatskins, in the corner and he could lie down on it. The small door was closed and a bolt grated. Danglars was a prisoner.

He remembered again the story that he had heard from Albert Morcerf, after his adventures in Rome, and he was sure that these were the same bandits. Albert's description of the bandit chief exactly described the man he had seen sitting in the big cave, reading a book.

Danglars felt happier. They were not going to kill him. He remembered that they had asked to be paid something like four thousand piastres to set Albert free. Even if they wanted twice that amount this time, eight thousand piastres was forty-eight thousand francs and he had about five million francs in the bank. With all that money he could certainly manage to free himself. Feeling much better, he lay down on the rough bed and went to sleep. 

Stories to remember - Chapter 44

DANGLARS IN ROME

Baron danglars was alone. Nearly all his money had gone. There was no rich young man to marry his daughter. As a matter of fact, there was no daughter. When Andrea Cavalcanti was arrested, Madame Danglars and Eugenie decided they had had enough of the baron and they went away to live with friends. Now he was sitting alone in his office, looking at his accounts. Although he had lost all his own money, he still held money belonging to others because he was a banker. There were about five million francs in his safe, belonging to a hospital. The hospital would soon be drawing out all this money to build a big new building.

Danglars decided to steal the five million francs and flee to Italy. There, he would start a new life and, with the stolen money, he would build up another business for himself. He would soon be rich again, he thought.

A few days later, Danglars arrived in Italy. He travelled to Rome, and there he lodged in an hotel. He took a good room, ate a fine dinner and went to bed. He slept soundly, happy that he had plenty of money with him. Tomorrow, he would look around Rome and, the day after that, he would see about his new business.

The next day the sun was shining. It was a good day for sight-seeing. The baron ordered a carriage. When it came, he put all his stolen money in his wallet, slipped it into a pocket inside his overcoat and stepped outside where the carriage was waiting for him. He spent the morning riding around Rome.

Although he could speak no Italian, Danglars managed fairly well. The only Italian words he knew were some terms of music which he made to fit into everything he wanted to say to the coachman. When the carriage was going slowly uphill and he wanted it to go a little faster,  he would call out ' Allegro!' If it was going too fast down hill, he would cry ' Moderato! Moderato!' 

At midday he came back to the hotel, had another good meal, and went to sleep, carefully putting the wallet with the money in it under his pillow.

When he awoke, it was late in the afternoon. He dressed, put all his money in his pocket again, and went downstairs. At the door of his hotel, there was a guide who had seen him go out in the morning.

'Now that you have seen something of out city, your Excellency,' said the guide, 'you should see our famous ruins outside Rome.' Danglars, who had always been happy to be called 'Your Excellency' felt very flattered. He handed some coins to the man, who would have been quite ready to call him 'Your Highness' for a little more money.

'Yes, I think I'll see the ruins,' said Danglars, 'but first I must go to the bank. Is there a carriage?'

'Here is a coachman who will do anything you say, your Excellency. I can recommend him,' said the guide.

'Please step into my carriage, your Excellency,' said the coachman, who had been listening to what the guide was saying.

Danglars climbed into the carriage and told the man to drive to a bank. When they arrived there, he got out and went inside the bank, where he opened an account and left most of his money. The bank gave him a cheque book, so that he could draw out money when he wanted it.

Now Danglars was ready to go and see the ruins. The carriage drove away quickly. Soon, they had passed through the outskirts of Rome and were in the countryside. He noticed it was beginning to get dark. He must have slept at the hotel longer than he thought. He put his head out of the carriage window and asked the coachman how long it would take to reach the ruins.

'Non capisco,' said the coachman, who seemed now only able to speak Italian. After a while, the carriage stopped. It was getting very dark. Danglars thought he could see some ruins at the side of the road, so he opened the door to get out of the carriage. A strong hand pushed him back and the carriage began to move forward again. Danglars was quite surprised. 'Eh!' he said to the coachman, 'eh, mio caro?' This was another little piece of Italian Danglars had learned by listening to his daughter singing Italian duets with Andrea Cavalcanti.

'Eh, mio caro?' he repeated. But mio caro made no reply, so the baron looked carefully through the window. He saw a horseman galloping at the right hand side of the carriage. 'A policeman!' he exclaimed! 'Perhaps the French police have telegraphed to Italy, to have me arrested.' Danglars turned to the left. Another man on horseback was galloping on that side.

'Oh dear!' gasped Danglars, 'I am arrested. What will they do with me? Send me back to France?'

Stories to remember - Chapter 43

VILLEFORT'S DOWNFALL

When Andrea said this, there was an outcry from all sides.

'You are insulting this court by saying such a thing,' said the judge.

'I wouldn't dare to insult the court,' replied Andrea.

'I repeat, my father's name is Villefort and I am ready to prove it. On the night when I was born at No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine my father told my mother that I was dead. He then wrapped me in a cloth, and buried me in his garden. I can show you the piece of cloth to prove it. It is embroidered with the letters 'H and N'. Somebody, hiding in the garden, saw my father burying the bundle. He picked me up out of my grave, thinking that he had found some treasure. But when he unwrapped the bundle he found me inside and he saw that I was still living. He took me to his home in the south and he became a father to me. He tried to bring me up as a good boy, but it was no use. When I grew older I began to lie and steal and in the end I robbed him and ran away from his house.'

'Where are the proofs of all this?' said the judge.

Andrea laughed. 'If you want proofs,' he said, 'just look at Monsieur Villefort and then tell me whether you still need them.'

Everyone now looked at the State Prosecutor. His bowed head was in his hands. He dug his finger-nails into his hair.

'Father!' said Andrea. 'I am asked for proofs. Shall I give them?'

'No, no,' moaned Villefort, 'it is useless.'

'What is useless?' said the judge. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean that what he says is true,' whispered Villefort, staggering towards the door of the courtroom. He fled from the court as though he were running away from a nightmare.

'The trial is postponed,' said the judge. 'We shall look into the case again and there will be a new trial.'

Andrea was taken away by two policemen.

Villefort reached his home. He was soon followed there by the Count of Monte Cristo.

'Why have you come here in my hour of shame?' said Villefort.

'To ask you to pray to God to forgive you, as I forgive you now,' replied Monte Cristo.

'You forgive me?' said Villefort. 'I've never done you any harm.'

'Yes, you have,' said the Count. 'Think back for about twenty-three years. You condemned me to a horrible, slow death. You caused my father to die. You took life, love and happiness away from me.'

'This isn't true! Who are you?'

'I'm the ghost of the wretch you buried in the Chateau d'If. When, at last, I came out of those dungeons, God gave me the title of the Count of Monte Cristo and covered me with riches, so that you wouldn't recognise me until to-day.'

'Ah! Now I recognise you,' cried Villefort. 'You are....'

'Yes, I am Edmond Dante.'

With a shriek of terror, Villefort rushed from his house.

An hour later, when two policemen came to arrest him for having tried to kill his son, twenty-two years before, they found him wildly digging in the garden. He told them he was looking for his son.

They took him away to prison, to wait his trial. But there could be no trial for Villefort. He had gone mad. He was released from prison and spent the rest of his days in a home for the insane.

Stories to remember - Chapter 42

THE TRIAL

The Law Court in Paris was crowded with people who had come to hear the trial of Andrea Cavalcanti. Villefort, the State Prosecutor, was speaking. He told the jury about the early life of the prisoner; how he had become a criminal when still very young; how he had been put in prison; how he had later escaped from prison; how he had come to Paris pretending to be a rich Italian, and how, in the end, he had one night waylaid his former fellow prisoner, Caderousse, and stabbed him to death out side the home of the Count of Monte Cristo. All this took a very long time, and when Villefort had finished speaking, everyone in the court was sure that Andrea must be found guilty. Villefort himself was quite pleased. He thought he had made a very good case against Andrea and there would be no hope for him.

But Andrea did not seem to be worried. Nothing that Villefort said about him made him lower his eyes. He stared calmly at the State Prosecutor all the time. Villefort sat down when he had finished speaking, and the judge asked the accused to give his name.

'Excuse me, sir,' said Andrea. 'I would like to answer that a little later.'

The judge was astonished, and so was everyone else in the court.

'Your age,' he said. 'Will you at least answer that question?'

'I'll answer all the questions, sir,' replied Andrea. 'It's only that I wish to give my  name a little later.'

'Your age?' repeated the judge.

'I'm almost twenty-two years old. I was born on the night of September the 27th, 1817.'

Villefort, who was busy taking down some notes, looked up when he heard this date.

'Where were you born?' asked the judge.

'At Auteuil, just outside Paris.'

Again Villefort raised his head and stared at Andrea. Although it was twenty-two years ago, he still remembered vividly what happened at Auteuil on the night of the 27th of September, 1817. And now, his heart began to beat quickly. Was something going wrong? That night, over twenty years ago, the bundle he was burying had been taken away. The thief had never come back to accuse him of murder, or to demand money from him for keeping quiet about the dead child. Perhaps the child was not dead! He looked again at Andrea, who calmly pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and gracefully wiped his lips with it. Now the judge spoke again.

'Your profession?' he said.

'First I was a forger,' answered Andrea. 'Then I became a thief and not long ago I became a murderer.'

Everyone gasped with surprise. Villefort put his hand to his forehead.

'And now,' said the judge, 'will you please tell us your name? I have the feeling that you have been keeping that back for some special reason.'

'I never had a real name,' said Andrea, 'but I know my father's name and I can give it to you.'

Villefort became more and more nervous. He moved his papers about, on the table, with trembling hands.

'Then give your father's name!' said the judge.

There was not a sound in the court. Everyone was listening.

'My father is the State Prosecutor,' said Andrea calmly.

'The State Prosecutor?' repeated the judge. He looked at Villefort and saw a look of agony on that man's face.

'Yes,' said Andrea,'and if you wish to know his name I will tell it to you. His name is Villefort.' 

Stories to remember - Chapter 41

ANDREA AND HIS FATHER

Andrea had been in prison for a few days when he was told that there was a visitor to see him.

Poor Andrea! He had been thinking abouthis sudden turn of bad luck and he had made up his mind that it wouldn't last much longer. 'After all,' he told himself, 'I am protected by some powerful person. Everything proves it--the sudden fortune I was given; all the noble and wealthy people I met; the splendid marriage I was about to enter into with the daughter of a wealthy banker--all these things show that someone is interested in me. Who is it? It must be the Count of Monte Cristo. Why is he interested in me? I think he must be my real father; the father whom I never knew in my childhood. Now someone has come here to talk to me. I am sure it will be to tell me that the Count is arranging my release from this prison.'

With these thoughts in mind, Andrea went along to the room where his visitor was waiting to see him.

His surprise could hardly have been greater when he faced a man whom he had not seen for about ten years. It was Bertuccio.

'Good morning, Benedetto,' said Bertuccio.

'You! You!' said the young man, looking about in alarm.

'Aren't you pleased to see me?'

'Why have you come here? Who sent you?'

'No one.'

'How did you know I was in prison?'

'I recognised you, some time ago, when you came to the house of the Count of Monte Cristo. I am the Count's steward.'

'Ah, so you've been sent here by the Count of Monte Cristo,' said Andrea, feeling at once happier. 'Let's talk about my father now.'

'But who am I then?' said Bertuccio.

'You are my adopted father,' replied Andrea, 'but I imagine it was not you who gave me a hundred thousand francs in the last few months. It wasn't you who introduced me to everyone in Paris. And you aren't going to pay the bail to get me out of this prison. It will be the Count of Monte Cristo; my real father.'

'Do not joke,' said Bertuccio, 'and don't dare again to say that the Count of Monte Cristo is your father. The Count is far too good and noble a man to be the father of a wretch like you.'

'These are fine words, but I don't believe you--'

'You will believe me when you hear what I am going to tell you.'

'I want to know who my real father is. I have a right to know,' said Andrea.

'You shall know,' replied Bertuccio. 'Listen--'

He told him the story of many years ago; of how he had followed Villefort to Auteuil, near Paris, with the intention of killing him; how he had stabbed him one night in his garden, and how he had taken away a small bundle, thinking it contained some treasure.

When Andrea heard what Bertuccio had found in the bundle, he knew the name of his real father.