The Count of Monte Cristo + The Three Musketeers + The Man in the Iron Mask (3 Unabridged Classics). Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I have not that honor.”
“You have never heard his name?”
“Never.”
“Well, then, he is a bandit, compared to whom the Decesaris and the Gasparones were mere children.”
“Now then, Albert,” cried Franz, “here is a bandit for you at last.”
“I forewarn you, Signor Pastrini, that I shall not believe one word of what you are going to tell us; having told you this, begin.”
“Once upon a time” —
“Well, go on.” Signor Pastrini turned toward Franz, who seemed to him the more reasonable of the two; we must do him justice, — he had had a great many Frenchmen in his house, but had never been able to comprehend them. “Excellency,” said he gravely, addressing Franz, “if you look upon me as a liar, it is useless for me to say anything; it was for your interest I” —
“Albert does not say you are a liar, Signor Pastrini,” said Franz, “but that he will not believe what you are going to tell us, — but I will believe all you say; so proceed.”
“But if your excellency doubt my veracity” —
“Signor Pastrini,” returned Franz, “you are more susceptible than Cassandra, who was a prophetess, and yet no one believed her; while you, at least, are sure of the credence of half your audience. Come, sit down, and tell us all about this Signor Vampa.”
“I had told your excellency he is the most famous bandit we have had since the days of Mastrilla.”
“Well, what has this bandit to do with the order I have given the coachman to leave the city by the Porta del Popolo, and to re-enter by the Porta San Giovanni?”
“This,” replied Signor Pastrini, “that you will go out by one, but I very much doubt your returning by the other.”
“Why?” asked Franz.
“Because, after nightfall, you are not safe fifty yards from the gates.”
“On your honor is that true?” cried Albert.
“Count,” returned Signor Pastrini, hurt at Albert’s repeated doubts of the truth of his assertions, “I do not say this to you, but to your companion, who knows Rome, and knows, too, that these things are not to be laughed at.”
“My dear fellow,” said Albert, turning to Franz, “here is an admirable adventure; we will fill our carriage with pistols, blunderbusses, and double-barrelled guns. Luigi Vampa comes to take us, and we take him — we bring him back to Rome, and present him to his holiness the Pope, who asks how he can repay so great a service; then we merely ask for a carriage and a pair of horses, and we see the Carnival in the carriage, and doubtless the Roman people will crown us at the Capitol, and proclaim us, like Curtius and the veiled Horatius, the preservers of their country.” Whilst Albert proposed this scheme, Signor Pastrini’s face assumed an expression impossible to describe.
“And pray,” asked Franz, “where are these pistols, blunderbusses, and other deadly weapons with which you intend filling the carriage?”
“Not out of my armory, for at Terracina I was plundered even of my hunting-knife.”
“I shared the same fate at Aquapendente.”
“Do you know, Signor Pastrini,” said Albert, lighting a second cigar at the first, “that this practice is very convenient for bandits, and that it seems to be due to an arrangement of their own.” Doubtless Signor Pastrini found this pleasantry compromising, for he only answered half the question, and then he spoke to Franz, as the only one likely to listen with attention. “Your excellency knows that it is not customary to defend yourself when attacked by bandits.”
“What!” cried Albert, whose courage revolted at the idea of being plundered tamely, “not make any resistance!”
“No, for it would be useless. What could you do against a dozen bandits who spring out of some pit, ruin, or aqueduct, and level their pieces at you?”
“Eh, parbleu! — they should kill me.”
The innkeeper turned to Franz with an air that seemed to say, “Your friend is decidedly mad.”
“My dear Albert,” returned Franz, “your answer is sublime, and worthy the `Let him die,’ of Corneille, only, when Horace made that answer, the safety of Rome was concerned; but, as for us, it is only to gratify a whim, and it would be ridiculous to risk our lives for so foolish a motive.” Albert poured himself out a glass of lacryma Christi, which he sipped at intervals, muttering some unintelligible words.
“Well, Signor Pastrini,” said Franz, “now that my companion is quieted, and you have seen how peaceful my intentions are, tell me who is this Luigi Vampa. Is he a shepherd or a nobleman? — young or old? — tall or short? Describe him, in order that, if we meet him by chance, like Bugaboo John or Lara, we may recognize him.”
“You could not apply to any one better able to inform you on all these points, for I knew him when he was a child, and one day that I fell into his hands, going from Ferentino to Alatri, he, fortunately for me, recollected me, and set me free, not only without ransom, but made me a present of a very splendid watch, and related his history to me.”
“Let us see the watch,” said Albert.
Signor Pastrini drew from his fob a magnificent Breguet, bearing the name of its maker, of Parisian manufacture, and a count’s coronet.
“Here it is,” said he.
“Peste,” returned Albert, “I compliment you on it; I have its fellow” — he took his watch from his waistcoat pocket — “and it cost me 3,000 francs.”
“Let us hear the history,” said Franz, motioning Signor Pastrini to seat himself.
“Your excellencies permit it?” asked the host.
“Pardieu!” cried Albert, “you are not a preacher, to remain standing!”
The host sat down, after having made each of them a respectful bow, which meant that he was ready to tell them all they wished to know concerning Luigi Vampa. “You tell me,” said Franz, at the moment Signor Pastrini was about to open his mouth, “that you knew Luigi Vampa when he was a child — he is still a young man, then?”
“A young man? he is only two and twenty; — he will gain himself a reputation.”
“What do you think of that, Albert? — at two and twenty to be thus famous?”
“Yes, and at his age, Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon, who have all made some noise in the world, were quite behind him.”
“So,” continued Franz, “the hero of this history is only two and twenty?”
“Scarcely so much.”
“Is he tall or short?”
“Of the middle height — about the same stature as his excellency,” returned the host, pointing to Albert.
“Thanks for the comparison,” said Albert, with a bow.
“Go on, Signor Pastrini,” continued Franz, smiling at his friend’s susceptibility. “To what class of society does he belong?”
“He was a shepherd-boy attached to the farm of the Count of San-Felice, situated between Palestrina and the lake of Gabri; he was born at Pampinara, and entered the count’s service when he was five years old; his father was also a shepherd, who owned a small flock, and lived by the wool and the milk, which he sold at Rome. When quite a child, the little Vampa displayed a most extraordinary precocity. One day, when he was seven years old, he came to the curate of Palestrina, and asked to be taught to read; it was somewhat difficult, for he could not quit his flock; but the good curate went every day to say mass at a little hamlet too poor to pay a priest and which, having no other name, was called