FATHER AND SON
Benedetto, who had been pushed into the open sea in a frail bark by the
Count of Monte-Cristo, had been miraculously rescued by some fishermen,
and when the murderer recovered consciousness his first glance fell on
the box which stood near his bed. The contents were undisturbed, the
poor fishermen had not thought of opening the box which the Count of
Monte-Cristo had closed again, and thus the world stood open to the
wretch.
His viperous instincts had not deserted him. One evening as Benedetto
lay faint and weak on the straw, he heard low murmurs of conversation in
the neighboring room. He discovered that his benefactors belonged to a
patriotic league similar to the Carbonari, whose object was to free
Italy. On this particular evening they were discussing the question of
shipping arms and ammunition to their countrymen.
The next day Benedetto, with tears in his eyes, told them that he had to
depart at once, as he was expected at Lucca by a friend of his. The
honest fishermen took cordial leave of him. He arrived at Lucca, got
some elegant clothing there, and went to Milan, where he represented
himself as Count San Pietro. His first visit was to Radetzky, to whom he
denounced the fishermen who had saved his life. Radetzky took advantage
of the traitor's story, captured the fishermen, had them tried by
court-martial, and then shot. From that moment San Pietro became a
favorite of the marshal.
The Major Bartolomeo had been formerly a croupier in a large gambling
house at Lucca. Where he got his major's title from, no one knew; even
his mistress, the beautiful Aurora Vertelli, was reticent on this point.
When Bartolomeo came back from Paris and threw his winnings, amounting
to fifty thousand francs, into the lap of the handsome Aurora Vertelli,
the practical beauty said:
"Bartolomeo, suppose we open a dining-room too. You have been a croupier
long enough--let us try to turn over the fifty thousand francs."
Bartolomeo gleefully assented to this proposal. They opened a
magnificent place, and were soon making money hand over fist. Yet--no
luck without a shadow--one evening, as Bartolomeo was receiving his
guests, a tall, slim young man, whose face was disfigured by a scar,
approached him, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, whispered in his
ear:
"Good-evening, father."
The major trembled, and, looking with affright at the stranger,
stammered:
"I do not know you, sir--it would be a great honor to me--but--"
The stranger laughed loudly, and, conducting the major to a neighboring
room, impressively said:
"My dear sir, let us be candid--do you remember the name of Cavalcanti
which you once wrongfully bore?"
The major grew pale, and the stranger continued unmercifully:
"If the officials were to find out that you were once a counterfeiter,
it might go hard with you. Your license would be revoked, and
besides--well, you understand."
The major looked about him in astonishment--who was the man who knew the
secrets of his past life?
"Well, father?" mockingly said Benedetto.
"Father, father," repeated the major, dazed. "You are not--"
He mechanically opened his arms to press Benedetto to his heart.
"Not necessary," said the latter, laughing. "We are not in the Count of
Monte-Cristo's house, and can dispense with tenderness."
The major sighed--for a further sum of fifty thousand francs he would
have embraced ten Andreas.
"But who are you, anyhow?" he finally asked. "I thought I had heard that
you--"
"Beware!" exclaimed Benedetto. "Do not refer to the past; here I am the
Count of San Pietro!"
"The confidant--" stammered the major.
"Of Radetzky," added Benedetto.
"But as an Italian--"
"Keep silent and listen to me. Either you do as I say, or else I
denounce you to the marshal," said Benedetto in a rough voice, and as
the major bowed his head, the wretch explained to him what he wished of
him. It was nothing less than to play the part of a spy.
One can call one's self a major, even play the part of a loving father
for a sum of fifty thousand francs, and yet not be a traitor to one's
country, and Bartolomeo, in spite of his being a criminal, was an ardent
patriot; but when the count calmly said he would have Radetzky close the
Casino, he gave in.
From that day the major tried to drive the Italians away from his
Casino. He was pompous and disrespectful to his countrymen and polite
and cordial to the Austrian officers, so that the latter were at length
the only ones who came, and San Pietro's spy had very little news to
report.
Aslitta, who was playing a double game, was the only one who could not
be driven away. One day he took Bartolomeo aside, told him he knew his
position exactly and would help him to deceive San Pietro and free Milan
of the tyrant.
Bartolomeo, who until now found himself despised by his countrymen, was
overjoyed; he threw himself at the feet of Aslitta, acknowledged him as
his deity and vowed that he would follow him at command.
Bartolomeo arose, and as he did so he secretly resolved to square his
account with Benedetto in such a way as to serve his country. He soon
became the most clever of Aslitta's emissaries, and soon pictured
himself as one of the most illustrious patriots of his country bedecked
with laurels.
But fortune makes rapid strides. Through certain peculiar events
Benedetto turned his attention to Bartolomeo and caused a strict watch
to be kept upon him, and when on the evening of the 15th of March he saw
him vanish from the Casino he realized all.
Night was already far advanced when he reached the damp subterranean
cell of Bartolomeo and rattled the rusty hooks that held the bolts. The
major having fallen into a pleasant revery in which he beheld visions of
his future greatness as a martyr to duty's cause, raised his eyes and
shrank back as he saw the three men, one of whom carried a cane tipped
with hair of an unusual design.
"Get up, you old fool," cried the one who carried the cane, addressing
the prisoner, "follow us!"
Bartolomeo rose without a murmur, and, arranging his disordered uniform,
stepped between the two soldiers, who bore torches, and who rudely
pushed him down a dark stair.
He was no coward, but yet he felt as though he would rather ascend to
where he could at least enjoy the sunshine than go further down where it
became darker and colder. They walked a considerable distance along dark
passages, and halted in front of a rickety iron door. A huge key was
thrust into the keyhole and slowly the bolts sprang back.
Accompanied by his guides, Bartolomeo stepped into a gloomy cavern--the
torture-chamber. Heavy chains hung on the walls, blocks, tourniquets,
thumbscrews, and other implements of torture lay upon the floor, while
the corners contained a variety of others which the major could not
recognize.
"Sit down," commanded the bearer of the cane, pointing to a block; as
Bartolomeo hesitated, a well-directed blow caused him to accelerate his
movements. Thereupon the man withdrew, leaving the major and the
soldiers behind. The prisoner gazed timidly upon his jailers, and
murmured:
"Poor prospects for me."
Although the remark was scarcely audible, a heavy blow from one of the
soldiers caused him to stagger, and for the next fifteen minutes he
remained silent.
At last the door was again opened and Benedetto entered; at a sign the
soldiers withdrew; to his dismay, Bartolomeo saw his former son standing
before him.
Benedetto wore the uniform of an Austrian officer, a kalpak was strapped
over his forehead and his coat bedecked with costly gold lace. From his
belt hung a dagger, whose handle was inlaid with jewels, which was
partly concealed by the flowing mantle that covered his shoulders. As
soon as he entered he threw off the mantle and posed, as if to dazzle
Bartolomeo with the splendor of his attire.
"You know," he began, without wasting any words, "that you need expect
no mercy from me."
The major remained silent, his speech failed him through the brusque
manner in which he was addressed. Taking advantage of the situation,
Benedetto continued:
"You have betrayed me. Don't deny it--I know all."
"I!" stammered the major, confused.
"Yes, you!--the virago has exposed you."
This remark roused the nobler qualities of Bartolomeo. He was astounded
at the impudence of the knave who dared to call Aurora a virago.
"Be silent!" he cried, angrily; "and do not malign the character of a
pure woman--you red-headed scoundrel!"
Benedetto moved as if to rise, but on second thoughts he remained
seated, and burst into a hearty laugh.
"Your immutable confidence in your wife is to be envied, but really it
is out of place here. Aurora Vertelli has confessed to me what you will
doubtless deny. I forced her to admit the truth at the point of the
pistol."
The major grew pale, and beneath his clinched lips a terrible feeling
raged.
"Base coward! to wring a confession from a woman in such a way."
"Enough--cease your idle talk," cried Benedetto, stamping his foot
nervously. "Tell me, where do the so-called patriots hold their
meetings? Do not hesitate. Aslitta is a prisoner like yourself, and I
desire to know the truth."
"I do not know," replied the major, with a sinister smile.
"You don't say so. I am sorry for you, for I believed that your memory
would come to the rescue," said Benedetto, casting a knowing glance at
the implements of torture.
Bartolomeo's heart beat fast. He knew that Benedetto was capable of any
crime. Not a muscle of his face trembled as Benedetto said
threateningly:
"So you will not speak!"
Bartolomeo cast a look of contempt toward him, and exclaimed: "Go to the
devil!"
Benedetto clinched his fist and held it in the face of the major.
"Did you not understand me? Look here! You see those beautiful toys?"
pointing to the implements of torture. "I will dismember you if you
hesitate longer!"
"Tell me, what did you want," demanded the major, with a shrug of his
shoulders, "at the time when you introduced me into the salon of the
Count of Monte-Cristo?"
A cry of rage, uttered by Benedetto, interrupted him.
"Do not mention that name!" exclaimed the bandit, gritting his teeth.
"If I kill you off and slay Aslitta it will only be to wreak my
vengeance upon that man, whom I despise. Oh, he called me a galley slave
once--the murderer!"
And he stopped short, his voice half choked with rage. Bartolomeo
trembled visibly; and to humble him the more, Benedetto spat in his
face.
The major scarcely regarded this last insult. He was busied with many
reflections. How would it be if he tried to overpower Benedetto?
"Well, I am waiting," said San Pietro, after a pause; "will you speak?"
"No."
"You know that Aslitta is in my power, and you will die like him if you
remain headstrong."
"Listen to me, Benedetto," said the major, earnestly. "I have lied and
defrauded, but never will I consent to become a traitor to my country!"
"Well, then, come along!" cried Benedetto, seizing the major by the
shoulder and shoving him to a corner of the closet. There stood an old
wardrobe. Benedetto opened the door, and, by the flickering light of the
torches, Bartolomeo saw the dim outlines of a human head, which stood
out like a silhouette from the wall.
"Do you see that apparatus?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And do you know its purpose?"
"No."
"Then mark well what I say--you shall soon know! About a century ago an
Italian nobleman was deceived by his wife, who had a liaison with one of
his pages. The nobleman discovered it, but pretended ignorance in order
to complete his plans for the destruction of both. One day he presented
the page with a beautifully wrought helmet. As soon as the present was
received, the page placed it upon his head, and, lo! it fitted him so
perfectly that he could not take it off, and he died a horrible death;
for as soon as it touched the forehead a concealed spring loosened and
caused the helmet to drop over the head, thus choking him."
"Well," replied Bartolomeo, in suspense.
"Well, in this closet you will find the counterpart of that beautiful
helmet. If you refuse to accede to my demands I shall summon aid and
have you placed in the closet. A delicate attachment will push the
helmet into place, and after your head has been placed inside, you will
die a most horrible slow death by starvation, and that indeed is a
terrible way to die."
"I am resigned," was the quick response of the major. With a strong
grasp he seized Benedetto, who was unprepared for the attack, and pushed
him into the wardrobe. The ominous helmet encircled his head, and,
despite his struggles, he could not free himself.
Bartolomeo stopped for a moment; being a prudent man, he at once foresaw
what was to be done. Throwing his green coat across his shoulders, he
approached Benedetto. He tore the embroidered coat from his body, and
replaced it by his own, and, together with the kalpak, which Benedetto
had thrown aside, completed his toilet.
Hastily strapping the dagger to his side, he left the torture chamber.
At the door he met the soldiers, who did not recognize him, and saluted
him as he passed. His thoughts were not regarding his own safety--he
desired to rescue Aslitta if possible.