Chapter 115 Luigi Vampa's Bill of Fare
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WE
AWAKE from every sleep except the one dreaded by Danglars. He awoke. To a
Parisian accustomed to silken curtains, walls hung with velvet drapery,
and the soft perfume of burning wood, the white smoke of which diffuses
itself in graceful curves around the room, the appearance of the
whitewashed cell which greeted his eyes on awakening seemed like the
continuation of some disagreeable dream. But in such a situation a single
moment suffices to change the strongest doubt into certainty. "Yes,
yes," he murmured, "I am in the hands of the brigands of whom
Albert de Morcerf spoke." His first idea was to breathe, that he
might know whether he was wounded. He borrowed this from Don Quixote, the
only book he had ever read, but which he still slightly remembered. "No,"
he cried, "they have not wounded, but perhaps they have robbed
me!" and he thrust his hands into his pockets. They were untouched;
the hundred louis he had reserved for his journey from Rome to Venice were
in his trousers pocket, and in that of his great-coat he found the little
note-case containing his letter of credit for 5,050,000 francs. "Singular
bandits!" he exclaimed; "they have left me my purse and
pocket-book. As I was saying last night, they intend me to be ransomed.
Hallo, here is my watch! Let me see what time it is." Danglars'
watch, one of Breguet's repeaters, which he had carefully wound up on the
previous night, struck half past five. Without this, Danglars would have
been quite ignorant of the time, for daylight did not reach his cell.
Should he demand an explanation from the bandits, or should he wait
patiently for them to propose it? The last alternative seemed the most
prudent, so he waited until twelve o'clock. During all this time a
sentinel, who had been relieved at eight o'clock, had been watching his
door. Danglars suddenly felt a strong inclination to see the person who
kept watch over him. He had noticed that a few rays, not of daylight, but
from a lamp, penetrated through the ill-joined planks of the door; he
approached just as the brigand was refreshing himself with a mouthful of
brandy, which, owing to the leathern bottle containing it, sent forth an
odor which was extremely unpleasant to Danglars. "Faugh!" he
exclaimed, retreating to the farther corner of his cell. At
twelve this man was replaced by another functionary, and Danglars, wishing
to catch sight of his new guardian, approached the door again. He was an
athletic, gigantic bandit, with large eyes, thick lips, and a flat nose;
his red hair fell in dishevelled masses like snakes around his shoulders.
"Ah, ha," cried Danglars, "this fellow is more like an ogre
than anything else; however, I am rather too old and tough to be very good
eating!" We see that Danglars was collected enough to jest; at the
same time, as though to disprove the ogreish propensities, the man took
some black bread, cheese, and onions from his wallet, which he began
devouring voraciously. "May I be hanged," said Danglars,
glancing at the bandit's dinner through the crevices of the
door,--"may I be hanged if I can understand how people can eat such
filth!" and he withdrew to seat himself upon his goat-skin, which
reminded him of the smell of the brandy. But
the mysteries of nature are incomprehensible, and there are certain
invitations contained in even the coarsest food which appeal very
irresistibly to a fasting stomach. Danglars felt his own not to be very
well supplied just then, and gradually the man appeared less ugly, the
bread less black, and the cheese more fresh, while those dreadful vulgar
onions recalled to his mind certain sauces and side-dishes, which his cook
prepared in a very superior manner whenever he said, "Monsieur
Deniseau, let me have a nice little fricassee to-day." He got up and
knocked on the door; the bandit raised his head. Danglars knew that he was
heard, so he redoubled his blows. "Che
cosa?" asked the bandit. "Come, come," said Danglars,
tapping his fingers against the door, "I think it is quite time to
think of giving me something to eat!" But whether he did not
understand him, or whether he had received no orders respecting the
nourishment of Danglars, the giant, without answering, went on with his
dinner. Danglars' feelings were hurt, and not wishing to put himself under
obligations to the brute, the banker threw himself down again on his
goat-skin and did not breathe another word. Four
hours passed by and the giant was replaced by another bandit. Danglars,
who really began to experience sundry gnawings at the stomach, arose
softly, again applied his eye to the crack of the door, and recognized the
intelligent countenance of his guide. It was, indeed, Peppino who was
preparing to mount guard as comfortably as possible by seating himself
opposite to the door, and placing between his legs an earthen pan,
containing chick-pease stewed with bacon. Near the pan he also placed a
pretty little basket of Villetri grapes and a flask of Orvieto. Peppino
was decidedly an epicure. Danglars watched these preparations and his
mouth watered. "Come," he said to himself, "let me try if
he will be more tractable than the other;" and he tapped gently at
the door. "On y va," (coming) exclaimed Peppino, who from
frequenting the house of Signor Pastrini understood French perfectly in
all its idioms. Danglars
immediately recognized him as the man who had called out in such a furious
manner, "Put in your head!" But this was not the time for
recrimination, so he assumed his most agreeable manner and said with a
gracious smile,--"Excuse me, sir, but are they not going to give me
any dinner?" "Does
your excellency happen to be hungry?" "Happen
to be hungry,--that's pretty good, when I haven't eaten for twenty-four
hours!" muttered Danglars. Then he added aloud, "Yes, sir, I am
hungry--very hungry." "What
would your excellency like?" and Peppino placed his pan on the
ground, so that the steam rose directly under the nostrils of Danglars.
"Give your orders." "Have
you kitchens here?" "Kitchens?--of
course--complete ones." "And
cooks?" "Excellent!"
"Well,
a fowl, fish, game,--it signifies little, so that I eat." "As
your excellency pleases. You mentioned a fowl, I think?" "Yes,
a fowl." Peppino, turning around, shouted, "A fowl for his
excellency!" His voice yet echoed in the archway when a handsome,
graceful, and half-naked young man appeared, bearing a fowl in a silver
dish on his head, without the assistance of his hands. "I could
almost believe myself at the Cafиж
de Paris," murmured Danglars. "Here,
your excellency," said Peppino, taking the fowl from the young bandit
and placing it on the worm-eaten table, which with the stool and the
goat-skin bed formed the entire furniture of the cell. Danglars asked for
a knife and fork. "Here, excellency," said Peppino, offering him
a little blunt knife and a boxwood fork. Danglars took the knife in one
hand and the fork in the other, and was about to cut up the fowl.
"Pardon me, excellency," said Peppino, placing his hand on the
banker's shoulder; "people pay here before they eat. They might not
be satisfied, and"-- "Ah,
ha," thought Danglars, "this is not so much like Paris, except
that I shall probably be skinned! Never mind, I'll fix that all right. I
have always heard how cheap poultry is in Italy; I should think a fowl is
worth about twelve sous at Rome.--There," he said, throwing a louis
down. Peppino picked up the louis, and Danglars again prepared to carve
the fowl. "Stay a moment, your excellency," said Peppino,
rising; "you still owe me something." "I
said they would skin me," thought Danglars; but resolving to resist
the extortion, he said, "Come, how much do I owe you for this
fowl?" "Your
excellency has given me a louis on account." "A
louis on account for a fowl?" "Certainly;
and your excellency now owes me 4,999 louis." Danglars opened his
enormous eyes on hearing this gigantic joke. "Come, come, this is
very droll--very amusing--I allow; but, as I am very hungry, pray allow me
to eat. Stay, here is another louis for you." "Then
that will make only 4,998 louis more," said Peppino with the same
indifference. "I shall get them all in time." "Oh,
as for that," said Danglars, angry at this prolongation of the
jest,--"as for that you won't get them at all. Go to the devil! You
do not know with whom you have to deal!" Peppino made a sign, and the
youth hastily removed the fowl. Danglars threw himself upon his goat-skin,
and Peppino, reclosing the door, again began eating his pease and bacon.
Though Danglars could not see Peppino, the noise of his teeth allowed no
doubt as to his occupation. He was certainly eating, and noisily too, like
an ill-bred man. "Brute!" said Danglars. Peppino pretended not
to hear him, and without even turning his head continued to eat slowly.
Danglars' stomach felt so empty, that it seemed as if it would be
impossible ever to fill it again; still he had patience for another
half-hour, which appeared to him like a century. He again arose and went
to the door. "Come, sir, do not keep me starving here any longer, but
tell me what they want." "Nay,
your excellency, it is you who should tell us what you want. Give your
orders, and we will execute them." "Then
open the door directly." Peppino obeyed. "Now look here, I want
something to eat! To eat--do you hear?" "Are
you hungry?" "Come,
you understand me." "What
would your excellency like to eat?" "A
piece of dry bread, since the fowls are beyond all price in this accursed
place." "Bread?
Very well. Hallo, there, some bread!" he called. The youth brought a
small loaf. "How much?" asked Danglars. "Four
thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight louis," said Peppino;
"You have paid two louis in advance." "What?
One hundred thousand francs for a loaf?" "One
hundred thousand francs," repeated Peppino. "But
you only asked 100,000 francs for a fowl!" "We
have a fixed price for all our provisions. It signifies nothing whether
you eat much or little--whether you have ten dishes or one--it is always
the same price." "What,
still keeping up this silly jest? My dear fellow, it is perfectly
ridiculous--stupid! You had better tell me at once that you intend
starving me to death." "Oh,
dear, no, your excellency, unless you intend to commit suicide. Pay and
eat." "And
what am I to pay with, brute?" said Danglars, enraged. "Do you
suppose I carry 100,000 francs in my pocket?" "Your
excellency has 5,050,000 francs in your pocket; that will be fifty fowls
at 100,000 francs apiece, and half a fowl for the 50,000." Danglars
shuddered. The bandage fell from his eyes, and he understood the joke,
which he did not think quite so stupid as he had done just before.
"Come," he said, "if I pay you the 100,000 francs, will you
be satisfied, and allow me to eat at my ease?" "Certainly,"
said Peppino. "But
how can I pay them?" "Oh,
nothing easier; you have an account open with Messrs. Thomson &
French, Via dei Banchi, Rome; give me a draft for 4,998 louis on these
gentlemen, and our banker shall take it." Danglars thought it as well
to comply with a good grace, so he took the pen, ink, and paper Peppino
offered him, wrote the draft, and signed it. "Here," he said,
"here is a draft at sight." "And
here is your fowl." Danglars sighed while he carved the fowl; it
appeared very thin for the price it had cost. As for Peppino, he examined
the paper attentively, put it into his pocket, and continued eating his
pease. |
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