The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 115. Luigi Vampa’s Bill of Fare

Danglars awoke to the cold whitewash of his cell, the luxury of his Paris home a distant memory, and for a moment thought he still slept. Certainty struck when he remembered the bandits; he fumbled for his pockets, relieved to find his hundred travel louis and the 5 million letter of credit untouched. He waited until noon, recoiling from the rancid brandy smell of the first guard, then a towering red-haired bandit replaced him, devouring black bread, cheese, and onions with voracious bites that made Danglars’ stomach growl. Danglars knocked twice, but the giant ignored him, so he threw himself back on the goat skin, refusing to beg. Four hours later, Peppino arrived on guard with chick-peas stewed with bacon, Villetri grapes, and Orvieto wine. When Danglars tapped the door, Peppino called out in fluent French, “On y va!” “Excuse me, sir,” Danglars said, forcing a smile, “but are you not going to give me dinner? I haven’t eaten in 24 hours!” “Does your excellency happen to be hungry?” Peppino asked, holding a pan under the door as steam wafted in. “What would you like? A fowl?” “Yes, a fowl,” Danglars said, his mouth watering. Peppino shouted an order, and a half-naked young bandit appeared, balancing a silver dish with a fowl on his head. Danglars reached for it, but Peppino stopped his hand: “You must pay first. You gave me one louis on account; you now owe 4,999 louis more.” “100,000 francs for a fowl?” Danglars exclaimed. “It is very hard to rear fowls in these caves,” Peppino said, unmoved. All provisions cost 100,000 francs each, payable by draft on Thomson & French. Starving, Danglars wrote the draft for 4,998 louis, handed it over, and carved the fowl while Peppino tucked the draft into his pocket, returned to his chick-peas, and ignored Danglars’ curses.

Chapter 116. The Pardon

The next morning, Danglars woke ravenous, ate the hidden crumbs of his fowl in two bites before growing parched. He called for Peppino and begged for a drink. “Water is scarcer than wine here,” Peppino said. “There has been a drought.” “Then give me the cheapest wine,” Danglars said. “They are all the same price: 25,000 francs a bottle.” Danglars slammed his fist on the table. “Tell me you mean to strip me of every last cent!” Luigi Vampa stepped into the cell before Peppino could reply. “How much for my ransom?” Danglars demanded. “The full 5 million you carry,” Vampa replied. Danglars’ heart stopped. “It is all I have left!” “We are forbidden to shed your blood,” Vampa said. “Then you will let me starve?” “If you have no more money to pay, yes.” Two days of starvation broke him; he offered 1 million for a meal, and after 12 days of dwindling funds, he ate the matting from his floor. On the 5th day, he dragged himself to the cell door, fell to his knees to beg for his life, and offered his last gold. A deep voice called: “Do you repent of the evil you have done?” Danglars struck his breast with his emaciated fist. “Oh, yes, I repent!” A man in a cloak stepped into the light, and Danglars’ blood ran cold: it was Edmond Dantès, the Count of Monte Cristo, who listed his wrongs: “I am he whom you sold and dishonored, he whose betrothed you prostituted, he whose father you condemned to starve.” Danglars fell prostrate, sobbing, until the Count lifted him gently. “Your life is safe. Your accomplices: one is mad, one is dead. The 5 million you stole from hospitals has been returned. Keep the 50,000 francs you have left—I give them to you. Eat, drink, and be free.” Vampa led Danglars to the road, gave him a post chaise, and left him leaning against a tree. He stayed there all night disoriented; at dawn, he saw his completely white hair in a stream reflection.