Chapter 94: The Mysterious Count: I
At a knock, the door swung open immediately. The young man sitting beside the countess stood up without hesitation, it was customary here to give up your seat to new arrivals, who would in turn stand when the next visitors showed up.
Franz introduced Albert as one of the most accomplished young men in high society, blessed with both status and talent. It wasn’t an exaggeration. Back in Paris, Albert moved in elite circles where people held him up as the perfect gentleman.
Franz explained that Albert had been deeply disappointed to miss meeting the countess during her time in Paris, and was eager to make up for it now. He apologized for the presumption of bringing Albert to her private box unannounced.
The countess responded with a graceful bow to Albert and extended her hand warmly to Franz. She invited Albert to take the empty seat beside her, then suggested Franz take the chair behind hers if he wanted a good view of the ballet.
Albert quickly became absorbed in conversation with the countess, discussing Paris and the various people they both knew there. Franz could see his friend was completely in his element. Not wanting to interrupt Albert’s obvious enjoyment, Franz picked up Albert’s opera glasses and began scanning the audience.
His attention caught on a woman sitting alone in a box directly across from them, though positioned on the third tier. She was breathtakingly beautiful, dressed in traditional Greek clothing that she wore with such natural grace it was clearly her native costume. Behind her, shrouded in shadow, stood the outline of a man, but his features were impossible to make out.
Franz couldn’t help interrupting the lively conversation between the countess and Albert. "Do you know who that stunning woman is? The one in the Greek dress across from us? Beauty like that deserves to be noticed."
"All I can tell you," the countess replied, "is that she’s been in Rome since the beginning of the season. I saw her in that exact seat on opening night, and she hasn’t missed a single performance since. Sometimes that person behind her accompanies her, other times she just has a servant with her."
"What do you think of her appearance?"
"Oh, she’s absolutely gorgeous. She’s exactly how I’d picture Medora."
Franz and the countess exchanged a knowing smile, then she returned to her conversation with Albert while Franz went back to observing the theater and its occupants.
The curtain rose on the ballet, which was one of those spectacular Italian productions, brilliantly choreographed by Henri, who had built quite a reputation across Italy for his artistic skill. It was a masterpiece of grace and precision, with the entire ensemble, from star dancers to background performers, all on stage simultaneously. A hundred and fifty people moving in perfect synchronization, as if controlled by a single mind.
The ballet was called Poliska
.Despite the impressive performance, Franz was too captivated by the beautiful Greek woman to pay attention to the stage. She, on the other hand, seemed to take almost childlike delight in watching it, her animated expressions contrasting sharply with her companion’s complete indifference. Throughout the entire performance, the man never moved, not even when the orchestra erupted with trumpets, cymbals, and bells. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, lost in pleasant dreams.
Eventually the ballet ended, and the curtain fell to enthusiastic applause from the delighted audience.
Because they cleverly split the two opera acts with a ballet intermission, the breaks were kept short. The opera singers had time to rest and change costumes while the dancers performed.
The overture to the second act began. At the first notes from the conductor’s violin, Franz noticed the sleeping figure slowly rise and approach the Greek woman. She turned to exchange a few words with him, then leaned forward on the railing of her box again, completely absorbed in the performance.
The face of the person who had spoken to her remained completely in shadow. No matter how hard Franz tried, he couldn’t distinguish a single feature. When the curtain rose, Franz’s attention was drawn to the stage, and his eyes moved away from the mysterious pair.
The second act of the opera Parisina opened with a famous and powerful duet. In it, Parisina reveals her secret love for Ugo while sleeping, and her husband Azzo overhears. The betrayed husband goes through waves of jealousy until conviction takes hold, then in a rage, he wakes his guilty wife to confront her with her betrayal and threaten revenge.
This duet was one of the most beautiful, expressive, and terrible compositions ever written by the renowned composer Donizetti. Franz was hearing it for the third time, yet the music, so tender yet fearfully grand as the wretched couple expressed their different griefs, thrilled through his soul with the same intensity as the first time.
Moved beyond his usual composure, Franz rose with the audience, about to join the loud, enthusiastic applause. But suddenly he froze. His hands fell to his sides, and the half-formed cheer died on his lips.
The occupant of the box with the Greek woman appeared to share everyone’s admiration, because he left his seat to stand at the front of the box. With his face fully visible now, Franz had no difficulty recognizing him as the mysterious inhabitant of Monte Cristo, the same person he’d encountered the night before in the ruins of the ancient Roman arena, whose voice and appearance had seemed so familiar.
All doubt about his identity vanished. His strange host was definitely living in Rome.
The surprise and shock of this confirmation must have shown on Franz’s face, because the countess stared at him with a puzzled expression before bursting into laughter. She demanded to know what had happened.
"Countess," Franz said, completely ignoring her teasing, "I asked you earlier if you knew anything about that woman across from us. Now I need to know, who and what is her husband?"
"I know no more about him than you do," the countess answered.
"Have you never noticed him before?"
"What a question, so typically French! Don’t you know that we Italian women have eyes only for the men we love?"
"True," Franz conceded.
"All I can say," the countess continued, raising her opera glasses and directing them toward the box in question, "is that the gentleman looks like he just crawled out of a grave. He looks more like a corpse that some friendly gravedigger let escape for a while than anything human. How deathly pale he is!"
"He’s always that colorless," Franz said.
"Then you know him?" the countess practically screamed. "Please, for heaven’s sake, tell me everything! Is he a vampire? A resurrected corpse? What is he?"
"I think I’ve seen him before, and I believe he recognizes me too."
"I can well understand," the countess said, shuddering as though a chill ran through her veins, "that anyone who’s seen that man once will never forget him."
Clearly Franz wasn’t alone in his reaction. The countess, a complete stranger to the man, felt the same inexplicable dread.
"Well," Franz asked after the countess had looked through her opera glasses at the box again, "what do you think of our neighbor across the way?"
"I think he’s none other than Lord Ruthven himself in living form."
This reference to the famous vampire from Byron’s stories brought a smile to Franz’s face, though he had to admit that if anything could make you believe in vampires, it would be the presence of someone like the mysterious figure before him.
"I need to find out who and what he is," Franz said, rising from his seat.
"No, no," the countess cried. "You can’t leave me. I’m depending on you to escort me home. I absolutely cannot permit you to go."
"Are you actually afraid?" Franz whispered.
"I’ll tell you," the countess answered. "Lord Byron truly believed in vampires and even told me he’d seen them. The description he gave me matches perfectly with the features and character of the man we’re looking at. He’s the exact personification of what I’ve been led to expect! The coal-black hair, large bright glittering eyes with a wild, unearthly fire burning in them, that same ghastly paleness. And notice too that the woman with him is completely unlike other women. She’s a foreigner, a stranger.
Nobody knows who she is or where she comes from. No doubt she belongs to the same horrible race he does, and like him, she deals in dark magic. I’m begging you not to go near him, at least not tonight. If tomorrow your curiosity is still this strong, investigate all you want. But tonight you neither can nor will do it, because I intend to keep you all to myself."
Franz protested that he couldn’t defer his pursuit until the next day for many reasons.