The maniac of the Colosseum

After quitting their guides at the Colosseum Maximilian and Valentine advanced towards the centre of the gladiatorial arena where the demented Giovanni Massetti was standing. He did not notice them, did not seem to pay even the slightest attention to his surroundings, but kept his eyes upturned towards heaven, the murmur of bitter malediction constantly issuing from his lips. As M. and Mme. Morrel approached his words became clearer and clearer and they had no difficulty whatever in fully understanding their terrible import. No wonder the guides were frightened by such a flow of bitter scathing curses!

The afflicted Viscount maintained his motionless, statue-like attitude, resembling more the weird creation of some sculptor’s vivid fancy than a living, breathing mortal. Valentine was filled with indescribable sorrow as she gazed at him and realized that this wreck of noble, glorious manhood was the beloved of Zuleika’s heart, the being with whose unhappy destiny that of Monte-Cristo’s daughter was inextricably entwined. Oh! that by some miracle, such as the fabled divinities of old Olympus were said to have performed, he might be restored to reason and the possession of an unblemished name! But the days of miracles were over, and if the young Italian was to be brought back to sanity and cleared from the fearful charge against him that had wrought all this harm, this misery, it must be by earthly and ordinary means. Perhaps she and her husband were destined to work these apparently impossible changes! Who knew? Many things equally improbable had happened, and why should not this wondrous transformation, a transformation worthy of the wand of some potent Prospero, be effected? Valentine was a devoted friend and an enthusiast, and Monte-Cristo’s maxim, “Wait and Hope,” was her guiding star. “Wait and Hope!” Oh! how cheering, how reassuring was that simple, trustful motto!

Maximilian, on his side, felt unutterable pity for both the wretched man before him and the lovely Zuleika, the sweet and tender child of his benefactor, languishing and despairing far away in her father’s luxurious, palatial home. The poor girl was surrounded by all the blessings that unbounded wealth could confer; she had the Count’s love, Mercedes’ love, Espérance’s love and the sincere affection of all who knew her; but alas! princely riches, parental, brotherly love and the affection of friends were as nothing compared to the passion that was gnawing at her vitals, a desperate, hopeless passion that was but a heavy weight of woe! But was this passion altogether desperate and hopeless? Time alone could show!

M. and Mme. Morrel were now within a few feet of the hapless, crazed young man, but his attention was so engrossed by the mad thoughts surging through his bewildered brain that he yet failed to detect their presence.

Bidding Valentine remain where she was, her husband drew close beside Giovanni and suddenly placed his hand on his shoulder. The Viscount started at this unexpected interruption of his sombre reverie and hastily glanced at the intruder. His eyes, however, had a stony, uncomprehending stare, expressing neither surprise nor fear.

“Giovanni Massetti,” said Maximilian, “listen to me! I am a friend!”

The young man replied, in a low, discordant voice:

“Who is it mentions Giovanni Massetti? There was once a man who bore that name, but he is dead, dead to the world!”

“I have told you I am a friend,” resumed M. Morrel. “I have come to save you!”

“A friend! a friend!” cried the maniac, with a burst of bitter, mocking laughter that pierced Maximilian through and through like a sharp-pointed, keen-edged stiletto and made Valentine shudder as if she had come in contact with polar ice. “A friend! a friend! Come to save me me! ha! ha! ha! A labor of Hercules with no Hercules to accomplish it! You are mad, my poor fellow! Besides, I am not Giovanni Massetti I am a King, an Emperor! Behold my sceptre and my crown!”

He pointed to his tall staff and the wreath of ivy leaves encircling his head, pointed triumphantly and with all the dignity of a throned monarch.

It was a pitiful sight, in the highest degree pitiful, this spectacle of intellect overthrown, of the glorious mental light of youthful manhood which had became clouded and obscured.

Maximilian was deeply affected, but, knowing full well that all his firmness, resolution and resources would be requisite in dealing with the wretched man he had come so far to aid, he controlled his emotion and said, in a comparatively steady voice:

“Giovanni Massetti, in the name of the woman you love, in the name of Zuleika, Monte-Cristo’s daughter, I conjure you to be calm and hear me. I am her ambassador, I come to you from her!”

The young man put his hand to his forehead and seemed to be striving to collect his scattered senses.

“Zuleika? Zuleika?” he murmured. “Monte-Cristo’s daughter? Yes, yes, I have heard of her before a long time back in the dreary past! I read of her in some book of history or the verses of some oriental poet. She was a Queen! yes, she was a Queen! Well, what of this Zuleika?”

He stood as if waiting for some Arabian romance to be unfolded to him, with parted lips and a vacant smile sorrowful to see.

Since his interview with the old Count Massetti Maximilian’s hope for the success of his difficult mission had been but a very slender thread. Now that thread was stretched to its utmost tension, and Zuleika’s ambassador felt that it must shortly snap asunder and vanish irrecoverably. Love is ever a potent influence with man but this poor demented creature appeared to have lost even the faintest conception of the crowning passion of life, since Zuleika’s name, the name of his betrothed, had failed to awaken his memory or touch a sympathetic chord in his bosom.

As Maximilian stood uncertain what to do next, but as yet reluctant to abandon the miserable Viscount to his fate, Valentine came to him and, placing her hand on his arm, said:

“My husband, it is useless to endeavor to move this unfortunate man in his present condition; his mind is incapable of rational action. Only by care and soothing influence can he be restored to himself. He must be induced to accompany us to some asylum, some institution where he can be treated for his dreadful malady.”

“You are right, Valentine, as you always are,” answered M. Morrel. “The course you suggest is the only one to be taken at this juncture. But how is Giovanni to be induced to accompany us? Force cannot be employed we have no legal right to use it and I greatly fear that the Viscount will not follow us of his own accord, no matter to what solicitations we may resort.”

“Trust that to me, Maximilian,” rejoined Valentine, sweetly and persuasively. “Remember what I said about a woman’s wit and tenderness.”

“I remember it, and now, if ever, is the time for the trial of their power, for I have utterly failed. But, surely, Valentine, you do not propose to risk dealing with this poor man whose mind is reduced to chaos and who might, in a sudden access of unaccountable fury, do you harm even before I could interfere?”

“I certainly do propose dealing with him! I am an enchantress, you know, and now you shall witness a further and more convincing proof of the potency of my spells than was shown in bringing your dead hope to life!”

Maximilian was not altogether satisfied with his wife’s heroic resolution, but she firmly persisted in it and finally he allowed her to have her way. She quitted his side and approached Giovanni, her fine countenance wearing a bewitching smile as seductive as that of a Scandinavian valkyria ministering at the feast of heroes in the fabled Valhalla.

The guides, who amid their petitions to the Blessed Virgin had steadily watched the singular proceedings of their patrons, were both astounded and horrified when they saw Valentine leave her husband and boldly walk towards the maniac. They redoubled the fervency of their prayers and breathlessly waited for what was about to happen.

The Viscount had not yet observed Valentine. When she came in front of him and paused, still smiling, he saw her for the first time. Dropping his staff, he clasped his hands and gazed at her in an ecstasy of admiration.

“What beautiful, what heavenly vision is this?” he exclaimed, ardently, his voice assuming more of the characteristics of humanity than it had yet displayed.

Valentine was silent; she wished to get Massetti completely under her influence before speaking to him. Motionless and statuesquely she stood, allowing the maniac to gaze his fill at her.

“Who are you, divine vision?” continued the Viscount, seeming to think himself the prey of some passing dream. “Oh! you are a spirit! a goddess such as of old presided over the sports of the Colosseum! perhaps Juno herself! Do not vanish from my sight, do not become a filmy cloud and dissolve in ether! Oh! speak to me, glorious apparition! Let me hear the celestial melody of your voice and die listening to its marvellous cadences!”

Valentine, humoring the caprice of the demented man, said, in the most enticing tone she could assume:

“You have guessed aright, oh! mortal! I am, indeed, Juno, the Queen of the goddesses of Mount Olympus! By the direct command of Jupiter I have sought you out this night!”

She came closer to him and took his hand. He raised hers to his lips and devotedly kissed it. Then he gazed into her eyes like one entranced. Woman’s wit and tenderness had triumphed. The maniac whom even the mention of Zuleika’s name had failed to touch was completely under Mme. Morrel’s influence. She had subdued him; she could do with him as she wished.

“A miracle! a miracle!” cried both the cicérones simultaneously. “The Blessed Virgin be praised!”

Maximilian was not less astonished than the guides, but with his astonishment joy and gratitude were mingled joy that Giovanni was now tractable and gratitude to his noble and fearless wife who had effected the wondrous transformation. He said to himself that Valentine was, indeed, an enchantress, but a modern Circe, who, unlike her ancient prototype, employed her spells and fascinations to promote good, results. He glanced at Valentine, with a smile of encouragement and approbation, eagerly waiting for the next step she should take, for the next audacious effort she should essay.

Giovanni made no reply to Valentine’s fantastic speech, and, after preserving silence for an instant, she resumed:

“I am here for your welfare, to aid you in your overwhelming misfortunes!”

“Ah! yes; I have misfortunes, but I had forgotten them,” said the young man, musingly.

“I am sent to relieve you of them,” continued Valentine. Then, throwing into her voice its most persuasive quality, she added, fixing a magnetic gaze upon the Viscount: “My mission is to take charge of you, to see that you are restored to health and happiness. Come with me!”

“I will follow you, sweet vision, to the very end of the earth!” said Giovanni, enthusiastically.

Valentine hastily beckoned to her husband; he hurried to her and she whispered in his ear:

“Send one of the guides for a coupe. We must not lose a single moment. Poor Massetti will follow me as a dog follows its master! While he is under my influence it is imperative that he be removed to an asylum where he can be properly looked after and if possible cured. No doubt the guides can tell you of such an institution. Use the utmost dispatch, Maximilian!”

The young soldier needed no repetition of these wise and humanitarian injunctions. He gave the requisite directions and soon the desired vehicle was in readiness without the Colosseum. Maximilian had also ascertained the address of a proper curative institution.

Meanwhile Valentine had continued to employ her successful tactics with the Viscount, who every moment yielded to her more and more. When the coupe was announced, she said to him:

“My chariot is waiting to convey you to my Olympian abode. Will you come with me?”

“Your wishes are my laws, oh! beautiful goddess!” replied Giovanni. “Take me where you will, so that you do not desert me and leave me to perish in despair!”

Mme. Morrel led the unresisting young man to the coupe, Maximilian and the guides following the pair at a short distance in order to guard against any unforeseen freak on the part of poor Massetti. There was no occasion for their services, however, and the Viscount was soon safely installed in the coupe with Valentine upon one side of him and her husband upon the other.

After a brief drive, during which Giovanni, who seemed to have lost all comprehension of the presence of any one save Valentine, remained quietly gazing at her, the vehicle drew up in front of the insane asylum.

Massetti was induced to enter the institution without the slightest trouble. Maximilian thereupon made all the necessary arrangements, and the young man was placed in comfortable quarters. The physician who examined him stated that his case was not beyond hope.