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Chapter 40- The Breakfast.

Chapter 40

The Breakfast.

 

"And what sort of persons do you expect to breakfast?" said

Beauchamp.

 

"A gentleman, and a diplomatist."

 

"Then we shall have to wait two hours for the gentleman, and

three for the diplomatist. I shall come back to dessert;

keep me some strawberries, coffee, and cigars. I shall take

a cutlet on my way to the Chamber."

 

"Do not do anything of the sort; for were the gentleman a

Montmorency, and the diplomatist a Metternich, we will

breakfast at eleven; in the meantime, follow Debray's

example, and take a glass of sherry and a biscuit."

 

"Be it so; I will stay; I must do something to distract my

thoughts."

 

"You are like Debray, and yet it seems to me that when the

minister is out of spirits, the opposition ought to be

joyous."

 

"Ah, you do not know with what I am threatened. I shall hear

this morning that M. Danglars make a speech at the Chamber

of Deputies, and at his wife's this evening I shall hear the

tragedy of a peer of France. The devil take the

constitutional government, and since we had our choice, as

they say, at least, how could we choose that?"

 

"I understand; you must lay in a stock of hilarity."

 

"Do not run down M. Danglars' speeches," said Debray; "he

votes for you, for he belongs to the opposition."

 

"Pardieu, that is exactly the worst of all. I am waiting

until you send him to speak at the Luxembourg, to laugh at

my ease."

 

"My dear friend," said Albert to Beauchamp, "it is plain

that the affairs of Spain are settled, for you are most

desperately out of humor this morning. Recollect that

Parisian gossip has spoken of a marriage between myself and

Mlle. Eugenie Danglars; I cannot in conscience, therefore,

let you run down the speeches of a man who will one day say

to me, `Vicomte, you know I give my daughter two millions.'"

 

"Ah, this marriage will never take place," said Beauchamp.

"The king has made him a baron, and can make him a peer, but

he cannot make him a gentleman, and the Count of Morcerf is

too aristocratic to consent, for the paltry sum of two

million francs, to a mesalliance. The Viscount of Morcerf

can only wed a marchioness."

 

"But two million francs make a nice little sum," replied

Morcerf.

 

"It is the social capital of a theatre on the boulevard, or

a railroad from the Jardin des Plantes to La Rapee."

 

"Never mind what he says, Morcerf," said Debray, "do you

marry her. You marry a money-bag label, it is true; well,

but what does that matter? It is better to have a blazon

less and a figure more on it. You have seven martlets on

your arms; give three to your wife, and you will still have

four; that is one more than M. de Guise had, who so nearly

became King of France, and whose cousin was Emperor of

Germany."

 

"On my word, I think you are right, Lucien," said Albert

absently.

 

"To be sure; besides, every millionaire is as noble as a

bastard -- that is, he can be."

 

"Do not say that, Debray," returned Beauchamp, laughing,

"for here is Chateau-Renaud, who, to cure you of your mania

for paradoxes, will pass the sword of Renaud de Montauban,

his ancestor, through your body."

 

"He will sully it then," returned Lucien; "for I am low --

very low."

 

"Oh, heavens," cried Beauchamp, "the minister quotes

Beranger, what shall we come to next?"

 

"M. de Chateau-Renaud -- M. Maximilian Morrel," said the

servant, announcing two fresh guests.

 

"Now, then, to breakfast," said Beauchamp; "for, if I

remember, you told me you only expected two persons,

Albert."

 

"Morrel," muttered Albert -- "Morrel -- who is he?" But

before he had finished, M. de Chateau-Renaud, a handsome

young man of thirty, gentleman all over, -- that is, with

the figure of a Guiche and the wit of a Mortemart, -- took

Albert's hand. "My dear Albert," said he, "let me introduce

to you M. Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis, my friend;

and what is more -- however the man speaks for himself ---my

preserver. Salute my hero, viscount." And he stepped on one

side to give place to a young man of refined and dignified

bearing, with large and open brow, piercing eyes, and black

mustache, whom our readers have already seen at Marseilles,

under circumstances sufficiently dramatic not to be

forgotten. A rich uniform, half French, half Oriental, set

off his graceful and stalwart figure, and his broad chest

was decorated with the order of the Legion of Honor. The

young officer bowed with easy and elegant politeness.

"Monsieur," said Albert with affectionate courtesy, "the

count of Chateau-Renaud knew how much pleasure this

introduction would give me; you are his friend, be ours

also."

 

"Well said," interrupted Chateau-Renaud; "and pray that, if

you should ever be in a similar predicament, he may do as

much for you as he did for me."

 

"What has he done?" asked Albert.

 

"Oh, nothing worth speaking of," said Morrel; "M. de

Chateau-Renaud exaggerates."

 

"Not worth speaking of?" cried Chateau-Renaud; "life is not

worth speaking of! -- that is rather too philosophical, on

my word, Morrel. It is very well for you, who risk your life

every day, but for me, who only did so once" --

 

"We gather from all this, baron, that Captain Morrel saved

your life."

 

"Exactly so."

 

"On what occasion?" asked Beauchamp.

 

"Beauchamp, my good fellow, you know I am starving," said

Debray: "do not set him off on some long story."

 

"Well, I do not prevent your sitting down to table," replied

Beauchamp, "Chateau-Renaud can tell us while we eat our

breakfast."

 

"Gentlemen," said Morcerf, "it is only a quarter past ten,

and I expect some one else."

 

"Ah, true, a diplomatist!" observed Debray.

 

"Diplomat or not, I don't know; I only know that he charged

himself on my account with a mission, which he terminated so

entirely to my satisfaction, that had I been king, I should

have instantly created him knight of all my orders, even had

I been able to offer him the Golden Fleece and the Garter."

 

"Well, since we are not to sit down to table," said Debray,

"take a glass of sherry, and tell us all about it."

 

"You all know that I had the fancy of going to Africa."

 

"It is a road your ancestors have traced for you," said

Albert gallantly.

 

"Yes? but I doubt that your object was like theirs -- to

rescue the Holy Sepulchre."

 

"You are quite right, Beauchamp," observed the young

aristocrat. "It was only to fight as an amateur. I cannot

bear duelling since two seconds, whom I had chosen to

arrange an affair, forced me to break the arm of one of my

best friends, one whom you all know -- poor Franz d'Epinay."

 

"Ah, true," said Debray, "you did fight some time ago; about

what?"

 

"The devil take me, if I remember," returned Chateau-Renaud.

"But I recollect perfectly one thing, that, being unwilling

to let such talents as mine sleep, I wished to try upon the

Arabs the new pistols that had been given to me. In

consequence I embarked for Oran, and went from thence to

Constantine, where I arrived just in time to witness the

raising of the siege. I retreated with the rest, for eight

and forty hours. I endured the rain during the day, and the

cold during the night tolerably well, but the third morning

my horse died of cold. Poor brute -- accustomed to be

covered up and to have a stove in the stable, the Arabian

finds himself unable to bear ten degrees of cold in Arabia."

 

"That's why you want to purchase my English horse," said

Debray, "you think he will bear the cold better."

 

"You are mistaken, for I have made a vow never to return to

Africa."

 

"You were very much frightened, then?" asked Beauchamp.

 

"Well, yes, and I had good reason to be so," replied

Chateau-Renaud. "I was retreating on foot, for my horse was

dead. Six Arabs came up, full gallop, to cut off my head. I

shot two with my double-barrelled gun, and two more with my

pistols, but I was then disarmed, and two were still left;

one seized me by the hair (that is why I now wear it so

short, for no one knows what may happen), the other swung a

yataghan, and I already felt the cold steel on my neck, when

this gentleman whom you see here charged them, shot the one

who held me by the hair, and cleft the skull of the other

with his sabre. He had assigned himself the task of saving a

man's life that day; chance caused that man to be myself.

When I am rich I will order a statue of Chance from Klagmann

or Marochetti."

 

"Yes," said Morrel, smiling, "it was the 5th of September,

the anniversary of the day on which my father was

miraculously preserved; therefore, as far as it lies in my

power, I endeavor to celebrate it by some" --

 

"Heroic action," interrupted Chateau-Renaud. "I was chosen.

But that is not all -- after rescuing me from the sword, he

rescued me from the cold, not by sharing his cloak with me,

like St. Martin, but by giving me the whole; then from

hunger by sharing with me -- guess what?"

 

"A Strasbourg pie?" asked Beauchamp.

 

"No, his horse; of which we each of us ate a slice with a

hearty appetite. It was very hard."

 

"The horse?" said Morcerf, laughing.

 

"No, the sacrifice," returned Chateau-Renaud; "ask Debray if

he would sacrifice his English steed for a stranger?"

 

"Not for a stranger," said Debray, "but for a friend I

might, perhaps."

 

"I divined that you would become mine, count," replied

Morrel; "besides, as I had the honor to tell you, heroism or

not, sacrifice or not, that day I owed an offering to bad

fortune in recompense for the favors good fortune had on

other days granted to us."

 

"The history to which M. Morrel alludes," continued

Chateau-Renaud, "is an admirable one, which he will tell you

some day when you are better acquainted with him; to-day let

us fill our stomachs, and not our memories. What time do you

breakfast, Albert?"

 

"At half-past ten."

 

"Precisely?" asked Debray, taking out his watch.

 

"Oh, you will give me five minutes' grace," replied Morcerf,

"for I also expect a preserver."

 

"Of whom?"

 

"Of myself," cried Morcerf; "parbleu, do you think I cannot

be saved as well as any one else, and that there are only

Arabs who cut off heads? Our breakfast is a philanthropic

one, and we shall have at table -- at least, I hope so --

two benefactors of humanity."

 

"What shall we do?" said Debray; "we have only one Monthyon

prize."

 

"Well, it will be given to some one who has done nothing to

deserve it," said Beauchamp; "that is the way the Academy

mostly escapes from the dilemma."

 

"And where does he come from?" asked Debray. "You have

already answered the question once, but so vaguely that I

venture to put it a second time."

 

"Really," said Albert, "I do not know; when I invited him

three months ago, he was then at Rome, but since that time

who knows where he may have gone?"

 

"And you think him capable of being exact?" demanded Debray.

 

"I think him capable of everything."

 

"Well, with the five minutes' grace, we have only ten left."

 

"I will profit by them to tell you something about my

guest."

 

"I beg pardon," interrupted Beauchamp; "are there any

materials for an article in what you are going to tell us?"

 

"Yes, and for a most curious one."

 

"Go on, then, for I see I shall not get to the Chamber this

morning, and I must make up for it."

 

"I was at Rome during the last Carnival."

 

"We know that," said Beauchamp.

 

"Yes, but what you do not know is that I was carried off by

bandits."

 

"There are no bandits," cried Debray.

 

"Yes there are, and most hideous, or rather most admirable

ones, for I found them ugly enough to frighten me."

 

"Come, my dear Albert," said Debray, "confess that your cook

is behindhand, that the oysters have not arrived from Ostend

or Marennes, and that, like Madame de Maintenon, you are

going to replace the dish by a story. Say so at once; we are

sufficiently well-bred to excuse you, and to listen to your

history, fabulous as it promises to be."

 

"And I say to you, fabulous as it may seem, I tell it as a

true one from beginning to end. The brigands had carried me

off, and conducted me to a gloomy spot, called the Catacombs

of Saint Sebastian."

 

"I know it," said Chateau-Renaud; "I narrowly escaped

catching a fever there."

 

"And I did more than that," replied Morcerf, "for I caught

one. I was informed that I was prisoner until I paid the sum

of 4,000 Roman crowns -- about 24,000 francs. Unfortunately,

I had not above 1,500. I was at the end of my journey and of

my credit. I wrote to Franz -- and were he here he would

confirm every word -- I wrote then to Franz that if he did

not come with the four thousand crowns before six, at ten

minutes past I should have gone to join the blessed saints

and glorious martyrs in whose company I had the honor of

being; and Signor Luigi Vampa, such was the name of the

chief of these bandits, would have scrupulously kept his

word."

 

"But Franz did come with the four thousand crowns," said

Chateau-Renaud. "A man whose name is Franz d'Epinay or

Albert de Morcerf has not much difficulty in procuring

them."

 

"No, he arrived accompanied simply by the guest I am going

to present to you."

 

"Ah, this gentleman is a Hercules killing Cacus, a Perseus

freeing Andromeda."

 

"No, he is a man about my own size."

 

"Armed to the teeth?"

 

"He had not even a knitting-needle."

 

"But he paid your ransom?"

 

"He said two words to the chief and I was free."

 

"And they apologized to him for having carried you off?"

said Beauchamp.

 

"Just so."

 

"Why, he is a second Ariosto."

 

"No, his name is the Count of Monte Cristo."

 

"There is no Count of Monte Cristo" said Debray.

 

"I do not think so," added Chateau-Renaud, with the air of a

man who knows the whole of the European nobility perfectly.

 

"Does any one know anything of a Count of Monte Cristo?"

 

"He comes possibly from the Holy Land, and one of his

ancestors possessed Calvary, as the Mortemarts did the Dead

Sea."

 

"I think I can assist your researches," said Maximilian.

"Monte Cristo is a little island I have often heard spoken

of by the old sailors my father employed -- a grain of sand

in the centre of the Mediterranean, an atom in the

infinite."

 

"Precisely!" cried Albert. "Well, he of whom I speak is the

lord and master of this grain of sand, of this atom; he has

purchased the title of count somewhere in Tuscany."

 

"He is rich, then?"

 

"I believe so."

 

"But that ought to be visible."

 

"That is what deceives you, Debray."

 

"I do not understand you."

 

"Have you read the `Arabian Nights'?"

 

"What a question!"

 

"Well, do you know if the persons you see there are rich or

poor, if their sacks of wheat are not rubies or diamonds?

They seem like poor fishermen, and suddenly they open some

mysterious cavern filled with the wealth of the Indies."

 

"Which means?"

 

"Which means that my Count of Monte Cristo is one of those

fishermen. He has even a name taken from the book, since he

calls himself Sinbad the Sailor, and has a cave filled with

gold."

 

"And you have seen this cavern, Morcerf?" asked Beauchamp.

 

"No, but Franz has; for heaven's sake, not a word of this

before him. Franz went in with his eyes blindfolded, and was

waited on by mutes and by women to whom Cleopatra was a

painted strumpet. Only he is not quite sure about the women,

for they did not come in until after he had taken hashish,

so that what he took for women might have been simply a row

of statues."

 

The two young men looked at Morcerf as if to say, -- "Are

you mad, or are you laughing at us?"

 

"And I also," said Morrel thoughtfully, "have heard

something like this from an old sailor named Penelon."

 

"Ah," cried Albert, "it is very lucky that M. Morrel comes

to aid me; you are vexed, are you not, that he thus gives a

clew to the labyrinth?"

 

"My dear Albert," said Debray, "what you tell us is so

extraordinary."

 

"Ah, because your ambassadors and your consuls do not tell

you of them -- they have no time. They are too much taken up

with interfering in the affairs of their countrymen who

travel."

 

"Now you get angry, and attack our poor agents. How will you

have them protect you? The Chamber cuts down their salaries

every day, so that now they have scarcely any. Will you be

ambassador, Albert? I will send you to Constantinople."

 

"No, lest on the first demonstration I make in favor of

Mehemet Ali, the Sultan send me the bowstring, and make my

secretaries strangle me."

 

"You say very true," responded Debray.

 

"Yes," said Albert, "but this has nothing to do with the

existence of the Count of Monte Cristo."

 

"Pardieu, every one exists."

 

"Doubtless, but not in the same way; every one has not black

slaves, a princely retinue, an arsenal of weapons that would

do credit to an Arabian fortress, horses that cost six

thousand francs apiece, and Greek mistresses."

 

"Have you seen the Greek mistress?"

 

"I have both seen and heard her. I saw her at the theatre,

and heard her one morning when I breakfasted with the

count."

 

"He eats, then?"

 

"Yes; but so little, it can hardly be called eating."

 

"He must be a vampire."

 

"Laugh, if you will; the Countess G---- , who knew Lord

Ruthven, declared that the count was a vampire."

 

"Ah, capital," said Beauchamp. "For a man not connected with

newspapers, here is the pendant to the famous sea-serpent of

the Constitutionnel."

 

"Wild eyes, the iris of which contracts or dilates at

pleasure," said Debray; "facial angle strongly developed,

magnificent forehead, livid complexion, black beard, sharp

and white teeth, politeness unexceptionable."

 

"Just so, Lucien," returned Morcerf; "you have described him

feature for feature. Yes, keen and cutting politeness. This

man has often made me shudder; and one day that we were

viewing an execution, I thought I should faint, more from

hearing the cold and calm manner in which he spoke of every

description of torture, than from the sight of the

executioner and the culprit."

 

"Did he not conduct you to the ruins of the Colosseum and

suck your blood?" asked Beauchamp.

 

"Or, having delivered you, make you sign a flaming

parchment, surrendering your soul to him as Esau did his

birth-right?"

 

"Rail on, rail on at your ease, gentlemen," said Morcerf,

somewhat piqued. "When I look at you Parisians, idlers on

the Boulevard de Gand or the Bois de Boulogne, and think of

this man, it seems to me we are not of the same race."

 

"I am highly flattered," returned Beauchamp. "At the same

time," added Chateau-Renaud, "your Count of Monte Cristo is

a very fine fellow, always excepting his little arrangements

with the Italian banditti."

 

"There are no Italian banditti," said Debray.

 

"No vampire," cried Beauchamp. "No Count of Monte Cristo"

added Debray. "There is half-past ten striking, Albert."

 

"Confess you have dreamed this, and let us sit down to

breakfast," continued Beauchamp. But the sound of the clock

had not died away when Germain announced, "His excellency

the Count of Monte Cristo." The involuntary start every one

gave proved how much Morcerf's narrative had impressed them,

and Albert himself could not wholly refrain from manifesting

sudden emotion. He had not heard a carriage stop in the

street, or steps in the ante-chamber; the door had itself

opened noiselessly. The count appeared, dressed with the

greatest simplicity, but the most fastidious dandy could

have found nothing to cavil at in his toilet. Every article

of dress -- hat, coat, gloves, and boots -- was from the

first makers. He seemed scarcely five and thirty. But what

struck everybody was his extreme resemblance to the portrait

Debray had drawn. The count advanced, smiling, into the

centre of the room, and approached Albert, who hastened

towards him holding out his hand in a ceremonial manner.

"Punctuality," said Monte Cristo, "is the politeness of

kings, according to one of your sovereigns, I think; but it

is not the same with travellers. However, I hope you will

excuse the two or three seconds I am behindhand; five

hundred leagues are not to be accomplished without some

trouble, and especially in France, where, it seems, it is

forbidden to beat the postilions."

 

"My dear count," replied Albert, "I was announcing your

visit to some of my friends, whom I had invited in

consequence of the promise you did me the honor to make, and

whom I now present to you. They are the Count of

Chateau-Renaud, whose nobility goes back to the twelve

peers, and whose ancestors had a place at the Round Table;

M. Lucien Debray, private secretary to the minister of the

interior; M. Beauchamp, an editor of a paper, and the terror

of the French government, but of whom, in spite of his

national celebrity, you perhaps have not heard in Italy,

since his paper is prohibited there; and M. Maximilian

Morrel, captain of Spahis."

 

At this name the count, who had hitherto saluted every one

with courtesy, but at the same time with coldness and

formality, stepped a pace forward, and a slight tinge of red

colored his pale cheeks. "You wear the uniform of the new

French conquerors, monsieur," said he; "it is a handsome

uniform." No one could have said what caused the count's

voice to vibrate so deeply, and what made his eye flash,

which was in general so clear, lustrous, and limpid when he

pleased. "You have never seen our Africans, count?" said

Albert. "Never," replied the count, who was by this time

perfectly master of himself again.

 

"Well, beneath this uniform beats one of the bravest and

noblest hearts in the whole army."

 

"Oh, M. de Morcerf," interrupted Morrel.

 

"Let me go on, captain. And we have just heard," continued

Albert, "of a new deed of his, and so heroic a one, that,

although I have seen him to-day for the first time, I

request you to allow me to introduce him as my friend." At

these words it was still possible to observe in Monte Cristo

the concentrated look, changing color, and slight trembling

of the eyelid that show emotion. "Ah, you have a noble

heart," said the count; "so much the better." This

exclamation, which corresponded to the count's own thought

rather than to what Albert was saying, surprised everybody,

and especially Morrel, who looked at Monte Cristo with

wonder. But, at the same time, the intonation was so soft

that, however strange the speech might seem, it was

impossible to be offended at it. "Why should he doubt it?"

said Beauchamp to Chateau-Renaud.

 

"In reality," replied the latter, who, with his aristocratic

glance and his knowledge of the world, had penetrated at

once all that was penetrable in Monte Cristo, "Albert has

not deceived us, for the count is a most singular being.

What say you, Morrel!"

 

"Ma foi, he has an open look about him that pleases me, in

spite of the singular remark he has made about me."

 

"Gentlemen," said Albert, "Germain informs me that breakfast

is ready. My dear count, allow me to show you the way." They

passed silently into the breakfast-room, and every one took

his place. "Gentleman," said the count, seating himself,

"permit me to make a confession which must form my excuse

for any improprieties I may commit. I am a stranger, and a

stranger to such a degree, that this is the first time I

have ever been at Paris. The French way of living is utterly

unknown to me, and up to the present time I have followed

the Eastern customs, which are entirely in contrast to the

Parisian. I beg you, therefore, to excuse if you find

anything in me too Turkish, too Italian, or too Arabian.

Now, then, let us breakfast."

 

"With what an air he says all this," muttered Beauchamp;

"decidedly he is a great man."

 

"A great man in his own country," added Debray.

 

"A great man in every country, M. Debray," said

Chateau-Renaud. The count was, it may be remembered, a most

temperate guest. Albert remarked this, expressing his fears

lest, at the outset, the Parisian mode of life should

displease the traveller in the most essential point. "My

dear count," said he, "I fear one thing, and that is, that

the fare of the Rue du Helder is not so much to your taste

as that of the Piazza di Spagni. I ought to have consulted

you on the point, and have had some dishes prepared

expressly."

 

"Did you know me better," returned the count, smiling, "you

would not give one thought of such a thing for a traveller

like myself, who has successively lived on maccaroni at

Naples, polenta at Milan, olla podrida at Valencia, pilau at

Constantinople, karrick in India, and swallows' nests in

China. I eat everywhere, and of everything, only I eat but

little; and to-day, that you reproach me with my want of

appetite, is my day of appetite, for I have not eaten since

yesterday morning."

 

"What," cried all the guests, "you have not eaten for four

and twenty hours?"

 

"No," replied the count; "I was forced to go out of my road

to obtain some information near Nimes, so that I was

somewhat late, and therefore I did not choose to stop."

 

"And you ate in your carriage?" asked Morcerf.

 

"No, I slept, as I generally do when I am weary without

having the courage to amuse myself, or when I am hungry

without feeling inclined to eat."

 

"But you can sleep when you please, monsieur?" said Morrel.

 

"Yes."

 

"You have a recipe for it?"

 

"An infallible one."

 

"That would be invaluable to us in Africa, who have not

always any food to eat, and rarely anything to drink."

 

"Yes," said Monte Cristo; "but, unfortunately, a recipe

excellent for a man like myself would be very dangerous

applied to an army, which might not awake when it was

needed."

 

"May we inquire what is this recipe?" asked Debray.

 

"Oh, yes," returned Monte Cristo; "I make no secret of it.

It is a mixture of excellent opium, which I fetched myself

from Canton in order to have it pure, and the best hashish

which grows in the East -- that is, between the Tigris and

the Euphrates. These two ingredients are mixed in equal

proportions, and formed into pills. Ten minutes after one is

taken, the effect is produced. Ask Baron Franz d'Epinay; I

think he tasted them one day."

 

"Yes," replied Morcerf, "he said something about it to me."

 

"But," said Beauchamp, who, as became a journalist, was very

incredulous, "you always carry this drug about you?"

 

"Always."

 

"Would it be an indiscretion to ask to see those precious

pills?" continued Beauchamp, hoping to take him at a

disadvantage.

 

"No, monsieur," returned the count; and he drew from his

pocket a marvellous casket, formed out of a single emerald

and closed by a golden lid which unscrewed and gave passage

to a small greenish colored pellet about the size of a pea.

This ball had an acrid and penetrating odor. There were four

or five more in the emerald, which would contain about a

dozen. The casket passed around the table, but it was more

to examine the admirable emerald than to see the pills that

it passed from hand to hand. "And is it your cook who

prepares these pills?" asked Beauchamp.

 

"Oh, no, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo; "I do not thus

betray my enjoyments to the vulgar. I am a tolerable

chemist, and prepare my pills myself."

 

"This is a magnificent emerald, and the largest I have ever

seen," said Chateau-Renaud, "although my mother has some

remarkable family jewels."

 

"I had three similar ones," returned Monte Cristo. "I gave

one to the Sultan, who mounted it in his sabre; another to

our holy father the Pope, who had it set in his tiara,

opposite to one nearly as large, though not so fine, given

by the Emperor Napoleon to his predecessor, Pius VII. I kept

the third for myself, and I had it hollowed out, which

reduced its value, but rendered it more commodious for the

purpose I intended." Every one looked at Monte Cristo with

astonishment; he spoke with so much simplicity that it was

evident he spoke the truth, or that he was mad. However, the

sight of the emerald made them naturally incline to the

former belief. "And what did these two sovereigns give you

in exchange for these magnificent presents?" asked Debray.

 

"The Sultan, the liberty of a woman," replied the Count;

"the Pope, the life of a man; so that once in my life I have

been as powerful as if heaven had brought me into the world

on the steps of a throne."

 

"And it was Peppino you saved, was it not?" cried Morcerf;

"it was for him that you obtained pardon?"

 

"Perhaps," returned the count, smiling.

 

"My dear count, you have no idea what pleasure it gives me

to hear you speak thus," said Morcerf. "I had announced you

beforehand to my friends as an enchanter of the `Arabian

Nights,' a wizard of the Middle Ages; but the Parisians are

so subtle in paradoxes that they mistake for caprices of the

imagination the most incontestable truths, when these truths

do not form a part of their daily existence. For example,

here is Debray who reads, and Beauchamp who prints, every

day, `A member of the Jockey Club has been stopped and

robbed on the Boulevard;' `four persons have been

assassinated in the Rue St. Denis' or `the Faubourg St.

Germain;' `ten, fifteen, or twenty thieves, have been

arrested in a cafe on the Boulevard du Temple, or in the

Thermes de Julien,' -- and yet these same men deny the

existence of the bandits in the Maremma, the Campagna di

Romana, or the Pontine Marshes. Tell them yourself that I

was taken by bandits, and that without your generous

intercession I should now have been sleeping in the

Catacombs of St. Sebastian, instead of receiving them in my

humble abode in the Rue du Helder."

 

"Ah," said Monte Cristo "you promised me never to mention

that circumstance."

 

"It was not I who made that promise," cried Morcerf; "it

must have been some one else whom you have rescued in the

same manner, and whom you have forgotten. Pray speak of it,

for I shall not only, I trust, relate the little I do know,

but also a great deal I do not know."

 

"It seems to me," returned the count, smiling, "that you

played a sufficiently important part to know as well as

myself what happened."

 

"Well, you promise me, if I tell all I know, to relate, in

your turn, all that I do not know?"

 

"That is but fair," replied Monte Cristo.

 

"Well," said Morcerf, "for three days I believed myself the

object of the attentions of a masque, whom I took for a

descendant of Tullia or Poppoea, while I was simply the

object of the attentions of a contadina, and I say contadina

to avoid saying peasant girl. What I know is, that, like a

fool, a greater fool than he of whom I spoke just now, I

mistook for this peasant girl a young bandit of fifteen or

sixteen, with a beardless chin and slim waist, and who, just

as I was about to imprint a chaste salute on his lips,

placed a pistol to my head, and, aided by seven or eight

others, led, or rather dragged me, to the Catacombs of St.

Sebastian, where I found a highly educated brigand chief

perusing Caesar's `Commentaries,' and who deigned to leave

off reading to inform me, that unless the next morning,

before six o'clock, four thousand piastres were paid into

his account at his banker's, at a quarter past six I should

have ceased to exist. The letter is still to be seen, for it

is in Franz d'Epinay's possession, signed by me, and with a

postscript of M. Luigi Vampa. This is all I know, but I know

not, count, how you contrived to inspire so much respect in

the bandits of Rome who ordinarily have so little respect

for anything. I assure you, Franz and I were lost in

admiration."

 

"Nothing more simple," returned the count. "I had known the

famous Vampa for more than ten years. When he was quite a

child, and only a shepherd, I gave him a few gold pieces for

showing me my way, and he, in order to repay me, gave me a

poniard, the hilt of which he had carved with his own hand,

and which you may have seen in my collection of arms. In

after years, whether he had forgotten this interchange of

presents, which ought to have cemented our friendship, or

whether he did not recollect me, he sought to take me, but,

on the contrary, it was I who captured him and a dozen of

his band. I might have handed him over to Roman justice,

which is somewhat expeditious, and which would have been

particularly so with him; but I did nothing of the sort -- I

suffered him and his band to depart."

 

"With the condition that they should sin no more," said

Beauchamp, laughing. "I see they kept their promise."

 

"No, monsieur," returned Monte Cristo "upon the simple

condition that they should respect myself and my friends.

Perhaps what I am about to say may seem strange to you, who

are socialists, and vaunt humanity and your duty to your

neighbor, but I never seek to protect a society which does

not protect me, and which I will even say, generally

occupies itself about me only to injure me; and thus by

giving them a low place in my esteem, and preserving a

neutrality towards them, it is society and my neighbor who

are indebted to me."

 

"Bravo," cried Chateau-Renaud; "you are the first man I ever

met sufficiently courageous to preach egotism. Bravo, count,

bravo!"

 

"It is frank, at least," said Morrel. "But I am sure that

the count does not regret having once deviated from the

principles he has so boldly avowed."

 

"How have I deviated from those principles, monsieur?" asked

Monte Cristo, who could not help looking at Morrel with so

much intensity, that two or three times the young man had

been unable to sustain that clear and piercing glance.

 

"Why, it seems to me," replied Morrel, "that in delivering

M. de Morcerf, whom you did not know, you did good to your

neighbor and to society."

 

"Of which he is the brightest ornament," said Beauchamp,

drinking off a glass of champagne.

 

"My dear count," cried Morcerf, "you are at fault -- you,

one of the most formidable logicians I know -- and you must

see it clearly proved that instead of being an egotist, you

are a philanthropist. Ah, you call yourself Oriental, a

Levantine, Maltese, Indian, Chinese; your family name is

Monte Cristo; Sinbad the Sailor is your baptismal

appellation, and yet the first day you set foot in Paris you

instinctively display the greatest virtue, or rather the

chief defect, of us eccentric Parisians, -- that is, you

assume the vices you have not, and conceal the virtues you

possess."

 

"My dear vicomte," returned Monte Cristo, "I do not see, in

all I have done, anything that merits, either from you or

these gentlemen, the pretended eulogies I have received. You

were no stranger to me, for I knew you from the time I gave

up two rooms to you, invited you to breakfast with me, lent

you one of my carriages, witnessed the Carnival in your

company, and saw with you from a window in the Piazza del

Popolo the execution that affected you so much that you

nearly fainted. I will appeal to any of these gentlemen,

could I leave my guest in the hands of a hideous bandit, as

you term him? Besides, you know, I had the idea that you

could introduce me into some of the Paris salons when I came

to France. You might some time ago have looked upon this

resolution as a vague project, but to-day you see it was a

reality, and you must submit to it under penalty of breaking

your word."

 

"I will keep it," returned Morcerf; "but I fear that you

will be much disappointed, accustomed as you are to

picturesque events and fantastic horizons. Amongst us you

will not meet with any of those episodes with which your

adventurous existence has so familiarized you; our

Chimborazo is Mortmartre, our Himalaya is Mount Valerien,

our Great Desert is the plain of Grenelle, where they are

now boring an artesian well to water the caravans. We have

plenty of thieves, though not so many as is said; but these

thieves stand in far more dread of a policeman than a lord.

France is so prosaic, and Paris so civilized a city, that

you will not find in its eighty-five departments -- I say

eighty-five, because I do not include Corsica -- you will

not find, then, in these eighty-five departments a single

hill on which there is not a telegraph, or a grotto in which

the commissary of police has not put up a gaslamp. There is

but one service I can render you, and for that I place

myself entirely at your orders, that is, to present, or make

my friends present, you everywhere; besides, you have no

need of any one to introduce you -- with your name, and your

fortune, and your talent" (Monte Cristo bowed with a

somewhat ironical smile) "you can present yourself

everywhere, and be well received. I can be useful in one way

only -- if knowledge of Parisian habits, of the means of

rendering yourself comfortable, or of the bazaars, can

assist, you may depend upon me to find you a fitting

dwelling here. I do not dare offer to share my apartments

with you, as I shared yours at Rome -- I, who do not profess

egotism, but am yet egotist par excellence; for, except

myself, these rooms would not hold a shadow more, unless

that shadow were feminine."

 

"Ah," said the count, "that is a most conjugal reservation;

I recollect that at Rome you said something of a projected

marriage. May I congratulate you?"

 

"The affair is still in projection."

 

"And he who says in `projection,' means already decided,"

said Debray.

 

"No," replied Morcerf, "my father is most anxious about it;

and I hope, ere long, to introduce you, if not to my wife,

at least to my betrothed -- Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars."

 

"Eugenie Danglars," said Monte Cristo; "tell me, is not her

father Baron Danglars?"

 

"Yes," returned Morcerf, "a baron of a new creation."

 

"What matter," said Monte Cristo "if he has rendered the

State services which merit this distinction?"

 

"Enormous ones," answered Beauchamp. "Although in reality a

Liberal, he negotiated a loan of six millions for Charles

X., in 1829, who made him a baron and chevalier of the

Legion of Honor; so that he wears the ribbon, not, as you

would think, in his waistcoat-pocket, but at his

button-hole."

 

"Ah," interrupted Morcerf, laughing, "Beauchamp, Beauchamp,

keep that for the Corsaire or the Charivari, but spare my

future father-in-law before me." Then, turning to Monte

Cristo, "You just now spoke his name as if you knew the

baron?"

 

"I do not know him," returned Monte Cristo; "but I shall

probably soon make his acquaintance, for I have a credit

opened with him by the house of Richard & Blount, of London,

Arstein & Eskeles of Vienna, and Thomson & French at Rome."

As he pronounced the two last names, the count glanced at

Maximilian Morrel. If the stranger expected to produce an

effect on Morrel, he was not mistaken -- Maximilian started

as if he had been electrified. "Thomson & French," said he;

"do you know this house, monsieur?"

 

"They are my bankers in the capital of the Christian world,"

returned the count quietly. "Can my influence with them be

of any service to you?"

 

"Oh, count, you could assist me perhaps in researches which

have been, up to the present, fruitless. This house, in past

years, did ours a great service, and has, I know not for

what reason, always denied having rendered us this service."

 

"I shall be at your orders," said Monte Cristo bowing.

 

"But," continued Morcerf, "a propos of Danglars, -- we have

strangely wandered from the subject. We were speaking of a

suitable habitation for the Count of Monte Cristo. Come,

gentlemen, let us all propose some place. Where shall we

lodge this new guest in our great capital?"

 

"Faubourg Saint-Germain," said Chateau-Renaud. "The count

will find there a charming hotel, with a court and garden."

 

"Bah, Chateau-Renaud," returned Debray, "you only know your

dull and gloomy Faubourg Saint-Germain; do not pay any

attention to him, count -- live in the Chaussee d'Antin,

that's the real centre of Paris."

 

"Boulevard de l'Opera," said Beauchamp; "the second floor --

a house with a balcony. The count will have his cushions of

silver cloth brought there, and as he smokes his chibouque,

see all Paris pass before him."

 

"You have no idea, then, Morrel?" asked Chateau-Renaud; "you

do not propose anything."

 

"Oh, yes," returned the young man, smiling; "on the

contrary, I have one, but I expected the count would be

tempted by one of the brilliant proposals made him, yet as

he has not replied to any of them, I will venture to offer

him a suite of apartments in a charming hotel, in the

Pompadour style, that my sister has inhabited for a year, in

the Rue Meslay."

 

"You have a sister?" asked the count.

 

"Yes, monsieur, a most excellent sister."

 

"Married?"

 

"Nearly nine years."

 

"Happy?" asked the count again.

 

"As happy as it is permitted to a human creature to be,"

replied Maximilian. "She married the man she loved, who

remained faithful to us in our fallen fortunes -- Emmanuel

Herbaut." Monte Cristo smiled imperceptibly. "I live there

during my leave of absence," continued Maximilian; "and I

shall be, together with my brother-in-law Emmanuel, at the

disposition of the Count, whenever he thinks fit to honor

us."

 

"One minute," cried Albert, without giving Monte Cristo the

time to reply. "Take care, you are going to immure a

traveller, Sinbad the Sailor, a man who comes to see Paris;

you are going to make a patriarch of him."

 

"Oh, no," said Morrel; "my sister is five and twenty, my

brother-in-law is thirty, they are gay, young, and happy.

Besides, the count will be in his own house, and only see

them when he thinks fit to do so."

 

"Thanks, monsieur," said Monte Cristo; "I shall content

myself with being presented to your sister and her husband,

if you will do me the honor to introduce me; but I cannot

accept the offer of any one of these gentlemen, since my

habitation is already prepared."

 

"What," cried Morcerf; "you are, then, going to an hotel --

that will be very dull for you."

 

"Was I so badly lodged at Rome?" said Monte Cristo smiling.

 

"Parbleu, at Rome you spent fifty thousand piastres in

furnishing your apartments, but I presume that you are not

disposed to spend a similar sum every day."

 

"It is not that which deterred me," replied Monte Cristo;

"but as I determined to have a house to myself, I sent on my

valet de chambre, and he ought by this time to have bought

the house and furnished it."

 

"But you have, then, a valet de chambre who knows Paris?"

said Beauchamp.

 

"It is the first time he has ever been in Paris. He is

black, and cannot speak," returned Monte Cristo.

 

"It is Ali!" cried Albert, in the midst of the general

surprise.

 

"Yes, Ali himself, my Nubian mute, whom you saw, I think, at

Rome."

 

"Certainly," said Morcerf; "I recollect him perfectly. But

how could you charge a Nubian to purchase a house, and a

mute to furnish it? -- he will do everything wrong."

 

"Undeceive yourself, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo; "I am

quite sure, that, on the contrary, he will choose everything

as I wish. He knows my tastes, my caprices, my wants. He has

been here a week, with the instinct of a hound, hunting by

himself. He will arrange everything for me. He knew, that I

should arrive to-day at ten o'clock; he was waiting for me

at nine at the Barriere de Fontainebleau. He gave me this

paper; it contains the number of my new abode; read it

yourself," and Monte Cristo passed a paper to Albert. "Ah,

that is really original," said Beauchamp.

 

"And very princely," added Chateau-Renaud.

 

"What, do you not know your house?" asked Debray.

 

"No," said Monte Cristo; "I told you I did not wish to be

behind my time; I dressed myself in the carriage, and

descended at the viscount's door." The young men looked at

each other; they did not know if it was a comedy Monte

Cristo was playing, but every word he uttered had such an

air of simplicity, that it was impossible to suppose what he

said was false -- besides, why should he tell a falsehood?

"We must content ourselves, then," said Beauchamp, "with

rendering the count all the little services in our power. I,

in my quality of journalist, open all the theatres to him."

 

"Thanks, monsieur," returned Monte Cristo, "my steward has

orders to take a box at each theatre."

 

"Is your steward also a Nubian?" asked Debray.

 

"No, he is a countryman of yours, if a Corsican is a

countryman of any one's. But you know him, M. de Morcerf."

 

"Is it that excellent M. Bertuccio, who understands hiring

windows so well?"

 

"Yes, you saw him the day I had the honor of receiving you;

he has been a soldier, a smuggler -- in fact, everything. I

would not be quite sure that he has not been mixed up with

the police for some trifle -- a stab with a knife, for

instance."

 

"And you have chosen this honest citizen for your steward,"

said Debray. "Of how much does he rob you every year?"

 

"On my word," replied the count, "not more than another. I

am sure he answers my purpose, knows no impossibility, and

so I keep him."

 

"Then," continued Chateau-Renaud, "since you have an

establishment, a steward, and a hotel in the Champs Elysees,

you only want a mistress." Albert smiled. He thought of the

fair Greek he had seen in the count's box at the Argentina

and Valle theatres. "I have something better than that,"

said Monte Cristo; "I have a slave. You procure your

mistresses from the opera, the Vaudeville, or the Varietes;

I purchased mine at Constantinople; it cost me more, but I

have nothing to fear."

 

"But you forget," replied Debray, laughing, "that we are

Franks by name and franks by nature, as King Charles said,

and that the moment she puts her foot in France your slave

becomes free."

 

"Who will tell her?"

 

"The first person who sees her."

 

"She only speaks Romaic."

 

"That is different."

 

"But at least we shall see her," said Beauchamp, "or do you

keep eunuchs as well as mutes?"

 

"Oh, no," replied Monte Cristo; "I do not carry brutalism so

far. Every one who surrounds me is free to quit me, and when

they leave me will no longer have any need of me or any one

else; it is for that reason, perhaps, that they do not quit

me." They had long since passed to dessert and cigars.

 

"My dear Albert," said Debray, rising, "it is half-past two.

Your guest is charming, but you leave the best company to go

into the worst sometimes. I must return to the minister's. I

will tell him of the count, and we shall soon know who he

is."

 

"Take care," returned Albert; "no one has been able to

accomplish that."

 

"Oh, we have three millions for our police; it is true they

are almost always spent beforehand, but, no matter, we shall

still have fifty thousand francs to spend for this purpose."

 

"And when you know, will you tell me?"

 

"I promise you. Au revoir, Albert. Gentlemen, good morning."

 

As he left the room, Debray called out loudly, "My

carriage."

 

"Bravo," said Beauchamp to Albert; "I shall not go to the

Chamber, but I have something better to offer my readers

than a speech of M. Danglars."

 

"For heaven's sake, Beauchamp," returned Morcerf, "do not

deprive me of the merit of introducing him everywhere. Is he

not peculiar?"

 

"He is more than that," replied Chateau-Renaud; "he is one

of the most extraordinary men I ever saw in my life. Are you

coming, Morrel?"

 

"Directly I have given my card to the count, who has

promised to pay us a visit at Rue Meslay, No. 14."

 

"Be sure I shall not fail to do so," returned the count,

bowing. And Maximilian Morrel left the room with the Baron

de Chateau-Renaud, leaving Monte Cristo alone with Morcerf.

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