When Albert found himself alone with Monte Cristo, "My dear count,"
said he, "allow me to commence my services as cicerone by showing you
a specimen of a bachelor's apartment. You, who are accustomed to the
palaces of Italy, can amuse yourself by calculating in how many square
feet a young man who is not the worst lodged in Paris can live. As
we pass from one room to another, I will open the windows to let you
breathe." Monte Cristo had already seen the breakfast-room and the salon
on the ground-floor. Albert led him first to his atelier, which was, as
we have said, his favorite apartment. Monte Cristo quickly appreciated
all that Albert had collected here--old cabinets, Japanese porcelain,
Oriental stuffs, Venetian glass, arms from all parts of the
world--everything was familiar to him; and at the first glance he
recognized their date, their country, and their origin. Morcerf had
expected he should be the guide; on the contrary, it was he who, under
the count's guidance, followed a course of archaeology, mineralogy, and
natural history. They descended to the first floor; Albert led his guest
into the salon. The salon was filled with the works of modern artists;
there were landscapes by Dupre, with their long reeds and tall trees,
their lowing oxen and marvellous skies; Delacroix's Arabian cavaliers,
with their long white burnouses, their shining belts, their damasked
arms, their horses, who tore each other with their teeth while their
riders contended fiercely with their maces; aquarelles of Boulanger,
representing Notre Dame de Paris with that vigor that makes the artist
the rival of the poet; there were paintings by Diaz, who makes his
flowers more beautiful than flowers, his suns more brilliant than the
sun; designs by Decamp, as vividly colored as those of Salvator Rosa,
but more poetic; pastels by Giraud and Muller, representing children
like angels and women with the features of a virgin; sketches torn from
the album of Dauzats' "Travels in the East," that had been made in a few
seconds on the saddle of a camel, or beneath the dome of a mosque--in a
word, all that modern art can give in exchange and as recompense for the
art lost and gone with ages long since past.
Albert expected to have something new this time to show to the
traveller, but, to his great surprise, the latter, without seeking
for the signatures, many of which, indeed, were only initials, named
instantly the author of every picture in such a manner that it was easy
to see that each name was not only known to him, but that each style
associated with it had been appreciated and studied by him. From the
salon they passed into the bed-chamber; it was a model of taste and
simple elegance. A single portrait, signed by Leopold Robert, shone in
its carved and gilded frame. This portrait attracted the Count of Monte
Cristo's attention, for he made three rapid steps in the chamber, and
stopped suddenly before it. It was the portrait of a young woman of five
or six and twenty, with a dark complexion, and light and lustrous eyes,
veiled beneath long lashes. She wore the picturesque costume of the
Catalan fisherwomen, a red and black bodice, and golden pins in her
hair. She was looking at the sea, and her form was outlined on the blue
ocean and sky. The light was so faint in the room that Albert did not
perceive the pallor that spread itself over the count's visage, or the
nervous heaving of his chest and shoulders. Silence prevailed for an
instant, during which Monte Cristo gazed intently on the picture.
"You have there a most charming mistress, viscount," said the count in
a perfectly calm tone; "and this costume--a ball costume,
doubtless--becomes her admirably."
"Ah, monsieur," returned Albert, "I would never forgive you this mistake
if you had seen another picture beside this. You do not know my mother;
she it is whom you see here. She had her portrait painted thus six
or eight years ago. This costume is a fancy one, it appears, and the
resemblance is so great that I think I still see my mother the same
as she was in 1830. The countess had this portrait painted during
the count's absence. She doubtless intended giving him an agreeable
surprise; but, strange to say, this portrait seemed to displease my
father, and the value of the picture, which is, as you see, one of the
best works of Leopold Robert, could not overcome his dislike to it.
It is true, between ourselves, that M. de Morcerf is one of the most
assiduous peers at the Luxembourg, a general renowned for theory, but a
most mediocre amateur of art. It is different with my mother, who paints
exceedingly well, and who, unwilling to part with so valuable a picture,
gave it to me to put here, where it would be less likely to displease
M. de Morcerf, whose portrait, by Gros, I will also show you. Excuse my
talking of family matters, but as I shall have the honor of introducing
you to the count, I tell you this to prevent you making any allusions
to this picture. The picture seems to have a malign influence, for my
mother rarely comes here without looking at it, and still more rarely
does she look at it without weeping. This disagreement is the only one
that has ever taken place between the count and countess, who are still
as much united, although married more than twenty years, as on the first
day of their wedding."
Monte Cristo glanced rapidly at Albert, as if to seek a hidden meaning
in his words, but it was evident the young man uttered them in the
simplicity of his heart. "Now," said Albert, "that you have seen all my
treasures, allow me to offer them to you, unworthy as they are. Consider
yourself as in your own house, and to put yourself still more at your
ease, pray accompany me to the apartments of M. de Morcerf, he whom I
wrote from Rome an account of the services you rendered me, and to whom
I announced your promised visit, and I may say that both the count and
countess anxiously desire to thank you in person. You are somewhat blase
I know, and family scenes have not much effect on Sinbad the Sailor,
who has seen so many others. However, accept what I propose to you as
an initiation into Parisian life--a life of politeness, visiting,
and introductions." Monte Cristo bowed without making any answer; he
accepted the offer without enthusiasm and without regret, as one of
those conventions of society which every gentleman looks upon as a duty.
Albert summoned his servant, and ordered him to acquaint M. and Madame
de Morcerf of the arrival of the Count of Monte Cristo. Albert followed
him with the count. When they arrived at the ante-chamber, above the
door was visible a shield, which, by its rich ornaments and its harmony
with the rest of the furniture, indicated the importance the owner
attached to this blazon. Monte Cristo stopped and examined it
attentively.
"Azure seven merlets, or, placed bender," said he. "These are,
doubtless, your family arms? Except the knowledge of blazons, that
enables me to decipher them, I am very ignorant of heraldry--I, a count
of a fresh creation, fabricated in Tuscany by the aid of a commandery
of St. Stephen, and who would not have taken the trouble had I not been
told that when you travel much it is necessary. Besides, you must have
something on the panels of your carriage, to escape being searched by
the custom-house officers. Excuse my putting such a question to you."
"It is not indiscreet," returned Morcerf, with the simplicity of
conviction. "You have guessed rightly. These are our arms, that is,
those of my father, but they are, as you see, joined to another shield,
which has gules, a silver tower, which are my mother's. By her side I am
Spanish, but the family of Morcerf is French, and, I have heard, one of
the oldest of the south of France."
"Yes," replied Monte Cristo "these blazons prove that. Almost all the
armed pilgrims that went to the Holy Land took for their arms either a
cross, in honor of their mission, or birds of passage, in sign of
the long voyage they were about to undertake, and which they hoped to
accomplish on the wings of faith. One of your ancestors had joined the
Crusades, and supposing it to be only that of St. Louis, that makes you
mount to the thirteenth century, which is tolerably ancient."
"It is possible," said Morcerf; "my father has in his study a
genealogical tree which will tell you all that, and on which I made
commentaries that would have greatly edified Hozier and Jaucourt. At
present I no longer think of it, and yet I must tell you that we are
beginning to occupy ourselves greatly with these things under our
popular government."
"Well, then, your government would do well to choose from the past
something better than the things that I have noticed on your monuments,
and which have no heraldic meaning whatever. As for you, viscount,"
continued Monte Cristo to Morcerf, "you are more fortunate than the
government, for your arms are really beautiful, and speak to the
imagination. Yes, you are at once from Provence and Spain; that
explains, if the portrait you showed me be like, the dark hue I so much
admired on the visage of the noble Catalan." It would have required the
penetration of Oedipus or the Sphinx to have divined the irony the count
concealed beneath these words, apparently uttered with the greatest
politeness. Morcerf thanked him with a smile, and pushed open the door
above which were his arms, and which, as we have said, opened into the
salon. In the most conspicuous part of the salon was another portrait.
It was that of a man, from five to eight and thirty, in the uniform of
a general officer, wearing the double epaulet of heavy bullion, that
indicates superior rank, the ribbon of the Legion of Honor around his
neck, which showed he was a commander, and on the right breast, the star
of a grand officer of the order of the Saviour, and on the left that
of the grand cross of Charles III., which proved that the person
represented by the picture had served in the wars of Greece and Spain,
or, what was just the same thing as regarded decorations, had fulfilled
some diplomatic mission in the two countries.
Monte Cristo was engaged in examining this portrait with no less care
than he had bestowed upon the other, when another door opened, and he
found himself opposite to the Count of Morcerf in person. He was a man
of forty to forty-five years, but he seemed at least fifty, and his
black mustache and eyebrows contrasted strangely with his almost white
hair, which was cut short, in the military fashion. He was dressed in
plain clothes, and wore at his button-hole the ribbons of the different
orders to which he belonged. He entered with a tolerably dignified step,
and some little haste. Monte Cristo saw him advance towards him without
making a single step. It seemed as if his feet were rooted to the
ground, and his eyes on the Count of Morcerf. "Father," said the young
man, "I have the honor of presenting to you the Count of Monte Cristo,
the generous friend whom I had the good fortune to meet in the critical
situation of which I have told you."
"You are most welcome, monsieur," said the Count of Morcerf, saluting
Monte Cristo with a smile, "and monsieur has rendered our house, in
preserving its only heir, a service which insures him our eternal
gratitude." As he said these words, the count of Morcerf pointed to a
chair, while he seated himself in another opposite the window.
Monte Cristo, in taking the seat Morcerf offered him, placed himself in
such a manner as to remain concealed in the shadow of the large velvet
curtains, and read on the careworn and livid features of the count a
whole history of secret griefs written in each wrinkle time had planted
there. "The countess," said Morcerf, "was at her toilet when she was
informed of the visit she was about to receive. She will, however, be in
the salon in ten minutes."
"It is a great honor to me," returned Monte Cristo, "to be thus, on the
first day of my arrival in Paris, brought in contact with a man whose
merit equals his reputation, and to whom fortune has for once been
equitable, but has she not still on the plains of Metidja, or in the
mountains of Atlas, a marshal's staff to offer you?"
"Oh," replied Morcerf, reddening slightly, "I have left the service,
monsieur. Made a peer at the Restoration, I served through the first
campaign under the orders of Marshal Bourmont. I could, therefore,
expect a higher rank, and who knows what might have happened had the
elder branch remained on the throne? But the Revolution of July was, it
seems, sufficiently glorious to allow itself to be ungrateful, and it
was so for all services that did not date from the imperial period. I
tendered my resignation, for when you have gained your epaulets on the
battle-field, you do not know how to manoeuvre on the slippery grounds
of the salons. I have hung up my sword, and cast myself into politics.
I have devoted myself to industry; I study the useful arts. During the
twenty years I served, I often wished to do so, but I had not the time."
"These are the ideas that render your nation superior to any other,"
returned Monte Cristo. "A gentleman of high birth, possessor of an
ample fortune, you have consented to gain your promotion as an obscure
soldier, step by step--this is uncommon; then become general, peer of
France, commander of the Legion of Honor, you consent to again commence
a second apprenticeship, without any other hope or any other desire than
that of one day becoming useful to your fellow-creatures; this, indeed,
is praiseworthy,--nay, more, it is sublime." Albert looked on and
listened with astonishment; he was not used to see Monte Cristo give
vent to such bursts of enthusiasm. "Alas," continued the stranger,
doubtless to dispel the slight cloud that covered Morcerf's brow, "we
do not act thus in Italy; we grow according to our race and our species,
and we pursue the same lines, and often the same uselessness, all our
lives."
"But, monsieur," said the Count of Morcerf, "for a man of your merit,
Italy is not a country, and France opens her arms to receive you;
respond to her call. France will not, perhaps, be always ungrateful. She
treats her children ill, but she always welcomes strangers."
"Ah, father," said Albert with a smile, "it is evident you do not know
the Count of Monte Cristo; he despises all honors, and contents himself
with those written on his passport."
"That is the most just remark," replied the stranger, "I ever heard made
concerning myself."
"You have been free to choose your career," observed the Count of
Morcerf, with a sigh; "and you have chosen the path strewed with
flowers."
"Precisely, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo with one of those smiles
that a painter could never represent or a physiologist analyze.
"If I did not fear to fatigue you," said the general, evidently charmed
with the count's manners, "I would have taken you to the Chamber;
there is a debate very curious to those who are strangers to our modern
senators."
"I shall be most grateful, monsieur, if you will, at some future time,
renew your offer, but I have been flattered with the hope of being
introduced to the countess, and I will therefore wait."
"Ah, here is my mother," cried the viscount. Monte Cristo, turned round
hastily, and saw Madame de Morcerf at the entrance of the salon, at
the door opposite to that by which her husband had entered, pale and
motionless; when Monte Cristo turned round, she let fall her arm, which
for some unknown reason had been resting on the gilded door-post.
She had been there some moments, and had heard the last words of the
visitor. The latter rose and bowed to the countess, who inclined herself
without speaking. "Ah, good heavens, madame," said the count, "are you
ill, or is it the heat of the room that affects you?"
"Are you ill, mother?" cried the viscount, springing towards her.
She thanked them both with a smile. "No," returned she, "but I feel
some emotion on seeing, for the first time, the man without whose
intervention we should have been in tears and desolation. Monsieur,"
continued the countess, advancing with the majesty of a queen, "I owe to
you the life of my son, and for this I bless you. Now, I thank you
for the pleasure you give me in thus affording me the opportunity of
thanking you as I have blessed you, from the bottom of my heart."
The count bowed again, but lower than before; He was even paler than
Mercedes. "Madame," said he, "the count and yourself recompense too
generously a simple action. To save a man, to spare a father's feelings,
or a mother's sensibility, is not to do a good action, but a simple deed
of humanity." At these words, uttered with the most exquisite sweetness
and politeness, Madame de Morcerf replied. "It is very fortunate for my
son, monsieur, that he found such a friend, and I thank God that things
are thus." And Mercedes raised her fine eyes to heaven with so fervent
an expression of gratitude, that the count fancied he saw tears in them.
M. de Morcerf approached her. "Madame," said he. "I have already made my
excuses to the count for quitting him, and I pray you to do so also. The
sitting commences at two; it is now three, and I am to speak."
"Go, then, and monsieur and I will strive our best to forget your
absence," replied the countess, with the same tone of deep feeling.
"Monsieur," continued she, turning to Monte Cristo, "will you do us the
honor of passing the rest of the day with us?"
"Believe me, madame, I feel most grateful for your kindness, but I
got out of my travelling carriage at your door this morning, and I am
ignorant how I am installed in Paris, which I scarcely know; this is but
a trifling inquietude, I know, but one that may be appreciated."
"We shall have the pleasure another time," said the countess; "you
promise that?" Monte Cristo inclined himself without answering, but
the gesture might pass for assent. "I will not detain you, monsieur,"
continued the countess; "I would not have our gratitude become
indiscreet or importunate."
"My dear Count," said Albert, "I will endeavor to return your politeness
at Rome, and place my coupe at your disposal until your own be ready."
"A thousand thanks for your kindness, viscount," returned the Count of
Monte Cristo "but I suppose that M. Bertuccio has suitably employed the
four hours and a half I have given him, and that I shall find a carriage
of some sort ready at the door." Albert was used to the count's
manner of proceeding; he knew that, like Nero, he was in search of the
impossible, and nothing astonished him, but wishing to judge with his
own eyes how far the count's orders had been executed, he accompanied
him to the door of the house. Monte Cristo was not deceived. As soon as
he appeared in the Count of Morcerf's ante-chamber, a footman, the
same who at Rome had brought the count's card to the two young men, and
announced his visit, sprang into the vestibule, and when he arrived at
the door the illustrious traveller found his carriage awaiting him. It
was a coupe of Koller's building, and with horses and harness for which
Drake had, to the knowledge of all the lions of Paris, refused on
the previous day seven hundred guineas. "Monsieur," said the count to
Albert, "I do not ask you to accompany me to my house, as I can only
show you a habitation fitted up in a hurry, and I have, as you know, a
reputation to keep up as regards not being taken by surprise. Give me,
therefore, one more day before I invite you; I shall then be certain not
to fail in my hospitality."
"If you ask me for a day, count, I know what to anticipate; it will not
be a house I shall see, but a palace. You have decidedly some genius at
your control."
"Ma foi, spread that idea," replied the Count of Monte Cristo, putting
his foot on the velvet-lined steps of his splendid carriage, "and that
will be worth something to me among the ladies." As he spoke, he sprang
into the vehicle, the door was closed, but not so rapidly that Monte
Cristo failed to perceive the almost imperceptible movement which
stirred the curtains of the apartment in which he had left Madame de
Morcerf. When Albert returned to his mother, he found her in the boudoir
reclining in a large velvet arm-chair, the whole room so obscure that
only the shining spangle, fastened here and there to the drapery, and
the angles of the gilded frames of the pictures, showed with some
degree of brightness in the gloom. Albert could not see the face of the
countess, as it was covered with a thin veil she had put on her head,
and which fell over her features in misty folds, but it seemed to him as
though her voice had altered. He could distinguish amid the perfumes of
the roses and heliotropes in the flower-stands, the sharp and fragrant
odor of volatile salts, and he noticed in one of the chased cups on the
mantle-piece the countess's smelling-bottle, taken from its shagreen
case, and exclaimed in a tone of uneasiness, as he entered,--"My dear
mother, have you been ill during my absence?"
"No, no, Albert, but you know these roses, tuberoses, and orange-flowers
throw out at first, before one is used to them, such violent perfumes."
"Then, my dear mother," said Albert, putting his hand to the bell, "they
must be taken into the ante-chamber. You are really ill, and just now
were so pale as you came into the room"--
"Was I pale, Albert?"
"Yes; a pallor that suits you admirably, mother, but which did not the
less alarm my father and myself."
"Did your father speak of it?" inquired Mercedes eagerly.
"No, madame; but do you not remember that he spoke of the fact to you?"
"Yes, I do remember," replied the countess. A servant entered, summoned
by Albert's ring of the bell. "Take these flowers into the anteroom or
dressing-room," said the viscount; "they make the countess ill." The
footman obeyed his orders. A long pause ensued, which lasted until all
the flowers were removed. "What is this name of Monte Cristo?" inquired
the countess, when the servant had taken away the last vase of flowers,
"is it a family name, or the name of the estate, or a simple title?"
"I believe, mother, it is merely a title. The count purchased an island
in the Tuscan archipelago, and, as he told you to-day, has founded
a commandery. You know the same thing was done for Saint Stephen of
Florence, Saint George, Constantinian of Parma, and even for the Order
of Malta. Except this, he has no pretension to nobility, and calls
himself a chance count, although the general opinion at Rome is that the
count is a man of very high distinction."
"His manners are admirable," said the countess, "at least, as far as I
could judge in the few minutes he remained here."
"They are perfect mother, so perfect, that they surpass by far all I
have known in the leading aristocracy of the three proudest nobilities
of Europe--the English, the Spanish, and the German." The countess
paused a moment; then, after a slight hesitation, she resumed,--"You
have seen, my dear Albert--I ask the question as a mother--you have
seen M. de Monte Cristo in his house, you are quicksighted, have much
knowledge of the world, more tact than is usual at your age, do you
think the count is really what he appears to be?"
"What does he appear to be?"
"Why, you have just said,--a man of high distinction."
"I told you, my dear mother, he was esteemed such."
"But what is your own opinion, Albert?"
"I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion respecting
him, but I think him a Maltese."
"I do not ask you of his origin but what he is."
"Ah, what he is; that is quite another thing. I have seen so many
remarkable things in him, that if you would have me really say what I
think, I shall reply that I really do look upon him as one of Byron's
heroes, whom misery has marked with a fatal brand; some Manfred, some
Lara, some Werner, one of those wrecks, as it were, of some ancient
family, who, disinherited of their patrimony, have achieved one by the
force of their adventurous genius, which has placed them above the laws
of society."
"You say"--
"I say that Monte Cristo is an island in the midst of the Mediterranean,
without inhabitants or garrison, the resort of smugglers of all nations,
and pirates of every flag. Who knows whether or not these industrious
worthies do not pay to their feudal lord some dues for his protection?"
"That is possible," said the countess, reflecting.
"Never mind," continued the young man, "smuggler or not, you must agree,
mother dear, as you have seen him, that the Count of Monte Cristo is
a remarkable man, who will have the greatest success in the salons of
Paris. Why, this very morning, in my rooms, he made his entree amongst
us by striking every man of us with amazement, not even excepting
Chateau-Renaud."
"And what do you suppose is the count's age?" inquired Mercedes,
evidently attaching great importance to this question.
"Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother."
"So young,--it is impossible," said Mercedes, replying at the same time
to what Albert said as well as to her own private reflection.
"It is the truth, however. Three or four times he has said to me, and
certainly without the slightest premeditation, 'at such a period I was
five years old, at another ten years old, at another twelve,' and
I, induced by curiosity, which kept me alive to these details, have
compared the dates, and never found him inaccurate. The age of this
singular man, who is of no age, is then, I am certain, thirty-five.
Besides, mother, remark how vivid his eye, how raven-black his hair,
and his brow, though so pale, is free from wrinkles,--he is not only
vigorous, but also young." The countess bent her head, as if beneath a
heavy wave of bitter thoughts. "And has this man displayed a friendship
for you, Albert?" she asked with a nervous shudder.
"I am inclined to think so."
"And--do--you--like--him?"
"Why, he pleases me in spite of Franz d'Epinay, who tries to convince
me that he is a being returned from the other world." The countess
shuddered. "Albert," she said, in a voice which was altered by emotion,
"I have always put you on your guard against new acquaintances. Now you
are a man, and are able to give me advice; yet I repeat to you, Albert,
be prudent."
"Why, my dear mother, it is necessary, in order to make your advice turn
to account, that I should know beforehand what I have to distrust.
The count never plays, he only drinks pure water tinged with a little
sherry, and is so rich that he cannot, without intending to laugh at me,
try to borrow money. What, then, have I to fear from him?"
"You are right," said the countess, "and my fears are weakness,
especially when directed against a man who has saved your life. How did
your father receive him, Albert? It is necessary that we should be more
than complaisant to the count. M. de Morcerf is sometimes occupied, his
business makes him reflective, and he might, without intending it"--
"Nothing could be in better taste than my father's demeanor, madame,"
said Albert; "nay, more, he seemed greatly flattered at two or three
compliments which the count very skilfully and agreeably paid him with
as much ease as if he had known him these thirty years. Each of these
little tickling arrows must have pleased my father," added Albert with
a laugh. "And thus they parted the best possible friends, and M. de
Morcerf even wished to take him to the Chamber to hear the speakers."
The countess made no reply. She fell into so deep a revery that her eyes
gradually closed. The young man, standing up before her, gazed upon
her with that filial affection which is so tender and endearing with
children whose mothers are still young and handsome. Then, after seeing
her eyes closed, and hearing her breathe gently, he believed she had
dropped asleep, and left the apartment on tiptoe, closing the door after
him with the utmost precaution. "This devil of a fellow," he muttered,
shaking his head; "I said at the time he would create a sensation here,
and I measure his effect by an infallible thermometer. My mother has
noticed him, and he must therefore, perforce, be remarkable." He
went down to the stables, not without some slight annoyance, when
he remembered that the Count of Monte Cristo had laid his hands on a
"turnout" which sent his bays down to second place in the opinion of
connoisseurs. "Most decidedly," said he, "men are not equal, and I must
beg my father to develop this theorem in the Chamber of Peers."
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