The Count of Monte Cristo
Mademoiselle Chastity-Modesty-Innocence Danglars; what a fine effect
that would have produced on the announcement of her marriage!”
“Hush,” said the count, “do not joke in so loud a tone; Haydée may hear
you, perhaps.”
“And you think she would be angry?”
“No, certainly not,” said the count with a haughty expression.
“She is very amiable, then, is she not?” said Albert.
“It is not to be called amiability, it is her duty; a slave does not
dictate to a master.”
“Come; you are joking yourself now. Are there any more slaves to be had
who bear this beautiful name?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Really, count, you do nothing, and have nothing like other people. The
slave of the Count of Monte Cristo! Why, it is a rank of itself in
France, and from the way in which you lavish money, it is a place that
must be worth a hundred thousand francs a year.”
“A hundred thousand francs! The poor girl originally possessed much
more than that; she was born to treasures in comparison with which
those recorded in the _Thousand and One Nights_ would seem but
poverty.”
“She must be a princess then.”
“You are right; and she is one of the greatest in her country too.”
“I thought so. But how did it happen that such a great princess became
a slave?”
“How was it that Dionysius the Tyrant became a schoolmaster? The
fortune of war, my dear viscount,—the caprice of fortune; that is the
way in which these things are to be accounted for.”
“And is her name a secret?”
“As regards the generality of mankind it is; but not for you, my dear
viscount, who are one of my most intimate friends, and on whose silence
I feel I may rely, if I consider it necessary to enjoin it—may I not do
so?”
“Certainly; on my word of honor.”
“You know the history of the Pasha of Yanina, do you not?”
“Of Ali Tepelini?13 Oh, yes; it was in his service that my father made
his fortune.”
“True, I had forgotten that.”
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“Well, what is Haydée to Ali Tepelini?”
“Merely his daughter.”
“What? the daughter of Ali Pasha?”
“Of Ali Pasha and the beautiful Vasiliki.”
“And your slave?”
“_Ma foi_, yes.”
“But how did she become so?”
“Why, simply from the circumstance of my having bought her one day, as
I was passing through the market at Constantinople.”
“Wonderful! Really, my dear count, you seem to throw a sort of magic
influence over all in which you are concerned; when I listen to you,
existence no longer seems reality, but a waking dream. Now, I am
perhaps going to make an imprudent and thoughtless request, but——”
“Say on.”
“But, since you go out with Haydée, and sometimes even take her to the
Opera——”
“Well?”
“I think I may venture to ask you this favor.”
“You may venture to ask me anything.”
“Well then, my dear count, present me to your princess.”
“I will do so; but on two conditions.”
“I accept them at once.”
“The first is, that you will never tell anyone that I have granted the
interview.”
“Very well,” said Albert, extending his hand; “I swear I will not.”
“The second is, that you will not tell her that your father ever served
hers.”
“I give you my oath that I will not.”
“Enough, viscount; you will remember those two vows, will you not? But
I know you to be a man of honor.”
The count again struck the gong. Ali reappeared. “Tell Haydée,” said
he, “that I will take coffee with her, and give her to understand that
I desire permission to present one of my friends to her.”
Ali bowed and left the room.
“Now, understand me,” said the count, “no direct questions, my dear
Morcerf; if you wish to know anything, tell me, and I will ask her.”
“Agreed.”
Ali reappeared for the third time, and drew back the tapestried hanging
which concealed the door, to signify to his master and Albert that they
were at liberty to pass on.
“Let us go in,” said Monte Cristo.
Albert passed his hand through his hair, and curled his moustache,
then, having satisfied himself as to his personal appearance, followed
the count into the room, the latter having previously resumed his hat
and gloves. Ali was stationed as a kind of advanced guard, and the door
was kept by the three French attendants, commanded by Myrtho.
Haydée was awaiting her visitors in the first room of her apartments,
which was the drawing-room. Her large eyes were dilated with surprise
and expectation, for it was the first time that any man, except Monte
Cristo, had been accorded an entrance into her presence. She was
sitting on a sofa placed in an angle of the room, with her legs crossed
under her in the Eastern fashion, and seemed to have made for herself,
as it were, a kind of nest in the rich Indian silks which enveloped
her. Near her was the instrument on which she had just been playing; it
was elegantly fashioned, and worthy of its mistress. On perceiving
Monte Cristo, she arose and welcomed him with a smile peculiar to
herself, expressive at once of the most implicit obedience and also of
the deepest love. Monte Cristo advanced towards her and extended his
hand, which she as usual raised to her lips.
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Albert had proceeded no farther than the door, where he remained rooted
to the spot, being completely fascinated by the sight of such
surpassing beauty, beheld as it was for the first time, and of which an
inhabitant of more northern climes could form no adequate idea.
“Whom do you bring?” asked the young girl in Romaic, of Monte Cristo;
“is it a friend, a brother, a simple acquaintance, or an enemy.”
“A friend,” said Monte Cristo in the same language.
“What is his name?”
“Count Albert; it is the same man whom I rescued from the hands of the
banditti at Rome.”
“In what language would you like me to converse with him?”
Monte Cristo turned to Albert. “Do you know modern Greek,” asked he.
“Alas! no,” said Albert; “nor even ancient Greek, my dear count; never
had Homer or Plato a more unworthy scholar than myself.”
“Then,” said Haydée, proving by her remark that she had quite
understood Monte Cristo’s question and Albert’s answer, “then I will
speak either in French or Italian, if my lord so wills it.”
Monte Cristo reflected one instant. “You will speak in Italian,” said
he.
Then, turning towards Albert,—“It is a pity you do not understand
either ancient or modern Greek, both of which Haydée speaks so
fluently; the poor child will be obliged to talk to you in Italian,
which will give you but a very false idea of her powers of
conversation.”
The count made a sign to Haydée to address his visitor. “Sir,” she said
to Morcerf, “you are most welcome as the friend of my lord and master.”
This was said in excellent Tuscan, and with that soft Roman accent
which makes the language of Dante as sonorous as that of Homer. Then,
turning to Ali, she directed him to bring coffee and pipes, and when he
had left the room to execute the orders of his young mistress she
beckoned Albert to approach nearer to her. Monte Cristo and Morcerf
drew their seats towards a small table, on which were arranged music,
drawings, and vases of flowers. Ali then entered bringing coffee and
chibouques; as to M. Baptistin, this portion of the building was
interdicted to him. Albert refused the pipe which the Nubian offered
him.
“Oh, take it—take it,” said the count; “Haydée is almost as civilized
as a Parisian; the smell of a Havana is disagreeable to her, but the
tobacco of the East is a most delicious perfume, you know.”
Ali left the room. The cups of coffee were all prepared, with the
addition of sugar, which had been brought for Albert. Monte Cristo and
Haydée took the beverage in the original Arabian manner, that is to
say, without sugar. Haydée took the porcelain cup in her little slender
fingers and conveyed it to her mouth with all the innocent artlessness
of a child when eating or drinking something which it likes. At this
moment two women entered, bringing salvers filled with ices and
sherbet, which they placed on two small tables appropriated to that
purpose.
“My dear host, and you, signora,” said Albert, in Italian, “excuse my
apparent stupidity. I am quite bewildered, and it is natural that it
should be so. Here I am in the heart of Paris; but a moment ago I heard
the rumbling of the omnibuses and the tinkling of the bells of the
lemonade-sellers, and now I feel as if I were suddenly transported to
the East; not such as I have seen it, but such as my dreams have
painted it. Oh, signora, if I could but speak Greek, your conversation,
added to the fairy-scene which surrounds me, would furnish an evening
of such delight as it would be impossible for me ever to forget.”
“I speak sufficient Italian to enable me to converse with you, sir,”
said Haydée quietly; “and if you like what is Eastern, I will do my
best to secure the gratification of your tastes while you are here.”
“On what subject shall I converse with her?” said Albert, in a low tone
to Monte Cristo.
“Just what you please; you may speak of her country and of her youthful
reminiscences, or if you like it better you can talk of Rome, Naples,
or Florence.”
“Oh,” said Albert, “it is of no use to be in the company of a Greek if
one converses just in the same style as with a Parisian; let me speak
to her of the East.”
“Do so then, for of all themes which you could choose that will be the
most agreeable to her taste.”
Albert turned towards Haydée. “At what age did you leave Greece,
signora?” asked he.
“I left it when I was but five years old,” replied Haydée.
“And have you any recollection of your country?”
“When I shut my eyes and think, I seem to see it all again. The mind
can see as well as the body. The body forgets sometimes; but the mind
always remembers.”
“And how far back into the past do your recollections extend?”
“I could scarcely walk when my mother, who was called Vasiliki, which
means royal,” said the young girl, tossing her head proudly, “took me
by the hand, and after putting in our purse all the money we possessed,
we went out, both covered with veils, to solicit alms for the
prisoners, saying, ‘He who giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.’
Then when our purse was full we returned to the palace, and without
saying a word to my father, we sent it to the convent, where it was
divided amongst the prisoners.”
“And how old were you at that time?”
“I was three years old,” said Haydée.
“Then you remember everything that went on about you from the time when
you were three years old?” said Albert.
“Everything.”
“Count,” said Albert, in a low tone to Monte Cristo, “do allow the
signora to tell me something of her history. You prohibited my
mentioning my father’s name to her, but perhaps she will allude to him
of her own accord in the course of the recital, and you have no idea
how delighted I should be to hear our name pronounced by such beautiful
lips.”
Monte Cristo turned to Haydée, and with an expression of countenance
which commanded her to pay the most implicit attention to his words, he
said in Greek, “Πατρὸς μὲν ἄτην μήζε τὸ ὄνομα προδότου καὶ προδοσίαν
εἰπὲ ἡμῖν,”—that is, “Tell us the fate of your father; but neither the
name of the traitor nor the treason.” Haydée sighed deeply, and a shade
of sadness clouded her beautiful brow.
“What are you saying to her?” said Morcerf in an undertone.
“I again reminded her that you were a friend, and that she need not
conceal anything from you.”
“Then,” said Albert, “this pious pilgrimage in behalf of the prisoners
was your first remembrance; what is the next?”
“Oh, then I remember as if it were but yesterday sitting under the
shade of some sycamore-trees, on the borders of a lake, in the waters
of which the trembling foliage was reflected as in a mirror. Under the
oldest and thickest of these trees, reclining on cushions, sat my