The Count of Monte Cristo
even in the face of grim Death himself. All that, however, has nothing
to do with my obligations to you, and I now come to ask you whether, in
my own person, my family, or connections, I can in any way serve you?
My father, the Comte de Morcerf, although of Spanish origin, possesses
considerable influence, both at the court of France and Madrid, and I
unhesitatingly place the best services of myself, and all to whom my
life is dear, at your disposal.”
“Monsieur de Morcerf,” replied the count, “your offer, far from
surprising me, is precisely what I expected from you, and I accept it
in the same spirit of hearty sincerity with which it is made;—nay, I
will go still further, and say that I had previously made up my mind to
ask a great favor at your hands.”
“Oh, pray name it.”
“I am wholly a stranger to Paris—it is a city I have never yet seen.”
“Is it possible,” exclaimed Albert, “that you have reached your present
age without visiting the finest capital in the world? I can scarcely
credit it.”
“Nevertheless, it is quite true; still, I agree with you in thinking
that my present ignorance of the first city in Europe is a reproach to
me in every way, and calls for immediate correction; but, in all
probability, I should have performed so important, so necessary a duty,
as that of making myself acquainted with the wonders and beauties of
your justly celebrated capital, had I known any person who would have
introduced me into the fashionable world, but unfortunately I possessed
no acquaintance there, and, of necessity, was compelled to abandon the
idea.”
“So distinguished an individual as yourself,” cried Albert, “could
scarcely have required an introduction.”
“You are most kind; but as regards myself, I can find no merit I
possess, save that, as a millionaire, I might have become a partner in
the speculations of M. Aguado and M. Rothschild; but as my motive in
travelling to your capital would not have been for the pleasure of
dabbling in stocks, I stayed away till some favorable chance should
present itself of carrying my wish into execution. Your offer, however,
smooths all difficulties, and I have only to ask you, my dear M. de
Morcerf” (these words were accompanied by a most peculiar smile),
“whether you undertake, upon my arrival in France, to open to me the
doors of that fashionable world of which I know no more than a Huron or
a native of Cochin-China?”
“Oh, that I do, and with infinite pleasure,” answered Albert; “and so
much the more readily as a letter received this morning from my father
summons me to Paris, in consequence of a treaty of marriage (my dear
Franz, do not smile, I beg of you) with a family of high standing, and
connected with the very cream of Parisian society.”
“Connected by marriage, you mean,” said Franz, laughingly.
“Well, never mind how it is,” answered Albert, “it comes to the same
thing in the end. Perhaps by the time you return to Paris, I shall be
quite a sober, staid father of a family! A most edifying representative
I shall make of all the domestic virtues—don’t you think so? But as
regards your wish to visit our fine city, my dear count, I can only say
that you may command me and mine to any extent you please.”
“Then it is settled,” said the count, “and I give you my solemn
assurance that I only waited an opportunity like the present to realize
plans that I have long meditated.”
Franz did not doubt that these plans were the same concerning which the
count had dropped a few words in the grotto of Monte Cristo, and while
the count was speaking the young man watched him closely, hoping to
read something of his purpose in his face, but his countenance was
inscrutable especially when, as in the present case, it was veiled in a
sphinx-like smile.
“But tell me now, count,” exclaimed Albert, delighted at the idea of
having to chaperon so distinguished a person as Monte Cristo; “tell me
truly whether you are in earnest, or if this project of visiting Paris
is merely one of the chimerical and uncertain air castles of which we
make so many in the course of our lives, but which, like a house built
on the sand, is liable to be blown over by the first puff of wind?”
“I pledge you my honor,” returned the count, “that I mean to do as I
have said; both inclination and positive necessity compel me to visit
Paris.”
“When do you propose going thither?”
“Have you made up your mind when you shall be there yourself?”
“Certainly I have; in a fortnight or three weeks’ time, that is to say,
as fast as I can get there!”
“Nay,” said the Count; “I will give you three months ere I join you;
you see I make an ample allowance for all delays and difficulties.
“And in three months’ time,” said Albert, “you will be at my house?”
“Shall we make a positive appointment for a particular day and hour?”
inquired the count; “only let me warn you that I am proverbial for my
punctilious exactitude in keeping my engagements.”
“Day for day, hour for hour,” said Albert; “that will suit me to a
dot.”
“So be it, then,” replied the count, and extending his hand towards a
calendar, suspended near the chimney-piece, he said, “today is the 21st
of February;” and drawing out his watch, added, “it is exactly
half-past ten o’clock. Now promise me to remember this, and expect me
the 21st of May at the same hour in the forenoon.”
“Capital!” exclaimed Albert; “your breakfast shall be waiting.”
“Where do you live?”
“No. 27, Rue du Helder.”
“Have you bachelor’s apartments there? I hope my coming will not put
you to any inconvenience.”
“I reside in my father’s house, but occupy a pavilion at the farther
side of the courtyard, entirely separated from the main building.”
“Quite sufficient,” replied the count, as, taking out his tablets, he
wrote down “No. 27, Rue du Helder, 21st May, half-past ten in the
morning.”
“Now then,” said the count, returning his tablets to his pocket, “make
yourself perfectly easy; the hand of your time-piece will not be more
accurate in marking the time than myself.”
“Shall I see you again ere my departure?” asked Albert.
“That depends; when do you leave?”
“Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock.”
“In that case I must say adieu to you, as I am compelled to go to
Naples, and shall not return hither before Saturday evening or Sunday
morning. And you, baron,” pursued the count, addressing Franz, “do you
also depart tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“For France?”
“No, for Venice; I shall remain in Italy for another year or two.”
“Then we shall not meet in Paris?”
“I fear I shall not have that honor.”
“Well, since we must part,” said the count, holding out a hand to each
of the young men, “allow me to wish you both a safe and pleasant
journey.”
It was the first time the hand of Franz had come in contact with that
of the mysterious individual before him, and unconsciously he shuddered
at its touch, for it felt cold and icy as that of a corpse.
20219m
“Let us understand each other,” said Albert; “it is agreed—is it
not?—that you are to be at No. 27, in the Rue du Helder, on the 21st of
May, at half-past ten in the morning, and your word of honor passed for
your punctuality?”
“The 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning, Rue du Helder, No.
27,” replied the count.
The young men then rose, and bowing to the count, quitted the room.
“What is the matter?” asked Albert of Franz, when they had returned to
their own apartments; “you seem more than commonly thoughtful.”
“I will confess to you, Albert,” replied Franz, “the count is a very
singular person, and the appointment you have made to meet him in Paris
fills me with a thousand apprehensions.”
“My dear fellow,” exclaimed Albert, “what can there possibly be in that
to excite uneasiness? Why, you must have lost your senses.”
“Whether I am in my senses or not,” answered Franz, “that is the way I
feel.”
“Listen to me, Franz,” said Albert; “I am glad that the occasion has
presented itself for saying this to you, for I have noticed how cold
you are in your bearing towards the count, while he, on the other hand,
has always been courtesy itself to us. Have you anything particular
against him?”
“Possibly.”
“Did you ever meet him previously to coming hither?”
“I have.”
“And where?”
“Will you promise me not to repeat a single word of what I am about to
tell you?”
“I promise.”
“Upon your honor?”
“Upon my honor.”
“Then listen to me.”
Franz then related to his friend the history of his excursion to the
Island of Monte Cristo and of his finding a party of smugglers there,
and the two Corsican bandits with them. He dwelt with considerable
force and energy on the almost magical hospitality he had received from
the count, and the magnificence of his entertainment in the grotto of
the _Thousand and One Nights_.
He recounted, with circumstantial exactitude, all the particulars of
the supper, the hashish, the statues, the dream, and how, at his
awakening, there remained no proof or trace of all these events, save
the small yacht, seen in the distant horizon driving under full sail
toward Porto-Vecchio.
Then he detailed the conversation overheard by him at the Colosseum,
between the count and Vampa, in which the count had promised to obtain
the release of the bandit Peppino,—an engagement which, as our readers
are aware, he most faithfully fulfilled.
At last he arrived at the adventure of the preceding night, and the
embarrassment in which he found himself placed by not having sufficient
cash by six or seven hundred piastres to make up the sum required, and
finally of his application to the count and the picturesque and
satisfactory result that followed. Albert listened with the most
profound attention.
“Well,” said he, when Franz had concluded, “what do you find to object
to in all you have related? The count is fond of travelling, and, being
rich, possesses a vessel of his own. Go but to Portsmouth or
Southampton, and you will find the harbors crowded with the yachts
belonging to such of the English as can afford the expense, and have
the same liking for this amusement. Now, by way of having a
resting-place during his excursions, avoiding the wretched
cookery—which has been trying its best to poison me during the last
four months, while you have manfully resisted its effects for as many
years,—and obtaining a bed on which it is possible to slumber, Monte
Cristo has furnished for himself a temporary abode where you first
found him; but, to prevent the possibility of the Tuscan government
taking a fancy to his enchanted palace, and thereby depriving him of
the advantages naturally expected from so large an outlay of capital,
he has wisely enough purchased the island, and taken its name. Just ask
yourself, my good fellow, whether there are not many persons of our
acquaintance who assume the names of lands and properties they never in
their lives were masters of?”
“But,” said Franz, “the Corsican bandits that were among the crew of
his vessel?”
“Why, really the thing seems to me simple enough. Nobody knows better
than yourself that the bandits of Corsica are not rogues or thieves,
but purely and simply fugitives, driven by some sinister motive from
their native town or village, and that their fellowship involves no
disgrace or stigma; for my own part, I protest that, should I ever go
to Corsica, my first visit, ere even I presented myself to the mayor or
prefect, should be to the bandits of Colomba, if I could only manage to
find them; for, on my conscience, they are a race of men I admire
greatly.”
“Still,” persisted Franz, “I suppose you will allow that such men as
Vampa and his band are regular villains, who have no other motive than
plunder when they seize your person. How do you explain the influence