Chapter 41. The Presentation
When Albert found himself alone with Monte Cristo, “My dear count,” saidhe, “allow me to commence my services as cicerone by showing you aspecimen of a bachelor’s apartment. You, who are accustomed to thepalaces of Italy, can amuse yourself by calculating in how many squarefeet a young man who is not the worst lodged in Paris can live. As wepass from one room to another, I will open the windows to let youbreathe.”
Monte Cristo had already seen the breakfast-room and the salon on theground floor. Albert led him first to his atelier, which was, as we havesaid, his favorite apartment. Monte Cristo quickly appreciated all thatAlbert had collected here—old cabinets, Japanese porcelain, Orientalstuffs, Venetian glass, arms from all parts of the world—everything wasfamiliar to him; and at the first glance he recognized their date, theircountry, and their origin.
Morcerf had expected he should be the guide; on the contrary, it was hewho, under the count’s guidance, followed a course of archæology,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 werelandscapes by Dupré, with their long reeds and tall trees, their lowingoxen and marvellous skies; Delacroix’s Arabian cavaliers, with theirlong white burnouses, their shining belts, their damasked arms, theirhorses, who tore each other with their teeth while their riderscontended fiercely with their maces; aquarelles of Boulanger,representing Notre Dame de Paris with that vigor that makes the artistthe rival of the poet; there were paintings by Diaz, who makes hisflowers more beautiful than flowers, his suns more brilliant than thesun; designs by Decamp, as vividly colored as those of Salvator Rosa,but more poetic; pastels by Giraud and Müller, representing childrenlike angels and women with the features of a virgin; sketches torn fromthe album of Dauzats’ “Travels in the East,” that had been made in a fewseconds on the saddle of a camel, or beneath the dome of a mosque—in aword, all that modern art can give in exchange and as recompense for theart lost and gone with ages long since past.
Albert expected to have something new this time to show to thetraveller, but, to his great surprise, the latter, without seeking forthe signatures, many of which, indeed, were only initials, namedinstantly the author of every picture in such a manner that it was easyto see that each name was not only known to him, but that each styleassociated with it had been appreciated and studied by him. From thesalon they passed into the bedchamber; it was a model of taste andsimple elegance. A single portrait, signed by Léopold Robert, shone inits carved and gilded frame. This portrait attracted the Count of MonteCristo’s attention, for he made three rapid steps in the chamber, andstopped suddenly before it.
It was the portrait of a young woman of five or six-and-twenty, with adark complexion, and light and lustrous eyes, veiled beneath longlashes. She wore the picturesque costume of the Catalan fisherwomen, ared and black bodice, and golden pins in her hair. She was looking atthe sea, and her form was outlined on the blue ocean and sky. The lightwas so faint in the room that Albert did not perceive the pallor thatspread itself over the count’s visage, or the nervous heaving of hischest and shoulders. Silence prevailed for an instant, during whichMonte Cristo gazed intently on the picture.
“You have there a most charming mistress, viscount,” said the count in aperfectly calm tone; “and this costume—a ball costume, doubtless—becomesher admirably.”
“Ah, monsieur,” returned Albert, “I would never forgive you this mistakeif 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 oreight years ago. This costume is a fancy one, it appears, and theresemblance is so great that I think I still see my mother the same asshe was in 1830. The countess had this portrait painted during thecount’s absence. She doubtless intended giving him an agreeablesurprise; but, strange to say, this portrait seemed to displease myfather, and the value of the picture, which is, as you see, one of thebest works of Léopold Robert, could not overcome his dislike to it. Itis true, between ourselves, that M. de Morcerf is one of the mostassiduous peers at the Luxembourg, a general renowned for theory, but amost mediocre amateur of art. It is different with my mother, who paintsexceedingly 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 mytalking of family matters, but as I shall have the honor of introducingyou to the count, I tell you this to prevent you making any allusions tothis picture. The picture seems to have a malign influence, for mymother rarely comes here without looking at it, and still more rarelydoes she look at it without weeping. This disagreement is the only onethat has ever taken place between the count and countess, who are stillas much united, although married more than twenty years, as on the firstday of their wedding.”
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Monte Cristo glanced rapidly at Albert, as if to seek a hidden meaningin his words, but it was evident the young man uttered them in thesimplicity of his heart.
“Now,” said Albert, “that you have seen all my treasures, allow me tooffer them to you, unworthy as they are. Consider yourself as in yourown house, and to put yourself still more at your ease, pray accompanyme to the apartments of M. de Morcerf, he whom I wrote from Rome anaccount of the services you rendered me, and to whom I announced yourpromised visit, and I may say that both the count and countess anxiouslydesire to thank you in person. You are somewhat blasé I know, and familyscenes have not much effect on Sinbad the Sailor, who has seen so manyothers. However, accept what I propose to you as an initiation intoParisian life—a life of politeness, visiting, and introductions.”
Monte Cristo bowed without making any answer; he accepted the offerwithout enthusiasm and without regret, as one of those conventions ofsociety which every gentleman looks upon as a duty. Albert summoned hisservant, and ordered him to acquaint M. and Madame de Morcerf of thearrival of the Count of Monte Cristo. Albert followed him with thecount. When they arrived at the antechamber, above the door was visiblea shield, which, by its rich ornaments and its harmony with the rest ofthe furniture, indicated the importance the owner attached to thisblazon. 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, thatenables me to decipher them, I am very ignorant of heraldry—I, a countof a fresh creation, fabricated in Tuscany by the aid of a commandery ofSt. Stephen, and who would not have taken the trouble had I not beentold that when you travel much it is necessary. Besides, you must havesomething on the panels of your carriage, to escape being searched bythe custom-house officers. Excuse my putting such a question to you.”
“It is not indiscreet,” returned Morcerf, with the simplicity ofconviction. “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 amSpanish, but the family of Morcerf is French, and, I have heard, one ofthe oldest of the south of France.”
“Yes,” replied Monte Cristo “these blazons prove that. Almost all thearmed pilgrims that went to the Holy Land took for their arms either across, in honor of their mission, or birds of passage, in sign of thelong voyage they were about to undertake, and which they hoped toaccomplish on the wings of faith. One of your ancestors had joined theCrusades, and supposing it to be only that of St. Louis, that makes youmount to the thirteenth century, which is tolerably ancient.”
“It is possible,” said Morcerf; “my father has in his study agenealogical tree which will tell you all that, and on which I madecommentaries that would have greatly edified d’Hozier and Jaucourt. Atpresent I no longer think of it, and yet I must tell you that we arebeginning to occupy ourselves greatly with these things under ourpopular government.”
“Well, then, your government would do well t
o choose from the pastsomething 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 thegovernment, for your arms are really beautiful, and speak to theimagination. Yes, you are at once from Provence and Spain; thatexplains, if the portrait you showed me be like, the dark hue I so muchadmired on the visage of the noble Catalan.”
It would have required the penetration of ?'dipus or the Sphinx to havedivined the irony the count concealed beneath these words, apparentlyuttered with the greatest politeness. Morcerf thanked him with a smile,and pushed open the door above which were his arms, and which, as wehave said, opened into the salon. In the most conspicuous part of thesalon was another portrait. It was that of a man, from five to eight-and-thirty, in the uniform of a general officer, wearing the doubleepaulet of heavy bullion, that indicates superior rank, the ribbon ofthe 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 theSaviour, and on the left that of the grand cross of Charles III., whichproved that the person represented by the picture had served in the warsof Greece and Spain, or, what was just the same thing as regardeddecorations, had fulfilled some diplomatic mission in the two countries.
Monte Cristo was engaged in examining this portrait with no less carethan he had bestowed upon the other, when another door opened, and hefound 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 moustache and eyebrows contrasted strangely with hisalmost white hair, which was cut short, in the military fashion. He wasdressed in plain clothes, and wore at his button-hole the ribbons of thedifferent orders to which he belonged.
He entered with a tolerably dignified step, and some little haste. MonteCristo saw him advance towards him without making a single step. Itseemed as if his feet were rooted to the ground, and his eyes on theCount of Morcerf.
“Father,” said the young man, “I have the honor of presenting to you theCount of Monte Cristo, the generous friend whom I had the good fortuneto meet in the critical situation of which I have told you.”
“You are most welcome, monsieur,” said the Count of Morcerf, salutingMonte Cristo with a smile, “and monsieur has rendered our house, inpreserving its only heir, a service which insures him our eternalgratitude.”
As he said these words, the count of Morcerf pointed to a chair, whilehe seated himself in another opposite the window.
Monte Cristo, in taking the seat Morcerf offered him, placed himself insuch a manner as to remain concealed in the shadow of the large velvetcurtains, and read on the careworn and livid features of the count awhole history of secret griefs written in each wrinkle time had plantedthere.
“The countess,” said Morcerf, “was at her toilet when she was informedof the visit she was about to receive. She will, however, be in thesalon in ten minutes.”
“It is a great honor to me,” returned Monte Cristo, “to be thus, on thefirst day of my arrival in Paris, brought in contact with a man whosemerit equals his reputation, and to whom fortune has for once beenequitable, but has she not still on the plains of Mitidja, or in themountains 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 firstcampaign under the orders of Marshal Bourmont. I could, therefore,expect a higher rank, and who knows what might have happened had theelder branch remained on the throne? But the Revolution of July was, itseems, sufficiently glorious to allow itself to be ungrateful, and itwas so for all services that did not date from the imperial period. Itendered my resignation, for when you have gained your epaulets on thebattle-field, you do not know how to manœuvre on the slippery grounds ofthe salons. I have hung up my sword, and cast myself into politics. Ihave devoted myself to industry; I study the useful arts. During thetwenty 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 amplefortune, you have consented to gain your promotion as an obscuresoldier, step by step—this is uncommon; then become general, peer ofFrance, commander of the Legion of Honor, you consent to again commencea second apprenticeship, without any other hope or any other desire thanthat of one day becoming useful to your fellow-creatures; this, indeed,is praiseworthy,—nay, more, it is sublime.”
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Albert looked on and listened with astonishment; he was not used to seeMonte Cristo give vent to such bursts of enthusiasm.
“Alas,” continued the stranger, doubtless to dispel the slight cloudthat covered Morcerf’s brow, “we do not act thus in Italy; we growaccording to our race and our species, and we pursue the same lines, andoften 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. Shetreats her children ill, but she always welcomes strangers.”
“Ah, father,” said Albert with a smile, “it is evident you do not knowthe Count of Monte Cristo; he despises all honors, and contents himselfwith those written on his passport.”
“That is the most just remark,” replied the stranger, “I ever heard madeconcerning myself.”
“You have been free to choose your career,” observed the Count ofMorcerf, with a sigh; “and you have chosen the path strewed withflowers.”
“Precisely, monsieur,” replied Monte Cristo with one of those smilesthat a painter could never represent or a physiologist analyze.
“If I did not fear to fatigue you,” said the general, evidently charmedwith the count’s manners, “I would have taken you to the Chamber; thereis a debate very curious to those who are strangers to our modernsenators.”
“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 beingintroduced 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 theentrance of the salon, at the door opposite to that by which her husbandhad entered, pale and motionless; when Monte Cristo turned round, shelet fall her arm, which for some unknown reason had been resting on thegilded door-post. She had been there some moments, and had heard thelast 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 theheat 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 firsttime, the man without whose intervention we should have been in tearsand desolation. Monsieur,” continued the countess, advancing with themajesty of a queen, “I owe to you the life of my son, and for this Ibless you. Now, I thank you for the pleasure you give me in thusaffording me the opportunity of thanking you as I have blessed you, fromthe bottom of my heart.”
The count bowed again, but lower than before; he was even paler thanMercédès.
“Madame,” said he, “the count and yourself recompense too generously asimple action. To save a man, to spare a father’s feelings, or amother’s sensibility, is not to do a good action, but a simple deed ofhumanity.”
At these words, uttered with the most exquisite sweetness andpoliteness, 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 Mercédès raised her fine eyes to heaven with so fervent anexpression of gratitude, that the cou
nt fancied he saw tears in them. M.de Morcerf approached her.
“Madame,” said he. “I have already made my excuses to the count forquitting him, and I pray you to do so also. The sitting commences attwo; it is now three, and I am to speak.”
“Go, then, and monsieur and I will strive our best to forget yourabsence,” replied the countess, with the same tone of deep feeling.“Monsieur,” continued she, turning to Monte Cristo, “will you do us thehonor of passing the rest of the day with us?”
“Believe me, madame, I feel most grateful for your kindness, but I gotout of my travelling carriage at your door this morning, and I amignorant how I am installed in Paris, which I scarcely know; this is buta trifling inquietude, I know, but one that may be appreciated.”
“We shall have the pleasure another time,” said the countess; “youpromise that?”
Monte Cristo inclined himself without answering, but the gesture mightpass for assent.
“I will not detain you, monsieur,” continued the countess; “I would nothave our gratitude become indiscreet or importunate.”
“My dear Count,” said Albert, “I will endeavor to return your politenessat Rome, and place my coupé at your disposal until your own be ready.”
“A thousand thanks for your kindness, viscount,” returned the Count ofMonte Cristo “but I suppose that M. Bertuccio has suitably employed thefour hours and a half I have given him, and that I shall find a carriageof some sort ready at the door.”
Albert was used to the count’s manner of proceeding; he knew that, likeNero, 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 hadbeen executed, he accompanied him to the door of the house. Monte Cristowas not deceived. As soon as he appeared in the Count of Morcerf’santechamber, a footman, the same who at Rome had brought the count’scard to the two young men, and announced his visit, sprang into thevestibule, and when he arrived at the door the illustrious travellerfound his carriage awaiting him. It was a coupé of Koller’s building,and with horses and harness for which Drake had, to the knowledge of allthe lions of Paris, refused on the previous day seven hundred guineas.
“Monsieur,” said the count to Albert, “I do not ask you to accompany meto 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 beingtaken 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 notbe a house I shall see, but a palace. You have decidedly some genius atyour control.”
“Ma foi, spread that idea,” replied the Count of Monte Cristo, puttinghis foot on the velvet-lined steps of his splendid carriage, “and thatwill be worth something to me among the ladies.”
As he spoke, he sprang into the vehicle, the door was closed, but not sorapidly that Monte Cristo failed to perceive the almost imperceptiblemovement which stirred the curtains of the apartment in which he hadleft Madame de Morcerf.
When Albert returned to his mother, he found her in the boudoirreclining in a large velvet armchair, the whole room so obscure thatonly the shining spangle, fastened here and there to the drapery, andthe angles of the gilded frames of the pictures, showed with some degreeof brightness in the gloom. Albert could not see the face of thecountess, 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 asthough her voice had altered. He could distinguish amid the perfumes ofthe roses and heliotropes in the flower-stands, the sharp and fragrantodor of volatile salts, and he noticed in one of the chased cups on themantle-piece the countess’s smelling-bottle, taken from its shagreencase, 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-flowersthrow out at first, before one is used to them, such violent perfumes.”
“Then, my dear mother,” said Albert, putting his hand to the bell, “theymust be taken into the antechamber. You are really ill, and just nowwere so pale as you came into the room——”
“Was I pale, Albert?”
“Yes; a pallor that suits you admirably, mother, but which did not theless alarm my father and myself.”
“Did your father speak of it?” inquired Mercédès eagerly.
“No, madame; but do you not remember that he spoke of the fact to you?”
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“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 theviscount; “they make the countess ill.”
The footman obeyed his orders. A long pause ensued, which lasted untilall the flowers were removed.
“What is this name of Monte Cristo?” inquired the countess, when theservant 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 islandin the Tuscan archipelago, and, as he told you today, has founded acommandery. You know the same thing was done for Saint Stephen ofFlorence, Saint George Constantinian of Parma, and even for the Order ofMalta. Except this, he has no pretensio