Literary Love

by Gabrielle Vigot

  “Baroness,” said Danglars, “give me leave to present to you the Count of Monte Cristo, who has been most warmly recommended to me by my correspondents at Rome. I need but mention one fact to make all the ladies in Paris court his notice, and that is, that he has come to take up his abode in Paris for a year, during which brief period he proposes to spend six millions of money. That means balls, dinners, and lawn parties without end, in all of which I trust the Count will remember us, as he may depend upon it we shall him, in our own humble entertainments.” In spite of the gross flattery and coarseness of this address, Madame Danglars could not forbear gazing with considerable interest on a man capable of expending six millions in twelve months, and who had selected Paris for the scene of his princely extravagance.

  “And when did you arrive here?” inquired she.

  “Yesterday morning, madame.”

  “Coming, as usual, I presume, from the extreme end of the globe? Pardon me—at least, such I have heard is your custom.”

  “Nay, madame. This time I have merely come from Cadiz.”

  “You have selected a most unfavorable moment for your first visit. Paris is a horrible place in summer. Balls, parties, and fetes are over; the Italian opera is in London; the French opera everywhere except in Paris. As for the Theatre Francais, you know, of course, that it is nowhere. The only amusements left us are the indifferent races at the Champ de Mars and Satory. Do you propose entering any horses at either of these races, Count?”

  “I shall do whatever they do at Paris, madame, if I have the good fortune to find someone who will initiate me into the prevalent ideas of amusement.”

  “Are you fond of horses, Count?”

  “I have passed a considerable part of my life in the East, madame, and you are doubtless aware that the Orientals value only two things—the fine breeding of their horses and the beauty of their women.”

  “Nay, Count,” said the baroness, “it would have been somewhat more gallant to have placed the ladies first.”

  “You see, madame, how rightly I spoke when I said I required a preceptor to guide me in all my sayings and doings here.” At this instant the favorite attendant of Madame Danglars entered the boudoir; approaching her mistress, she spoke some words in an undertone. Madame Danglars turned very pale, then exclaimed,—“I cannot believe it; the thing is impossible.”

  “I assure you, madame,” replied the woman, “it is as I have said.”

  Turning impatiently towards her husband, Madame Danglars demanded, “Is this true?”

  “Is what true, madame?” inquired Danglars, visibly agitated.

  “What my maid tells me.”

  “But what does she tell you?”

  “That when my coachman was about to harness the horses to my carriage, he discovered that they had been removed from the stables without his knowledge. I desire to know what is the meaning of this?”

  “Be kind enough, madame, to listen to me,” said Danglars.

  “Oh, yes; I will listen, monsieur, for I am most curious to hear what explanation you will give. These two gentlemen shall decide between us; but, first, I will state the case to them. Gentlemen,” continued the baroness, “among the ten horses in the stables of Baron Danglars, are two that belong exclusively to me—a pair of the handsomest and most spirited creatures to be found in Paris. But to you, at least, M. Debray, I need not give a further description, because to you my beautiful pair of dappled grays were well known. Well, I had promised Madame de Villefort the loan of my carriage to drive tomorrow to the Bois; but when my coachman goes to fetch the grays from the stables they are gone—positively gone. No doubt M. Danglars has sacrificed them to the selfish consideration of gaining some thousands of paltry francs. Oh, what a detestable crew they are, these mercenary speculators!”

  “Madame,” replied Danglars, “the horses were not sufficiently quiet for you; they were scarcely four years old, and they made me extremely uneasy on your account.”

  “Nonsense,” retorted the baroness; “you could not have entertained any alarm on the subject, because you are perfectly well aware that I have had for a month in my service the very best coachman in Paris. But, perhaps, you have disposed of the coachman as well as the horses?”

  “My dear love, pray do not say any more about them, and I promise you another pair exactly like them in appearance, only more quiet and steady.” The baroness shrugged her shoulders with an air of ineffable contempt, while her husband, affecting not to observe this unconjugal gesture, turned towards Monte Cristo and said,—“Upon my word, Count, I am quite sorry not to have met you sooner. You are setting up an establishment, of course?”

  “Why, yes,” replied the Count.

  “I should have liked to have made you the offer of these horses. I have almost given them away, as it is; but, as I before said, I was anxious to get rid of them upon any terms. They were only fit for a young man.”

  “I am much obliged by your kind intentions towards me,” said Monte Cristo; “but this morning I purchased a very excellent pair of carriage-horses, and I do not think they were dear. There they are. Come, M. Debray, you are a connoisseur, I believe, let me have your opinion upon them.” As Debray walked towards the window, Danglars approached his wife. “I could not tell you before others,” said he in a low tone, “the reason of my parting with the horses; but a most enormous price was offered me this morning for them. Some madman or fool, bent upon ruining himself as fast as he can, actually sent his steward to me to purchase them at any cost; and the fact is, I have gained 16,000 francs by the sale of them. Come, don’t look so angry, and you shall have 4,000 francs of the money to do what you like with, and Eugenie shall have 2,000. There, what do you think now of the affair? Wasn’t I right to part with the horses?” Madame Danglars surveyed her husband with a look of withering contempt.

  “Great heavens?” suddenly exclaimed Debray.

  “What is it?” asked the baroness.

  “I cannot be mistaken; there are your horses! The very animals we were speaking of, harnessed to the Count’s carriage!”

  “My dappled grays?” demanded the baroness, springing to the window. “‘Tis indeed they!” said she. Danglars looked absolutely stupefied. “How very singular,” cried Monte Cristo with well-feigned astonishment.

  “I cannot believe it,” murmured the banker. Madame Danglars whispered a few words in the ear of Debray, who approached Monte Cristo, saying, “The baroness wishes to know what you paid her husband for the horses.”

  “I scarcely know,” replied the Count; “it was a little surprise prepared for me by my steward, and cost me—well, somewhere about 30,000 francs.” Debray conveyed the Count’s reply to the baroness. Poor Danglars looked so crest-fallen and discomfited that Monte Cristo assumed a pitying air towards him. “See,” said the Count, “how very ungrateful women are. Your kind attention, in providing for the safety of the baroness by disposing of the horses, does not seem to have made the least impression on her. But so it is; a woman will often, from mere wilfulness, prefer that which is dangerous to that which is safe. Therefore, in my opinion, my dear baron, the best and easiest way is to leave them to their fancies, and allow them to act as they please, and then, if any mischief follows, why, at least, they have no one to blame but themselves.” Danglars made no reply; he was occupied in anticipations of the coming scene between himself and the baroness, whose frowning brow, like that of Olympic Jove, predicted a storm. Debray, who perceived the gathering clouds, and felt no desire to witness the explosion of Madame Danglars’ rage, suddenly recollected an appointment, which compelled him to take his leave; while Monte Cristo, unwilling by prolonging his stay to destroy the advantages he hoped to obtain, made a farewell bow and departed, leaving Danglars to endure the angry reproaches of his wife.

  “Excellent,” murmured Monte Cristo to himself, as he came away. “All has gone according to my wishes. The domestic peace of this family is henceforth in my hands. Now, then, to play another masterstroke, by which
I shall gain the heart of both husband and wife—delightful! Still,” added he, “amid all this, I have not yet been presented to Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars, whose acquaintance I should have been glad to make. But,” he went on with his peculiar smile, “I am here in Paris, and have plenty of time before me—by and by will do for that.” With these reflections he entered his carriage and returned home. Two hours afterwards, Madame Danglars received a most flattering epistle from the Count, in which he entreated her to receive back her favorite “dappled grays,” protesting that he could not endure the idea of making his entry into the Parisian world of fashion with the knowledge that his splendid equipage had been obtained at the price of a lovely woman’s regrets. The horses were sent back wearing the same harness she had seen on them in the morning; only, by the Count’s orders, in the centre ofeach rosette that adorned either side of their heads, had been fastened a large diamond.

  To Danglars Monte Cristo also wrote, requesting him to excuse the whimsical gift of a capricious millionaire, and to beg the baroness to pardon the Eastern fashion adopted in the return of the horses.

  During the evening, Monte Cristo quitted Paris for Auteuil, accompanied by Ali. The following day, about three o’clock, a single blow struck on the gong summoned Ali to the presence of the Count. “Ali,” observed his master, as the Nubian entered the chamber, “you have frequently explained to me how more than commonly skilful you are in throwing the lasso, have you not?” Ali drew himself up proudly, and then returned a sign in the affirmative. “I thought I did not mistake. With your lasso you could stop an ox?” Again Ali repeated his affirmative gesture. “Or a tiger?” Ali bowed his head in token of assent. “A lion even?” Ali sprung forwards, imitating the action of one throwing the lasso, then of a strangled lion.

  “I understand,” said Monte Cristo; “you wish to tell me you have hunted the lion?” Ali smiled with triumphant pride as he signified that he had indeed both chased and captured many lions. “But do you believe you could arrest the progress of two horses rushing forwards with ungovernable fury?” The Nubian smiled. “It is well,” said Monte Cristo. “Then listen to me. Ere long a carriage will dash past here, drawn by the pair of dappled gray horses you saw me with yesterday; now, at the risk of your own life, you must manage to stop those horses before my door.”

  Ali descended to the street, and marked a straight line on the pavement immediately at the entrance of the house, and then pointed out the line he had traced to the Count, who was watching him. The Count patted him gently on the shoulder, his usual mode of praising Ali, who, pleased and gratified with the commission assigned him, walked calmly towards a projecting stone forming the angle of the street and house, and, seating himself thereon, began to smoke his chibouque, while Monte Cristo reentered his dwelling, perfectly assured of the success of his plan. Still, as five o’clock approached, and the carriage was momentarily expected by the Count, the indication of more than common impatience and uneasiness might be observed in his manner. He stationed himself in a room commanding a view of the street, pacing the chamber with restless steps, stopping merely to listen from time to time for the sound of approaching wheels, then to cast an anxious glance on Ali; but the regularity with which the Nubian puffed forth the smoke of his chibouque proved that he at least was wholly absorbed in the enjoyment of his favorite occupation. Suddenly a distant sound of rapidly advancing wheels was heard, and almost immediately a carriage appeared, drawn by a pair of wild, ungovernable horses, while the terrified coachman strove in vain to restrain their furious speed.

  In the vehicle was a young woman and a child of about seven or eight clasped in each other’s arms. Terror seemed to have deprived them even of the power of uttering a cry. The carriage creaked and rattled as it flew over the rough stones, and the slightest obstacle under the wheels would have caused disaster; but it kept on in the middle of the road, and those who saw it pass uttered cries of terror.

  Ali suddenly cast aside his chibouque, drew the lasso from his pocket, threw it so skillfully as to catch the forelegs of the near horse in its triple fold, and suffered himself to be dragged on for a few steps by the violence of the shock, then the animal fell over on the pole, which snapped, and therefore prevented the other horse from pursuing its way. Gladly availing himself of this opportunity, the coachman leaped from his box; but Ali had promptly seized the nostrils of the second horse, and held them in his iron grasp, till the beast, snorting with pain, sunk beside his companion. All this was achieved in much less time than is occupied in the recital. The brief space had, however, been sufficient for a man, followed by a number of servants, to rush from the house before which the accident had occurred, and, as the coachman opened the door of the carriage, to take from it a lady who was convulsively grasping the cushions with one hand, while with the other she pressed to her bosom the young boy, who had lost consciousness.

  Monte Cristo carried them both to the salon, and deposited them on a sofa. “Compose yourself, madame,” said he; “all danger is over.” The woman looked up at these words, and, with a glance far more expressive than any entreaties could have been, pointed to her child, who still continued insensible. “I understand the nature of your alarms, madame,” said the Count, carefully examining the child, “but I assure you there is not the slightest occasion for uneasiness; your little charge has not received the least injury; his insensibility is merely the effects of terror, and will soon pass.”

  “Are you quite sure you do not say so to tranquillize my fears? See how deadly pale he is! My child, my darling Edward; speak to your mother—open your dear eyes and look on me once again! Oh, sir, in pity send for a physician; my whole fortune shall not be thought too much for the recovery of my boy.”

  With a calm smile and a gentle wave of the hand, Monte Cristo signed to the distracted mother to lay aside her apprehensions; then, opening a casket that stood near, he drew forth a phial of Bohemian glass incrusted with gold, containing a liquid of the color of blood, of which he let fall a single drop on the child’s lips. Scarcely had it reached them, ere the boy, though still pale as marble, opened his eyes, and eagerly gazed around him. At this, the delight of the mother was almost frantic. “Where am I?” exclaimed she; “and to whom am I indebted for so happy a termination to my late dreadful alarm?”

  “Madame,” answered the Count, “you are under the roof of one who esteems himself most fortunate in having been able to save you from a further continuance of your sufferings.”

  “My wretched curiosity has brought all this about,” pursued the lady. “All Paris rung with the praises of Madame Danglars’ beautiful horses, and I had the folly to desire to know whether they really merited the high praise given to them.”

  “Is it possible,” exclaimed the Count with well-feigned astonishment, “that these horses belong to the baroness?”

  “They do, indeed. May I inquire if you are acquainted with Madame Danglars?”

  “I have that honor; and my happiness at your escape from the danger that threatened you is redoubled by the consciousness that I have been the unwilling and the unintentional cause of all the peril you have incurred. I yesterday purchased these horses of the baron; but as the baroness evidently regretted parting with them, I ventured to send them back to her, with a request that she would gratify me by accepting them from my hands.”

  “You are, then, doubtless, the Count of Monte Cristo, of whom Hermine has talked to me so much?”

  “You have rightly guessed, madame,” replied the Count.

  “And I am Madame Heloise de Villefort.” The Count bowed with the air of a person who hears a name for the first time. “How grateful will M. de Villefort be for all your goodness; how thankfully will he acknowledge that to you alone he owes the existence of his wife and child! Most certainly, but for the prompt assistance of your intrepid servant, this dear child and myself must both have perished.”

  “Indeed, I still shudder at the fearful danger you were placed in.”

  “I trus
t you will allow me to recompense worthily the devotion of your man.”

  “I beseech you, madame,” replied Monte Cristo “not to spoil Ali, either by too great praise or rewards. I cannot allow him to acquire the habit of expecting to be recompensed for every trifling service he may render. Ali is my slave, and in saving your life he was but discharging his duty to me.”

  “Nay,” interposed Madame de Villefort, on whom the authoritative style adopted by the Count made a deep impression, “nay, but consider that to preserve my life he has risked his own.”

  “His life, madame, belongs not to him; it is mine, in return for my having myself saved him from death.” Madame de Villefort made no further reply; her mind was utterly absorbed in the contemplation of the person who, from the first instant she saw him, had made so powerful an impression on her. During the evident preoccupation of Madame de Villefort, Monte Cristo scrutinized the features and appearance of the boy she kept folded in her arms, lavishing on him the most tender endearments. The child was small for his age, and unnaturally pale. A mass of straight black hair, defying all attempts to train or curl it, fell over his projecting forehead, and hung down to his shoulders, giving increased vivacity to eyes already sparkling with a youthful love of mischief and fondness for every forbidden enjoyment. His mouth was large, and the lips, which had not yet regained their color, were particularly thin; in fact, the deep and crafty look, giving a predominant expression to the child’s face, belonged rather to a boy of twelve or fourteen than to one so young. His first movement was to free himself by a violent push from the encircling arms of his mother, and to rush forward to the casket from whence the Count had taken the phial of elixir; then, without asking permission of any one, he proceeded, in all the willfulness of a spoiled child unaccustomed to restrain either whims or caprices, to pull the corks out of all the bottles.