Chapter 50 The Morrel Family
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IN
A VERY few minutes the count reached No. 7 in the Rue Meslay. The house
was of white stone, and in a small court before it were two small beds
full of beautiful flowers. In the conciииrge
that opened the gate the count recognized Coclииs; but as he had but one eye, and that eye had
become somewhat dim in the course of nine years, Coclииs did not recognize the count.
The carriages that drove up to the door were compelled to turn, to avoid a
fountain that played in a basin of rockwork,--an ornament that had excited
the jealousy of the whole quarter, and had gained for the place the
appellation of "The Little Versailles." It
is needless to add that there were gold and silver fish in the basin. The
house, with kitchens and cellars below, had above the ground-floor, two
stories and attics. The whole of the property, consisting of an immense
workshop, two pavilions at the bottom of the garden, and the garden
itself, had been purchased by Emmanuel, who had seen at a glance that he
could make of it a profitable speculation. He had reserved the house and
half the garden, and building a wall between the garden and the workshops,
had let them upon lease with the pavilions at the bottom of the garden. So
that for a trifling sum he was as well lodged, and as perfectly shut out
from observation, as the inhabitants of the finest mansion in the Faubourg
St. Germain. The breakfast-room was finished in oak; the salon in
mahogany, and the furnishings were of blue velvet; the bedroom was in
citronwood and green damask. There was a study for Emmanuel, who never
studied, and a music-room for Julie, who never played. The whole of the
second story was set apart for Maximilian; it was precisely similar to his
sister's apartments, except that for the breakfast-parlor he had a
billiard-room, where he received his friends. He was superintending the
grooming of his horse, and smoking his cigar at the entrance of the
garden, when the count's carriage stopped at the gate. Coclииs opened the gate, and Baptistin,
springing from the box, inquired whether Monsieur and Madame Herbault and
Monsieur Maximilian Morrel would see his excellency the Count of Monte
Cristo. "The Count of Monte Cristo?" cried Morrel, throwing away
his cigar and hastening to the carriage; "I should think we would see
him. Ah, a thousand thanks, count, for not having forgotten your
promise." And the young officer shook the count's hand so warmly,
that Monte Cristo could not be mistaken as to the sincerity of his joy,
and he saw that he had been expected with impatience, and was received
with pleasure. "Come, come," said Maximilian, "I will serve
as your guide; such a man as you are ought not to be introduced by a
servant. My sister is in the garden plucking the dead roses; my brother is
reading his two papers, the Presse and the Dижbats, within six steps of her;
for wherever you see Madame Herbault, you have only to look within a
circle of four yards and you will find M. Emmanuel, and 'reciprocally,' as
they say at the Polytechnic School." At
the sound of their steps a young woman of twenty to five and twenty,
dressed in a silk morning gown, and busily engaged in plucking the dead
leaves off a noisette rose-tree, raised her head. This was Julie, who had
become, as the clerk of the house of Thomson & French had predicted,
Madame Emmanuel Herbault. She uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of a
stranger, and Maximilian began to laugh. "Don't disturb yourself,
Julie," said he. "The count has only been two or three days in
Paris, but he already knows what a fashionable woman of the Marais is, and
if he does not, you will show him." "Ah,
monsieur," returned Julie, "it is treason in my brother to bring
you thus, but he never has any regard for his poor sister. Penelon,
Penelon!" An old man, who was digging busily at one of the beds,
stuck his spade in the earth, and approached, cap in hand, striving to
conceal a quid of tobacco he had just thrust into his cheek. A few locks
of gray mingled with his hair, which was still thick and matted, while his
bronzed features and determined glance well suited an old sailor who had
braved the heat of the equator and the storms of the tropics. "I
think you hailed me, Mademoiselle Julie?" said he. Penelon had still
preserved the habit of calling his master's daughter "Mademoiselle
Julie," and had never been able to change the name to Madame Herbault.
"Penelon," replied Julie, "go and inform M. Emmanuel of
this gentleman's visit, and Maximilian will conduct him to the
salon." Then, turning to Monte Cristo,--"I hope you will permit
me to leave you for a few minutes," continued she; and without
awaiting any reply, disappeared behind a clump of trees, and escaped to
the house by a lateral alley. "I
am sorry to see," observed Monte Cristo to Morrel, "that I cause
no small disturbance in your house." "Look
there," said Maximilian, laughing; "there is her husband
changing his jacket for a coat. I assure you, you are well known in the
Rue Meslay." "Your
family appears to be a very happy one," said the count, as if
speaking to himself. "Oh,
yes, I assure you, count, they want nothing that can render them happy;
they are young and cheerful, they are tenderly attached to each other, and
with twenty-five thousand francs a year they fancy themselves as rich as
Rothschild." "Five
and twenty thousand francs is not a large sum, however," replied
Monte Cristo, with a tone so sweet and gentle, that it went to
Maximilian's heart like the voice of a father; "but they will not be
content with that. Your brother-in-law is a barrister? a doctor?" "He
was a merchant, monsieur, and had succeeded to the business of my poor
father. M. Morrel, at his death, left 500,000 francs, which were divided
between my sister and myself, for we were his only children. Her husband,
who, when he married her, had no other patrimony than his noble probity,
his first-rate ability, and his spotless reputation, wished to possess as
much as his wife. He labored and toiled until he had amassed 250,000
francs; six years sufficed to achieve this object. Oh, I assure you, sir,
it was a touching spectacle to see these young creatures, destined by
their talents for higher stations, toiling together, and through their
unwillingness to change any of the customs of their paternal house, taking
six years to accomplish what less scrupulous people would have effected in
two or three. Marseilles resounded with their well-earned praises. At
last, one day, Emmanuel came to his wife, who had just finished making up
the accounts. 'Julie,' said he to her, 'Coclииs has just given me the last
rouleau of a hundred francs; that completes the 250,000 francs we had
fixed as the limits of our gains. Can you content yourself with the small
fortune which we shall possess for the future? Listen to me. Our house
transacts business to the amount of a million a year, from which we derive
an income of 40,000 francs. We can dispose of the business, if we please,
in an hour, for I have received a letter from M. Delaunay, in which he
offers to purchase the good-will of the house, to unite with his own, for
300,000 francs. Advise me what I had better do.'--'Emmanuel,' returned my
sister, 'the house of Morrel can only be carried on by a Morrel. Is it not
worth 300,000 francs to save our father's name from the chances of evil
fortune and failure?'--'I thought so,' replied Emmanuel; 'but I wished to
have your advice.'--'This is my counsel:--Our accounts are made up and our
bills paid; all we have to do is to stop the issue of any more, and close
our office.' This was done instantly. It was three o'clock; at a quarter
past, a merchant presented himself to insure two ships; it was a clear
profit of 15,000 francs. 'Monsieur,' said Emmanuel, 'have the goodness to
address yourself to M. Delaunay. We have quitted business.'--'How long?'
inquired the astonished merchant. 'A quarter of an hour,' was the reply.
And this is the reason, monsieur," continued Maximilian, "of my
sister and brother-in-law having only 25,000 francs a year." Maximilian
had scarcely finished his story, during which the count's heart had
swelled within him, when Emmanuel entered wearing a hat and coat. He
saluted the count with the air of a man who is aware of the rank of his
guest; then, after having led Monte Cristo around the little garden, he
returned to the house. A large vase of Japan porcelain, filled with
flowers that loaded the air with their perfume, stood in the salon. Julie,
suitably dressed, and her hair arranged (she had accomplished this feat in
less than ten minutes), received the count on his entrance. The songs of
the birds were heard in an aviary hard by, and the branches of laburnums
and rose acacias formed an exquisite framework to the blue velvet
curtains. Everything in this charming retreat, from the warble of the
birds to the smile of the mistress, breathed tranquillity and repose. The
count had felt the influence of this happiness from the moment he entered
the house, and he remained silent and pensive, forgetting that he was
expected to renew the conversation, which had ceased after the first
salutations had been exchanged. The silence became almost painful when, by
a violent effort, tearing himself from his pleasing
reverie--"Madame," said he at length, "I pray you to excuse
my emotion, which must astonish you who are only accustomed to the
happiness I meet here; but contentment is so new a sight to me, that I
could never be weary of looking at yourself and your husband." "We
are very happy, monsieur," replied Julie; "but we have also
known unhappiness, and few have ever undergone more bitter sufferings than
ourselves." The Count's features displayed an expression of the most
intense curiosity. "Oh,
all this is a family history, as Chateau-Renaud told you the other
day," observed Maximilian. "This humble picture would have but
little interest for you, accustomed as you are to behold the pleasures and
the misfortunes of the wealthy and industrious; but such as we are, we
have experienced bitter sorrows." "And
God has poured balm into your wounds, as he does into those of all who are
in affliction?" said Monte Cristo inquiringly. "Yes,
count," returned Julie, "we may indeed say he has, for he has
done for us what he grants only to his chosen; he sent us one of his
angels." The count's cheeks became scarlet, and he coughed, in order
to have an excuse for putting his handkerchief to his mouth. "Those
born to wealth, and who have the means of gratifying every wish,"
said Emmanuel, "know not what is the real happiness of life, just as
those who have been tossed on the stormy waters of the ocean on a few
frail planks can alone realize the blessings of fair weather." Monte
Cristo rose, and without making any answer (for the tremulousness of his
voice would have betrayed his emotion) walked up and down the apartment
with a slow step. "Our
magnificence makes you smile, count," said Maximilian, who had
followed him with his eyes. "No, no," returned Monte Cristo,
pale as death, pressing one hand on his heart to still its throbbings,
while with the other he pointed to a crystal cover, beneath which a silken
purse lay on a black velvet cushion. "I was wondering what could be
the significance of this purse, with the paper at one end and the large
diamond at the other." "Count,"
replied Maximilian, with an air of gravity, "those are our most
precious family treasures." "The
stone seems very brilliant," answered the count. "Oh,
my brother does not allude to its value, although it has been estimated at
100,000 francs; he means, that the articles contained in this purse are
the relics of the angel I spoke of just now." "This
I do not comprehend; and yet I may not ask for an explanation, madame,"
replied Monte Cristo bowing. "Pardon me, I had no intention of
committing an indiscretion." "Indiscretion,--oh,
you make us happy by giving us an excuse for expatiating on this subject.
If we wanted to conceal the noble action this purse commemorates, we
should not expose it thus to view. Oh, would we could relate it
everywhere, and to every one, so that the emotion of our unknown
benefactor might reveal his presence." "Ah,
really," said Monte Cristo in a half-stifled voice. "Monsieur,"
returned Maximilian, raising the glass cover, and respectfully kissing the
silken purse, "this has touched the hand of a man who saved my father
from suicide, us from ruin, and our name from shame and disgrace,--a man
by whose matchless benevolence we poor children, doomed to want and
wretchedness, can at present hear every one envying our happy lot. This
letter" (as he spoke, Maximilian drew a letter from the purse and
gave it to the count)--"this letter was written by him the day that
my father had taken a desperate resolution, and this diamond was given by
the generous unknown to my sister as her dowry." Monte Cristo opened
the letter, and read it with an indescribable feeling of delight. It was
the letter written (as our readers know) to Julie, and signed "Sinbad
the Sailor." "Unknown you say, is the man who rendered you this
service--unknown to you?" "Yes;
we have never had the happiness of pressing his hand," continued
Maximilian. "We have supplicated heaven in vain to grant us this
favor, but the whole affair has had a mysterious meaning that we cannot
comprehend--we have been guided by an invisible hand,--a hand as powerful
as that of an enchanter." "Oh,"
cried Julie, "I have not lost all hope of some day kissing that hand,
as I now kiss the purse which he has touched. Four years ago, Penelon was
at Trieste--Penelon, count, is the old sailor you saw in the garden, and
who, from quartermaster, has become gardener--Penelon, when he was at
Trieste, saw on the quay an Englishman, who was on the point of embarking
on board a yacht, and he recognized him as the person who called on my
father the fifth of June, 1829, and who wrote me this letter on the fifth
of September. He felt convinced of his identity, but he did not venture to
address him." "An
Englishman," said Monte Cristo, who grew uneasy at the attention with
which Julie looked at him. "An Englishman you say?" "Yes,"
replied Maximilian, "an Englishman, who represented himself as the
confidential clerk of the house of Thomson & French, at Rome. It was
this that made me start when you said the other day, at M. de Morcerf's,
that Messrs. Thomson & French were your bankers. That happened, as I
told you, in 1829. For God's sake, tell me, did you know this
Englishman?" "But
you tell me, also, that the house of Thomson & French have constantly
denied having rendered you this service?" "Yes."
"Then
is it not probable that this Englishman may be some one who, grateful for
a kindness your father had shown him, and which he himself had forgotten,
has taken this method of requiting the obligation?" "Everything
is possible in this affair, even a miracle." "What
was his name?" asked Monte Cristo. "He
gave no other name," answered Julie, looking earnestly at the count,
"than that at the end of his letter--'Sinbad the Sailor.'" "Which
is evidently not his real name, but a fictitious one." Then,
noticing that Julie was struck with the sound of his voice,-- "Tell
me," continued he, "was he not about my height, perhaps a little
taller, with his chin imprisoned, as it were, in a high cravat; his coat
closely buttoned up, and constantly taking out his pencil?" "Oh,
do you then know him?" cried Julie, whose eyes sparkled with joy. "No,"
returned Monte Cristo "I only guessed. I knew a Lord Wilmore, who was
constantly doing actions of this kind." "Without
revealing himself?" "He
was an eccentric being, and did not believe in the existence of
gratitude." "Oh,
heaven," exclaimed Julie, clasping her hands, "in what did he
believe, then?" "He
did not credit it at the period which I knew him," said Monte Cristo,
touched to the heart by the accents of Julie's voice; "but, perhaps,
since then he has had proofs that gratitude does exist." "And
do you know this gentleman, monsieur?" inquired Emmanuel. "Oh,
if you do know him," cried Julie, "can you tell us where he
is--where we can find him? Maximilian--Emmanuel--if we do but discover
him, he must believe in the gratitude of the heart!" Monte Cristo
felt tears start into his eyes, and he again walked hastily up and down
the room. "In
the name of heaven," said Maximilian, "if you know anything of
him, tell us what it is." "Alas,"
cried Monte Cristo, striving to repress his emotion, "if Lord Wilmore
was your unknown benefactor, I fear you will never see him again. I parted
from him two years ago at Palermo, and he was then on the point of setting
out for the most remote regions; so that I fear he will never
return." "Oh,
monsieur, this is cruel of you," said Julie, much affected; and the
young lady's eyes swam with tears. "Madame,"
replied Monte Cristo gravely, and gazing earnestly on the two liquid
pearls that trickled down Julie's cheeks, "had Lord Wilmore seen what
I now see, he would become attached to life, for the tears you shed would
reconcile him to mankind;" and he held out his hand to Julie, who
gave him hers, carried away by the look and accent of the count.
"But," continued she, "Lord Wilmore had a family or
friends, he must have known some one, can we not--" "Oh,
it is useless to inquire," returned the count; "perhaps, after
all, he was not the man you seek for. He was my friend: he had no secrets
from me, and if this had been so he would have confided in me." "And
he told you nothing?" "Not
a word." "Nothing
that would lead you to suppose?" "Nothing."
"And
yet you spoke of him at once." "Ah,
in such a case one supposes"-- "Sister,
sister," said Maximilian, coming to the count's aid, "monsieur
is quite right. Recollect what our excellent father so often told us, 'It
was no Englishman that thus saved us.'" Monte Cristo started.
"What did your father tell you, M. Morrel?" said he eagerly. "My
father thought that this action had been miraculously performed--he
believed that a benefactor had arisen from the grave to save us. Oh, it
was a touching superstition, monsieur, and although I did not myself
believe it, I would not for the world have destroyed my father's faith.
How often did he muse over it and pronounce the name of a dear friend--a
friend lost to him forever; and on his death-bed, when the near approach
of eternity seemed to have illumined his mind with supernatural light,
this thought, which had until then been but a doubt, became a conviction,
and his last words were, 'Maximilian, it was Edmond Dantииs!'"
At these words the count's paleness, which had for some time been
increasing, became alarming; he could not speak; he looked at his watch
like a man who has forgotten the hour, said a few hurried words to Madame
Herbault, and pressing the hands of Emmanuel and
Maximilian,--"Madame," said he, "I trust you will allow me
to visit you occasionally; I value your friendship, and feel grateful to
you for your welcome, for this is the first time for many years that I
have thus yielded to my feelings;" and he hastily quitted the
apartment. "This
Count of Monte Cristo is a strange man," said Emmanuel. "Yes,"
answered Maximilian, "but I feel sure he has an excellent heart, and
that he likes us." "His
voice went to my heart," observed Julie; "and two or three times
I fancied that I had heard it before." |
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