Chapter 62 Ghosts
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AT
FIRST SIGHT the exterior of the house at Auteuil gave no indications of
splendor, nothing one would expect from the destined residence of the
magnificent Count of Monte Cristo; but this simplicity was according to
the will of its master, who positively ordered nothing to be altered
outside. The splendor was within. Indeed, almost before the door opened,
the scene changed. M. Bertuccio had outdone himself in the taste displayed
in furnishing, and in the rapidity with which it was executed. It is told
that the Duc d'Antin removed in a single night a whole avenue of trees
that annoyed Louis XIV; in three days M. Bertuccio planted an entirely
bare court with poplars, large spreading sycamores to shade the different
parts of the house, and in the foreground, instead of the usual
paving-stones, half hidden by the grass, there extended a lawn but that
morning laid down, and upon which the water was yet glistening. For the
rest, the orders had been issued by the count; he himself had given a plan
to Bertuccio, marking the spot where each tree was to be planted, and the
shape and extent of the lawn which was to take the place of the
paving-stones. Thus the house had become unrecognizable, and Bertuccio
himself declared that he scarcely knew it, encircled as it was by a
framework of trees. The overseer would not have objected, while he was
about it, to have made some improvements in the garden, but the count had
positively forbidden it to be touched. Bertuccio made amends, however, by
loading the ante-chambers, staircases, and mantle-pieces with flowers. What,
above all, manifested the shrewdness of the steward, and the profound
science of the master, the one in carrying out the ideas of the other, was
that this house which appeared only the night before so sad and gloomy,
impregnated with that sickly smell one can almost fancy to be the smell of
time, had in a single day acquired the aspect of life, was scented with
its master's favorite perfumes, and had the very light regulated according
to his wish. When the count arrived, he had under his touch his books and
arms, his eyes rested upon his favorite pictures; his dogs, whose caresses
he loved, welcomed him in the ante-chamber; the birds, whose songs
delighted him, cheered him with their music; and the house, awakened from
its long sleep, like the sleeping beauty in the wood, lived, sang, and
bloomed like the houses we have long cherished, and in which, when we are
forced to leave them, we leave a part of our souls. The servants passed
gayly along the fine court-yard; some, belonging to the kitchens, gliding
down the stairs, restored but the previous day, as if they had always
inhabited the house; others filling the coach-houses, where the equipages,
encased and numbered, appeared to have been installed for the last fifty
years; and in the stables the horses replied with neighs to the grooms,
who spoke to them with much more respect than many servants pay their
masters. The
library was divided into two parts on either side of the wall, and
contained upwards of two thousand volumes; one division was entirely
devoted to novels, and even the volume which had been published but the
day before was to be seen in its place in all the dignity of its red and
gold binding. On the other side of the house, to match with the library,
was the conservatory, ornamented with rare flowers, that bloomed in china
jars; and in the midst of the greenhouse, marvellous alike to sight and
smell, was a billiard-table which looked as if it had been abandoned
during the past hour by players who had left the balls on the cloth. One
chamber alone had been respected by the magnificent Bertuccio. Before this
room, to which you could ascend by the grand, and go out by the back
staircase, the servants passed with curiosity, and Bertuccio with terror.
At five o'clock precisely, the count arrived before the house at Auteuil,
followed by Ali. Bertuccio was awaiting this arrival with impatience,
mingled with uneasiness; he hoped for some compliments, while, at the same
time, he feared to have frowns. Monte Cristo descended into the courtyard,
walked all over the house, without giving any sign of approbation or
pleasure, until he entered his bedroom, situated on the opposite side to
the closed room; then he approached a little piece of furniture, made of
rosewood, which he had noticed at a previous visit. "That can only be
to hold gloves," he said. "Will
your excellency deign to open it?" said the delighted Bertuccio,
"and you will find gloves in it." Elsewhere the count found
everything he required--smelling-bottles, cigars, knick-knacks. "Good,"
he said; and M. Bertuccio left enraptured, so great, so powerful, and real
was the influence exercised by this man over all who surrounded him. At
precisely six o'clock the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard at the
entrance door; it was our captain of Spahis, who had arrived on Medeah.
"I am sure I am the first," cried Morrel; "I did it on
purpose to have you a minute to myself, before every one came. Julie and
Emmanuel have a thousand things to tell you. Ah, really this is
magnificent! But tell me, count, will your people take care of my
horse?" "Do
not alarm yourself, my dear Maximilian--they understand." "I
mean, because he wants petting. If you had seen at what a pace he
came--like the wind!" "I
should think so,--a horse that cost 5,000 francs!" said Monte Cristo,
in the tone which a father would use towards a son. "Do
you regret them?" asked Morrel, with his open laugh. "I?
Certainly not," replied the count. "No; I should only regret if
the horse had not proved good." "It
is so good, that I have distanced M. de Chateau-Renaud, one of the best
riders in France, and M. Debray, who both mount the minister's Arabians;
and close on their heels are the horses of Madame Danglars, who always go
at six leagues an hour." "Then
they follow you?" asked Monte Cristo. "See,
they are here." And at the same minute a carriage with smoking
horses, accompanied by two mounted gentlemen, arrived at the gate, which
opened before them. The carriage drove round, and stopped at the steps,
followed by the horsemen. The instant Debray had touched the ground, he
was at the carriage-door. He offered his hand to the baroness, who,
descending, took it with a peculiarity of manner imperceptible to every
one but Monte Cristo. But nothing escaped the count's notice, and he
observed a little note, passed with the facility that indicates frequent
practice, from the hand of Madame Danglars to that of the minister's
secretary. After his wife the banker descended, as pale as though he had
issued from his tomb instead of his carriage. Madame Danglars threw a
rapid and inquiring glance which could only be interpreted by Monte Cristo,
around the court-yard, over the peristyle, and across the front of the
house, then, repressing a slight emotion, which must have been seen on her
countenance if she had not kept her color, she ascended the steps, saying
to Morrel, "Sir, if you were a friend of mine, I should ask you if
you would sell your horse." Morrel
smiled with an expression very like a grimace, and then turned round to
Monte Cristo, as if to ask him to extricate him from his embarrassment.
The count understood him. "Ah, madame," he said, "why did
you not make that request of me?" "With
you, sir," replied the baroness, "one can wish for nothing, one
is so sure to obtain it. If it were so with M. Morrel"-- "Unfortunately,"
replied the count, "I am witness that M. Morrel cannot give up his
horse, his honor being engaged in keeping it." "How
so?" "He
laid a wager he would tame Medeah in the space of six months. You
understand now that if he were to get rid of the animal before the time
named, he would not only lose his bet, but people would say he was afraid;
and a brave captain of Spahis cannot risk this, even to gratify a pretty
woman, which is, in my opinion, one of the most sacred obligations in the
world." "You
see my position, madame," said Morrel, bestowing a grateful smile on
Monte Cristo. "It
seems to me," said Danglars, in his coarse tone, ill-concealed by a
forced smile, "that you have already got horses enough." Madame
Danglars seldom allowed remarks of this kind to pass unnoticed, but, to
the surprise of the young people, she pretended not to hear it, and said
nothing. Monte Cristo smiled at her unusual humility, and showed her two
immense porcelain jars, over which wound marine plants, of a size and
delicacy that nature alone could produce. The baroness was astonished.
"Why," said she, "you could plant one of the chestnut-trees
in the Tuileries inside! How can such enormous jars have been
manufactured?" "Ah,
madame," replied Monte Cristo, "you must not ask of us, the
manufacturers of fine porcelain, such a question. It is the work of
another age, constructed by the genii of earth and water." "How
so?--at what period can that have been?" "I
do not know; I have only heard that an emperor of China had an oven built
expressly, and that in this oven twelve jars like this were successively
baked. Two broke, from the heat of the fire; the other ten were sunk three
hundred fathoms deep into the sea. The sea, knowing what was required of
her, threw over them her weeds, encircled them with coral, and encrusted
them with shells; the whole was cemented by two hundred years beneath
these almost impervious depths, for a revolution carried away the emperor
who wished to make the trial, and only left the documents proving the
manufacture of the jars and their descent into the sea. At the end of two
hundred years the documents were found, and they thought of bringing up
the jars. Divers descended in machines, made expressly on the discovery,
into the bay where they were thrown; but of ten three only remained, the
rest having been broken by the waves. I am fond of these jars, upon which,
perhaps, misshapen, frightful monsters have fixed their cold, dull eyes,
and in which myriads of small fish have slept, seeking a refuge from the
pursuit of their enemies." Meanwhile, Danglars, who had cared little
for curiosities, was mechanically tearing off the blossoms of a splendid
orange-tree, one after another. When he had finished with the orange-tree,
he began at the cactus; but this, not being so easily plucked as the
orange-tree, pricked him dreadfully. He shuddered, and rubbed his eyes as
though awaking from a dream. "Sir,"
said Monte Cristo to him, "I do not recommend my pictures to you, who
possess such splendid paintings; but, nevertheless, here are two by
Hobbema, a Paul Potter, a Mieris, two by Gижrard
Douw, a Raphael, a Vandyke, a Zurbaran, and two or three by Murillo, worth
looking at." "Stay,"
said Debray; "I recognize this Hobbema." "Ah,
indeed!" "Yes;
it was proposed for the Museum." "Which,
I believe, does not contain one?" said Monte Cristo. "No;
and yet they refused to buy it." "Why?"
said Chateau-Renaud. "You
pretend not to know,--because government was not rich enough." "Ah,
pardon me," said Chateau-Renaud; "I have heard of these things
every day during the last eight years, and I cannot understand them
yet." "You
will, by and by," said Debray. "I
think not," replied Chateau-Renaud. "Major
Bartolomeo Cavalcanti and Count Andrea Cavalcanti," announced
Baptistin. A black satin stock, fresh from the maker's hands, gray
moustaches, a bold eye, a major's uniform, ornamented with three medals
and five crosses--in fact, the thorough bearing of an old soldier--such
was the appearance of Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti, that tender father with
whom we are already acquainted. Close to him, dressed in entirely new
clothes, advanced smilingly Count Andrea Cavalcanti, the dutiful son, whom
we also know. The three young people were talking together. On the
entrance of the new comers, their eyes glanced from father to son, and
then, naturally enough, rested on the latter, whom they began criticising.
"Cavalcanti!" said Debray. "A fine name," said Morrel.
"Yes,"
said Chateau-Renaud, "these Italians are well named and badly
dressed." "You
are fastidious, Chateau-Renaud," replied Debray; "those clothes
are well cut and quite new." "That
is just what I find fault with. That gentleman appears to be well dressed
for the first time in his life." "Who
are those gentlemen?" asked Danglars of Monte Cristo. "You
heard--Cavalcanti." "That
tells me their name, and nothing else." "Ah,
true. You do not know the Italian nobility; the Cavalcanti are all
descended from princes." "Have
they any fortune?" "An
enormous one." "What
do they do?" "Try
to spend it all. They have some business with you, I think, from what they
told me the day before yesterday. I, indeed, invited them here to-day on
your account. I will introduce you to them." "But
they appear to speak French with a very pure accent," said Danglars. "The
son has been educated in a college in the south; I believe near
Marseilles. You will find him quite enthusiastic." "Upon
what subject?" asked Madame Danglars. "The
French ladies, madame. He has made up his mind to take a wife from
Paris." "A
fine idea that of his," said Danglars, shrugging his shoulders.
Madame Danglars looked at her husband with an expression which, at any
other time, would have indicated a storm, but for the second time she
controlled herself. "The baron appears thoughtful to-day," said
Monte Cristo to her; "are they going to put him in the
ministry?" "Not
yet, I think. More likely he has been speculating on the Bourse, and has
lost money." "M.
and Madame de Villefort," cried Baptistin. They entered. M. de
Villefort, notwithstanding his self-control, was visibly affected, and
when Monte Cristo touched his hand, he felt it tremble. "Certainly,
women alone know how to dissimulate," said Monte Cristo to himself,
glancing at Madame Danglars, who was smiling on the procureur, and
embracing his wife. After a short time, the count saw Bertuccio, who,
until then, had been occupied on the other side of the house, glide into
an adjoining room. He went to him. "What do you want, M. Bertuccio?"
said he. "Your
excellency his not stated the number of guests." "Ah,
true." "How
many covers?" "Count
for yourself." "Is
every one here, your excellency?" "Yes."
Bertuccio
glanced through the door, which was ajar. The count watched him.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "What
is the matter?" said the count. "That
woman--that woman!" "Which?"
"The
one with a white dress and so many diamonds--the fair one." "Madame
Danglars?" "I
do not know her name; but it is she, sir, it is she!" "Whom
do you mean?" "The
woman of the garden!--she that was enciente--she who was walking while she
waited for"--Bertuccio stood at the open door, with his eyes starting
and his hair on end. "Waiting
for whom?" Bertuccio, without answering, pointed to Villefort with
something of the gesture Macbeth uses to point out Banquo. "Oh,
oh," he at length muttered, "do you see?" "What?
Who?" "Him!"
"Him!--M.
de Villefort, the king's attorney? Certainly I see him." "Then
I did not kill him?" "Really,
I think you are going mad, good Bertuccio," said the count. "Then
he is not dead?" "No;
you see plainly he is not dead. Instead of striking between the sixth and
seventh left ribs, as your countrymen do, you must have struck higher or
lower, and life is very tenacious in these lawyers, or rather there is no
truth in anything you have told me--it was a fright of the imagination, a
dream of your fancy. You went to sleep full of thoughts of vengeance; they
weighed heavily upon your stomach; you had the nightmare--that's all.
Come, calm yourself, and reckon them up--M. and Madame de Villefort, two;
M. and Madame Danglars, four; M. de Chateau-Renaud, M. Debray, M. Morrel,
seven; Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti, eight." "Eight!"
repeated Bertuccio. "Stop!
You are in a shocking hurry to be off--you forget one of my guests. Lean a
little to the left. Stay! look at M. Andrea Cavalcanti, the young man in a
black coat, looking at Murillo's Madonna; now he is turning." This
time Bertuccio would have uttered an exclamation, had not a look from
Monte Cristo silenced him. "Benedetto?" he muttered;
"fatality!" "Half-past
six o'clock has just struck, M. Bertuccio," said the count severely;
"I ordered dinner at that hour, and I do not like to wait;" and
he returned to his guests, while Bertuccio, leaning against the wall,
succeeded in reaching the dining-room. Five minutes afterwards the doors
of the. drawing-room were thrown open, and Bertuccio appearing said, with
a violent effort, "The dinner waits." The
Count of Monte Cristo offered his arm to Madame de Villefort. "M. de
Villefort," he said, "will you conduct the Baroness Danglars?"
Villefort
complied, and they passed on to the dining-room. |
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