Chapter 85 of 117
Chapter 85: The Journey
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Chapter 85. The JourneyMonte Cristo uttered a joyful exclamation on seeing the young mentogether. “Ah, ha!” said he, “I hope all is over, explained andsettled.”“Yes,” said Beauchamp; “the absurd reports have died away, and shouldthey be renewed, I would be the first to oppose them; so let us speakno more of it.”“Albert will tell you,” replied the count “that I gave him the sameadvice. Look,” added he. “I am finishing the most execrable morning’swork.”“What is it?” said Albert; “arranging your papers, apparently.”“My papers, thank God, no,—my papers are all in capital order, becauseI have none; but M. Cavalcanti’s.”“M. Cavalcanti’s?” asked Beauchamp.“Yes; do you not know that this is a young man whom the count isintroducing?” said Morcerf.“Let us not misunderstand each other,” replied Monte Cristo; “Iintroduce no one, and certainly not M. Cavalcanti.”“And who,” said Albert with a forced smile, “is to marry MademoiselleDanglars instead of me, which grieves me cruelly.”“What? Cavalcanti is going to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?” askedBeauchamp.“Certainly! do you come from the end of the world?” said Monte Cristo;“you, a journalist, the husband of renown? It is the talk of allParis.”“And you, count, have made this match?” asked Beauchamp.“I? Silence, purveyor of gossip, do not spread that report. I make amatch? No, you do not know me; I have done all in my power to opposeit.”“Ah, I understand,” said Beauchamp, “on our friend Albert’s account.”“On my account?” said the young man; “oh, no, indeed, the count will dome the justice to assert that I have, on the contrary, always entreatedhim to break off my engagement, and happily it is ended. The countpretends I have not him to thank;—so be it—I will erect an altar _Deoignoto_.”“Listen,” said Monte Cristo; “I have had little to do with it, for I amat variance both with the father-in-law and the young man; there isonly Mademoiselle Eugénie, who appears but little charmed with thethoughts of matrimony, and who, seeing how little I was disposed topersuade her to renounce her dear liberty, retains any affection forme.”“And do you say this wedding is at hand?”“Oh, yes, in spite of all I could say. I do not know the young man; heis said to be of good family and rich, but I never trust to vagueassertions. I have warned M. Danglars of it till I am tired, but he isfascinated with his Luccanese. I have even informed him of acircumstance I consider very serious; the young man was either charmedby his nurse, stolen by gypsies, or lost by his tutor, I scarcely knowwhich. But I do know his father lost sight of him for more than tenyears; what he did during these ten years, God only knows. Well, allthat was useless. They have commissioned me to write to the major todemand papers, and here they are. I send them, but like Pilate—washingmy hands.”“And what does Mademoiselle d’Armilly say to you for robbing her of herpupil?”“Oh, well, I don’t know; but I understand that she is going to Italy.Madame Danglars asked me for letters of recommendation for the_impresari_; I gave her a few lines for the director of the ValleTheatre, who is under some obligation to me. But what is the matter,Albert? you look dull; are you, after all, unconsciously in love withMademoiselle Eugénie?”“I am not aware of it,” said Albert, smiling sorrowfully. Beauchampturned to look at some paintings.“But,” continued Monte Cristo, “you are not in your usual spirits?”“I have a dreadful headache,” said Albert.“Well, my dear viscount,” said Monte Cristo, “I have an infallibleremedy to propose to you.”“What is that?” asked the young man.“A change.”“Indeed?” said Albert.“Yes; and as I am just now excessively annoyed, I shall go from home.Shall we go together?”“You annoyed, count?” said Beauchamp; “and by what?”“Ah, you think very lightly of it; I should like to see you with abrief preparing in your house.”“What brief?”“The one M. de Villefort is preparing against my amiable assassin—somebrigand escaped from the gallows apparently.”“True,” said Beauchamp; “I saw it in the paper. Who is thisCaderousse?”“Some Provençal, it appears. M. de Villefort heard of him atMarseilles, and M. Danglars recollects having seen him. Consequently,the procureur is very active in the affair, and the prefect of policevery much interested; and, thanks to that interest, for which I am verygrateful, they send me all the robbers of Paris and the neighborhood,under pretence of their being Caderousse’s murderers, so that in threemonths, if this continues, every robber and assassin in France willhave the plan of my house at his fingers’ ends. I am resolved to desertthem and go to some remote corner of the earth, and shall be happy ifyou will accompany me, viscount.”“Willingly.”“Then it is settled?”“Yes, but where?”“I have told you, where the air is pure, where every sound soothes,where one is sure to be humbled, however proud may be his nature. Ilove that humiliation, I, who am master of the universe, as wasAugustus.”“But where are you really going?”“To sea, viscount; you know I am a sailor. I was rocked when an infantin the arms of old Ocean, and on the bosom of the beautiful Amphitrite;I have sported with the green mantle of the one and the azure robe ofthe other; I love the sea as a mistress, and pine if I do not often seeher.”“Let us go, count.”“To sea?”“Yes.”“You accept my proposal?”“I do.”“Well, viscount, there will be in my courtyard this evening a goodtravelling britzka, with four post-horses, in which one may rest as ina bed. M. Beauchamp, it holds four very well, will you accompany us?”“Thank you, I have just returned from sea.”“What? you have been to sea?”“Yes; I have just made a little excursion to the Borromean Islands18.”“What of that? come with us,” said Albert.“No, dear Morcerf; you know I only refuse when the thing is impossible.Besides, it is important,” added he in a low tone, “that I shouldremain in Paris just now to watch the paper.”“Ah, you are a good and an excellent friend,” said Albert; “yes, youare right; watch, watch, Beauchamp, and try to discover the enemy whomade this disclosure.”Albert and Beauchamp parted, the last pressure of their handsexpressing what their tongues could not before a stranger.“Beauchamp is a worthy fellow,” said Monte Cristo, when the journalistwas gone; “is he not, Albert?”“Yes, and a sincere friend; I love him devotedly. But now we arealone,—although it is immaterial to me,—where are we going?”“Into Normandy, if you like.”“Delightful; shall we be quite retired? have no society, no neighbors?”“Our companions will be riding-horses, dogs to hunt with, and afishing-boat.”“Exactly what I wish for; I will apprise my mother of my intention, andreturn to you.”“But shall you be allowed to go into Normandy?”“I may go where I please.”“Yes, I am aware you may go alone, since I once met you in Italy—but toaccompany the mysterious Monte Cristo?”“You forget, count, that I have often told you of the deep interest mymother takes in you.”“‘Woman is fickle.’ said Francis I.; ‘woman is like a wave of the sea,’said Shakespeare; both the great king and the great poet ought to haveknown woman’s nature well.”“Woman’s, yes; my mother is not woman, but _a_ woman.”“As I am only a humble foreigner, you must pardon me if I do notunderstand all the subtle refinements of your language.”“What I mean to say is, that my mother is not quick to give herconfidence, but when she does she never changes.”“Ah, yes, indeed,” said Monte Cristo with a sigh; “and do you think sheis in the least interested in me?”“I repeat it, you must really be a very strange and superior man, formy mother is so absorbed by the interest you have excited, that when Iam with her she speaks of no one else.”“And does she try to make you dislike me?”“On the contrary, she often says, ‘Morcerf, I believe the count has anoble nature; try to gain his esteem.’”“Indeed?” said Monte Cristo, sighing.“You see, then,” said Albert, “that instead of opposing, she willencourage me.”“Adieu, then, until five o’clock; be punctual, and we shall arrive attwelve or one.”“At Tréport?”“Yes; or in the neighborhood.”“But can we travel forty-eight leagues in eight hours?”“Easily,” said Monte Cristo.“You are certainly a prodigy; you will soon not only surpass therailway, which would not be very difficult in France, but even thetelegraph.”“But, viscount, since we cannot perform the journey in less than sevenor eight hours, do not keep me waiting.”“Do not fear, I have little to prepare.”Monte Cristo smiled as he nodded to Albert, then remained a momentabsorbed in deep meditation. But passing his hand across his foreheadas if to dispel his reverie, he rang the bell twice and Bertuccioentered.“Bertuccio,” said he, “I intend going this evening to Normandy, insteadof tomorrow or the next day. You will have sufficient time before fiveo’clock; despatch a messenger to apprise the grooms at the firststation. M. de Morcerf will accompany me.”Bertuccio obeyed and despatched a courier to Pontoise to say thetravelling-carriage would arrive at six o’clock. From Pontoise anotherexpress was sent to the next stage, and in six hours all the horsesstationed on the road were ready.Before his departure, the count went to Haydée’s apartments, told herhis intention, and resigned everything to her care.Albert was punctual. The journey soon became interesting from itsrapidity, of which Morcerf had formed no previous idea.“Truly,” said Monte Cristo, “with your post-horses going at the rate oftwo leagues an hour, and that absurd law that one traveller shall notpass another without permission, so that an invalid or ill-temperedtraveller may detain those who are well and active, it is impossible tomove; I escape this annoyance by travelling with my own postilion andhorses; do I not, Ali?”The count put his head out of the window and whistled, and the horsesappeared to fly. The carriage rolled with a thundering noise over thepavement, and everyone turned to notice the dazzling meteor. Ali,smiling, repeated the sound, grasped the reins with a firm hand, andspurred his horses, whose beautiful manes floated in the breeze. Thischild of the desert was in his element, and with his black face andsparkling eyes appeared, in the cloud of dust he raised, like thegenius of the simoom and the god of the hurricane.“I never knew till now the delight of speed,” said Morcerf, and thelast cloud disappeared from his brow; “but where the devil do you getsuch horses? Are they made to order?”“Precisely,” said the count; “six years since I bought a horse inHungary remarkable for its swiftness. The thirty-two that we shall usetonight are its progeny; they are all entirely black, with theexception of a star upon the forehead.”“That is perfectly admirable; but what do you do, count, with all thesehorses?”“You see, I travel with them.”“But you are not always travelling.”“When I no longer require them, Bertuccio will sell them, and heexpects to realize thirty or forty thousand francs by the sale.”“But no monarch in Europe will be wealthy enough to purchase them.”“Then he will sell them to some Eastern vizier, who will empty hiscoffers to purchase them, and refill them by applying the bastinado tohis subjects.”“Count, may I suggest one idea to you?”“Certainly.”“It is that, next to you, Bertuccio must be the richest gentleman inEurope.”“You are mistaken, viscount; I believe he has not a franc in hispossession.”“Then he must be a wonder. My dear count, if you tell me many moremarvellous things, I warn you I shall not believe them.”“I countenance nothing that is marvellous, M. Albert. Tell me, why doesa steward rob his master?”“Because, I suppose, it is his nature to do so, for the love ofrobbing.”“You are mistaken; it is because he has a wife and family, andambitious desires for himself and them. Also because he is not sure ofalways retaining his situation, and wishes to provide for the future.Now, M. Bertuccio is alone in the world; he uses my property withoutaccounting for the use he makes of it; he is sure never to leave myservice.”“Why?”“Because I should never get a better.”“Probabilities are deceptive.”“But I deal in certainties; he is the best servant over whom one hasthe power of life and death.”“Do you possess that right over Bertuccio?”“Yes.”There are words which close a conversation with an iron door; such wasthe count’s “yes.”The whole journey was performed with equal rapidity; the thirty-twohorses, dispersed over seven stages, brought them to their destinationin eight hours. At midnight they arrived at the gate of a beautifulpark. The porter was in attendance; he had been apprised by the groomof the last stage of the count’s approach. At half past two in themorning Morcerf was conducted to his apartments, where a bath andsupper were prepared. The servant who had travelled at the back of thecarriage waited on him; Baptistin, who rode in front, attended thecount.Albert bathed, took his supper, and went to bed. All night he waslulled by the melancholy noise of the surf. On rising, he went to hiswindow, which opened on a terrace, having the sea in front, and at theback a pretty park bounded by a small forest.In a creek lay a little sloop, with a narrow keel and high masts,bearing on its flag the Monte Cristo arms which were a mountain _or_,on a sea _azure_, with a cross _gules_ in chief which might be anallusion to his name that recalled Calvary, the mount rendered by ourLord’s passion more precious than gold, and to the degrading crosswhich his blood had rendered holy; or it might be some personalremembrance of suffering and regeneration buried in the night of thismysterious personage’s past life.Around the schooner lay a number of small fishing-boats belonging tothe fishermen of the neighboring village, like humble subjects awaitingorders from their queen. There, as in every spot where Monte Cristostopped, if but for two days, luxury abounded and life went on with theutmost ease.Albert found in his anteroom two guns, with all the accoutrements forhunting; a lofty room on the ground floor containing all the ingeniousinstruments the English—eminent in piscatory pursuits, since they arepatient and sluggish—have invented for fishing. The day passed inpursuing those exercises in which Monte Cristo excelled. They killed adozen pheasants in the park, as many trout in the stream, dined in asummer-house overlooking the ocean, and took tea in the library.Towards the evening of the third day. Albert, completely exhausted withthe exercise which invigorated Monte Cristo, was sleeping in anarmchair near the window, while the count was designing with hisarchitect the plan of a conservatory in his house, when the sound of ahorse at full speed on the high road made Albert look up. He wasdisagreeably surprised to see his own valet de chambre, whom he had notbrought, that he might not inconvenience Monte Cristo.40188m“Florentin here!” cried he, starting up; “is my mother ill?” And hehastened to the door. Monte Cristo watched and saw him approach thevalet, who drew a small sealed parcel from his pocket, containing anewspaper and a letter.“From whom is this?” said he eagerly.“From M. Beauchamp,” replied Florentin.“Did he send you?”“Yes, sir; he sent for me to his house, gave me money for my journey,procured a horse, and made me promise not to stop till I had reachedyou, I have come in fifteen hours.”Albert opened the letter with fear, uttered a shriek on reading thefirst line, and seized the paper. His sight was dimmed, his legs sankunder him, and he would have fallen had not Florentin supported him.“Poor young man,” said Monte Cristo in a low voice; “it is then truethat the sin of the father shall fall on the children to the third andfourth generation.”Meanwhile Albert had revived, and, continuing to read, he threw backhis head, saying:“Florentin, is your horse fit to return immediately?”“It is a poor, lame post-horse.”“In what state was the house when you left?”“All was quiet, but on returning from M. Beauchamp’s, I found madame intears; she had sent for me to know when you would return. I told her myorders from M. Beauchamp; she first extended her arms to prevent me,but after a moment’s reflection, ‘Yes, go, Florentin,’ said she, ‘andmay he come quickly.’”“Yes, my mother,” said Albert, “I will return, and woe to the infamouswretch! But first of all I must get there.”He went back to the room where he had left Monte Cristo. Five minuteshad sufficed to make a complete transformation in his appearance. Hisvoice had become rough and hoarse; his face was furrowed with wrinkles;his eyes burned under the blue-veined lids, and he tottered like adrunken man.“Count,” said he, “I thank you for your hospitality, which I wouldgladly have enjoyed longer; but I must return to Paris.”“What has happened?”“A great misfortune, more important to me than life. Don’t question me,I beg of you, but lend me a horse.”“My stables are at your command, viscount; but you will kill yourselfby riding on horseback. Take a post-chaise or a carriage.”“No, it would delay me, and I need the fatigue you warn me of; it willdo me good.”Albert reeled as if he had been shot, and fell on a chair near thedoor. Monte Cristo did not see this second manifestation of physicalexhaustion; he was at the window, calling:“Ali, a horse for M. de Morcerf—quick! he is in a hurry!”40190mThese words restored Albert; he darted from the room, followed by thecount.“Thank you!” cried he, throwing himself on his horse.“Return as soon as you can, Florentin. Must I use any password toprocure a horse?”“Only dismount; another will be immediately saddled.”Albert hesitated a moment. “You may think my departure strange andfoolish,” said the young man; “you do not know how a paragraph in anewspaper may exasperate one. Read that,” said he, “when I am gone,that you may not be witness of my anger.”While the count picked up the paper he put spurs to his horse, whichleaped in astonishment at such an unusual stimulus, and shot away withthe rapidity of an arrow. The count watched him with a feeling ofcompassion, and when he had completely disappeared, read as follows:“The French officer in the service of Ali Pasha of Yanina alluded tothree weeks since in _l’Impartial_, who not only surrendered the castleof Yanina, but sold his benefactor to the Turks, styled himself trulyat that time Fernand, as our esteemed contemporary states; but he hassince added to his Christian name a title of nobility and a familyname. He now calls himself the Count of Morcerf, and ranks among thepeers.”Thus the terrible secret, which Beauchamp had so generously destroyed,appeared again like an armed phantom; and another paper, deriving itsinformation from some malicious source, had published two days afterAlbert’s departure for Normandy the few lines which had rendered theunfortunate young man almost crazy.