The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (142 page)

‘That’s a criticism I should make of you, should the young man need protection; but, luckily for me, he doesn’t.’

‘Why? Do you think he’s courting?’

‘I guarantee it. He rolls his eyes and groans like a lover. He aspires to the hand of the proud Eugénie. Huh! That’s a perfect anapaestic line! I promise you, it was unintentional. No matter, I’ll repeat it: he aspires to the hand of the proud Eugénie.’

‘What matter, since you are the only suitor under consideration?’

‘Don’t say that, my dear Count. I’m spurned from both sides.’

‘How do you mean: from both sides.’

‘Of course! Mademoiselle Eugénie hardly spoke to me and her confidante, Mademoiselle d’Armilly, not at all.’

‘Yes, but the father adores you,’ said Monte Cristo.

‘Really? On the contrary, he thrust a thousand daggers into my heart; admittedly they were stage daggers, with disappearing blades, but he thought they were real enough.’

‘Jealousy implies affection.’

‘Yes, but I am not jealous.’

‘However, he is.’

‘Of whom? Of Debray?’

‘No, of you.’

‘Me? I guarantee that in a week he will have barred his door to me.’

‘You are wrong, Viscount.’

‘Prove it.’

‘Do you want me to?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have been asked to request Monsieur de Morcerf to make some definite proposal to the baron.’

‘Who asked you?’

‘The baron himself.’

‘Oh, now,’ Albert said, in the most wheedling tone he could summon. ‘You wouldn’t do that, would you, my dear Count?’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, Albert. I have promised and I shall do it.’

‘Well, then,’ Albert said with a sigh, ‘it appears you are determined to see me married.’

‘I am determined to stay on the right side of everyone. But, speaking of Debray, I haven’t seen him recently at the baron’s.’

‘There has been a disagreement.’

‘With Madame?’

‘With Monsieur.’

‘Did he notice something going on?’

‘Huh! That’s a good one!’

‘Do you really think he suspected?’ Monte Cristo asked, with charming innocence.

‘Did he, indeed. Where do you come from, my dear Count?’

‘The Congo, if you wish.’

‘Still not far enough.’

‘What do I know about your Parisian husbands?’

‘Husbands, my dear Count, are the same everywhere. Once you have seen one specimen in a given country, you know the whole breed.’

‘So what can have come between Danglars and Debray? They seemed to get on so well,’ Monte Cristo said, still feigning innocence.

‘Now, there we are talking about one of the mysteries of Isis, and I am not an initiate. When the young Cavalcanti is part of the family, you can ask him that.’

The carriage halted.

‘Here we are,’ said Monte Cristo. ‘It is only half-past ten, why don’t you come up?’

‘I should like to.’

‘My carriage can take you home.’

‘Thank you, but I think my coupé will have followed us.’

‘Yes, here it is,’ said Monte Cristo, jumping down. Both men entered the house where the drawing-room was already lit.

‘Make us some tea, Baptistin,’ Monte Cristo said.

Baptistin went out without a sound. Two seconds later, he reappeared with a plate ready laid which, like a meal in one of those magical entertainments, seemed to have risen out of the ground.

‘I must admit, my dear Count,’ Morcerf said, ‘that what I admire in you is not your wealth, because there may be people richer than you are; it is not your wit, because although Beaumarchais’ was not greater, it was as great; but it is your way of obtaining service, without any answering back, to the minute, no, to the second, as if your people had guessed from the manner of your ring, just what you wanted, and as if what you wanted was always ready waiting.’

‘There is some truth in what you say. They know my habits. For example: isn’t there something you would like to do while you are drinking your tea?’

‘Why, yes: I should like to smoke.’

Monte Cristo went over to the bell-push and sounded it once. A second later, a concealed door opened and Ali appeared with two chibouks, already filled with excellent Latakia.

‘Extraordinary!’

‘No, no: elementary, my dear Morcerf,’ said Monte Cristo. ‘Ali knows that, when I take tea or coffee, I usually smoke. He knows that I have called for tea and that I came back with you. He hears me ring for him, guesses the reason and, since he is a native of a country where hospitality is expressed chiefly around the pipe, he brings two chibouks, instead of one.’

‘Agreed, that is as good an explanation as any other, but the fact remains that only you… Ah! What’s that I hear?’ And Morcerf bent his head towards the door, through which wafted sounds which were similar to those of a guitar.

‘There, my dear Viscount: you are condemned to have music this evening. No sooner have you escaped from Mademoiselle Danglars’ piano than you are entrapped by Haydée’s
guzla
.’

‘Haydée! What a delightful name! Are there really women called Haydée outside the poems of Lord Byron?’
¹

‘Indeed there are. Haydée may be a rare name in France, but it is common enough in Albania and Epirus. It is as though you were to say: chastity, modesty or innocence. It is a kind of baptismal name, as you Parisians call them.’

‘That’s utterly charming!’ said Albert. ‘How I should love to see our Frenchwomen called Mademoiselle Silence, Miss Goodness, or Miss Christian Charity! Just suppose that Mademoiselle Danglars, instead of being called Claire-Marie-Eugénie, as she is, was named Miss Chastity-Modesty-Innocence Danglars, dammit… Think how that would sound when they published the banns!’

‘Idiot!’ the count said. ‘Don’t joke so loudly; Haydée might hear you.’

‘Would it upset her?’

‘Not at all,’ the count replied haughtily.

‘Good-natured, is she?’ Albert asked.

‘It’s nothing to do with goodness, but with duty. A slave does not get upset with her master.’

‘Come, come! Don’t joke yourself. Are there still slaves?’

‘Of course, since Haydée is mine.’

‘I must say, you do nothing and possess nothing as other people do. Slave to Monsieur le Comte de Monte Cristo – that’s a rank in France! The way you shift gold, it must be worth a hundred thousand
écus
a year.’

‘A hundred thousand
écus
! The poor girl used to own more than that: she came into the world with a fortune beside which those in the
Thousand and One Nights
are a trifle.’

‘She must be truly a princess, then?’

‘As you say – and, moreover, one of the greatest in her country.’

‘I thought as much; but how did a great princess become a slave?’

‘How did Denys the Tyrant
²
become a schoolmaster? The fortunes of war, my dear Viscount, and the whims of fate.’

‘Is her name a secret?’

‘For everyone else, it is, but for you, dear Viscount, since you are a friend and know how to keep quiet, don’t you, if I ask you not to tell anyone… ?’

‘On my honour!’

‘Do you know the story of the pasha of Janina?’

‘Ali Tebelin?
³
Certainly, since it was in his service that my father made his fortune.’

‘Of course it was; I had forgotten.’

‘So what is Haydée to Ali Tebelin?’

‘Quite simply his daughter.’

‘What! The daughter of Ali Pasha?’

‘And the beautiful Vasiliki.’

‘And now she is your slave?’

‘She most certainly is.’

‘How did it happen?’

‘Why! One day when I was strolling through the market in Constantinople, I bought her.’

‘Magnificent! One does not live with you, dear Count, one dreams! Now, listen… But I am going to be very presumptuous…’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘Since you go out with her and take her to the opera…’

‘What then?’

‘Could I be bold enough as to ask this of you?’

‘Be bold enough to ask me whatever you wish.’

‘Well, then, Count: will you introduce me to your princess?’

‘Certainly, on two conditions.’

‘I accept without hearing them.’

‘The first is that you never tell anyone that you have met her.’

‘Very well.’ Morcerf held out his hand. ‘I swear.’

‘The second is that you will not tell her that your father served hers.’

‘I swear that, too.’

‘Excellent, Viscount; you will remember these two oaths, won’t you?’

‘Please!’
said Albert.

‘Very well. I know you are a man of honour.’

The count rang the bell again and Ali reappeared. ‘Tell Haydée,’ the count said, ‘that I shall be taking coffee in her room and inform her that I should like her to permit me to introduce her to one of my friends.’

Ali bowed and went out.

‘Are we agreed then, Viscount? No direct questions. If you wish to know something, ask me and I shall ask her.’

‘That’s agreed.’

Ali reappeared for a third time and kept the door open to indicate to his master and Albert that they could go through.

‘Come in,’ said Monte Cristo. Albert ran a hand through his hair and curled his moustache, while the count took his hat, put on his gloves and preceded his guest into the apartment that was guarded by Ali like an advance sentry, and protected by the three French maids, under Myrto.

Haydée was waiting in the first room, the drawing-room, her eyes wide with astonishment: this was the first time that any man other than Monte Cristo had come into her quarters. She was seated on a sofa, in a corner of the room, her legs crossed under her, having built as it were a nest for herself in the richest striped and embroidered materials of the East. Near her was the instrument, the sound of which had betrayed her presence. It was a delightful picture.
⁴

When she saw Monte Cristo, she raised herself up with a smile that was at once that of a daughter and a lover, unique to herself. Monte Cristo went over and offered his hand, to which as usual she pressed her lips. Albert had stayed by the door, enraptured by this strange beauty, impossible to imagine in France, which he was seeing for the first time.

‘Whom have you brought me?’ the young woman asked Monte Cristo in Romaic. ‘A brother, a friend, a mere acquaintance or an enemy?’

‘A friend,’ Monte Cristo replied, in the same language.

‘Called?’

‘Count Albert. He is the one I rescued from the bandits in Rome.’

‘In what language would you like me to address him?’

Monte Cristo turned to Albert. ‘Do you know modern Greek?’ he asked.

‘Alas, no!’ said Albert. ‘Not even ancient Greek, my dear Count. Never have Homer and Plato had such a poor – I might even say such a disdainful student as I was.’

‘In that case,’ Haydée said, showing that she had understood Monte Cristo’s question and Albert’s reply, ‘I shall speak French or Italian – if my master wishes me to speak, of course.’

Monte Cristo thought for a moment. ‘Speak Italian,’ he said. Then, turning to Albert: ‘It’s a pity you don’t understand either modern or ancient Greek, both of which Haydée speaks
exceptionally well. The poor child will have to talk to you in Italian, and this may give you a wrong idea of her.’ And he motioned to Haydée.

‘Welcome, friend, since you come with my lord and master,’ the young woman said, in excellent Tuscan, with that gentle Roman accent that gives the language of Dante a richer sound than that of Homer. ‘Ali, bring us coffee and pipes.’ She gestured to Albert to come over, while Ali left to carry out his young mistress’s orders.

Monte Cristo showed Albert two folding stools, and each of them went to take one and draw it up to a kind of pedestal table, with a hookah as its centrepiece, surrounded by natural flowers, drawings and albums of music.

Ali returned, bringing the coffee and the chibouks. As for M. Baptistin, this part of the house was off limits to him. Albert declined the pipe that the Nubian offered him.

‘Take it, do,’ said Monte Cristo. ‘Haydée is almost as civilized as a Parisian woman. She dislikes havana tobacco, because she is not fond of foul odours, but Oriental tobacco, as you know, is a perfume.’

Ali went out. The cups of coffee were standing ready with, for Albert, a bowl of sugar. Monte Cristo and Haydée took their mocha in the Arabic manner, that is, unsweetened.

Haydée reached out and took the Japanese porcelain cup in the tips of her long, pink fingers, raising it to her lips with the innocent pleasure of a child drinking or eating something that she likes. At the same time two women came in carrying more trays, laden with ices and sorbets, which they set down on two small tables waiting there especially for that purpose.