LXIII. Le dîner.

LXIII

The Dinner.

It was evident that, as they passed into the dining room, a single feeling animated all the guests. They wondered what bizarre influence had led them all into that house, and yet, astonished and even uneasy as some of them were to find themselves there, they would not have wished not to be there.

And yet the recent nature of their acquaintance, the eccentric and isolated position, the unknown and almost fabulous fortune of the count, made it a duty for the men to be circumspect, and for the women a rule not to enter a house where there were no women to receive them; and yet men and women had overridden, the one their circumspection, the others their propriety, and curiosity, pressing them with its irresistible goad, had carried all before it.

There were not even the Cavalcanti, father and son, who, the one in spite of his stiffness, the other in spite of his ease, did not appear preoccupied at finding themselves brought together, in the house of this man whose purpose they could not comprehend, with other men whom they saw for the first time.

Madame Danglars had started on seeing, at Monte Cristo's invitation, M. de Villefort approach her to offer his arm, and M. de Villefort had felt his gaze grow troubled behind his gold spectacles as he felt the baroness's arm rest upon his own.

Neither of these two movements had escaped the count, and already, in this simple bringing together of individuals, there was for the observer of the scene a very great interest.

M. de Villefort had on his right Mme Danglars and on his left Morrel. The count was seated between Mme de Villefort and Danglars.

The other spaces were filled by Debray, seated between Cavalcanti father and Cavalcanti son, and by Château-Renaud, seated between Mme de Villefort and Morrel.

The meal was magnificent; Monte Cristo had set himself the task of completely overturning Parisian symmetry and of giving to his guests' curiosity even more than to their appetite the aliment it desired. It was an oriental feast that was offered them, but oriental in the manner of the feasts of the Arabian fairies.

All the fruits that the four parts of the world can pour, intact and savory, into the horn of plenty of Europe were heaped in pyramids in the china vases and in the Japanese cups. Rare birds with the brilliant part of their plumage, monstrous fish laid out upon tears of silver, all the wines of the Archipelago, of Asia Minor, and of the Cape, enclosed in bottles of bizarre shapes and whose appearance seemed still to add to the flavor of those wines, defiled like one of those reviews that Apicius passed, with his guests, before these Parisians who understood well that one might spend a thousand louis upon a dinner for ten persons, but on condition that, like Cleopatra, one ate pearls, or that, like Lorenzo de' Medici, one drank molten gold.

Monte Cristo saw the general astonishment, and began to laugh and to rail aloud.

"Gentlemen," said he, "you admit this, do you not, that, arrived at a certain degree of fortune, there is no longer any necessary but the superfluous, just as these ladies will admit that, arrived at a certain degree of exaltation, there is no longer any positive but the ideal? Now, pursuing the reasoning, what is the marvelous? That which we do not comprehend. What is a truly desirable good? A good that we cannot have. Now, to see things that I cannot comprehend, to procure for myself things impossible to have, such is the study of all my life. I attain it by two means: money and will. I put into pursuing a fancy, for example, the same perseverance that you put, you, M. Danglars, into creating a railway line; you, M. de Villefort, into having a man condemned to death; you, M. Debray, into pacifying a kingdom; you, M. de Château-Renaud, into pleasing a woman; and you, Morrel, into taming a horse that no one can ride. Thus, for example, see these two fish, one born fifty leagues from Saint Petersburg, the other five leagues from Naples: is it not amusing to unite them upon the same table?"

"What are these two fish?" asked Danglars.

"Here is M. de Château-Renaud, who has lived in Russia, who will tell you the name of one," replied Monte Cristo, "and here is the Major Cavalcanti, who is Italian, who will tell you the name of the other."

"This one," said Château-Renaud, "is, I believe, a sterlet."

"Admirable."

"And that one," said Cavalcanti, "is, if I am not mistaken, a lamprey."

"That is it exactly. Now, M. Danglars, ask these two gentlemen where these two fish are caught."

"But," said Château-Renaud, "sterlets are caught only in the Volga."

"But," said Cavalcanti, "I know only Lake Fusaro that furnishes lampreys of this size."

"Well, precisely, the one comes from the Volga and the other from Lake Fusaro."

"Impossible!" cried all the guests together.

"Well, that is precisely what amuses me," said Monte Cristo. "I am like Nero: cupitor impossibilium; and behold, that is also what amuses you at this moment, that is finally what makes this flesh, which perhaps in reality is no better than that of the perch and the salmon, seem exquisite to you presently, is that, in your mind, it was impossible to procure it and yet there it is."

"But how was it done to transport these two fish to Paris?"

"Oh! my God, nothing simpler: these two fish were each brought in a great padded barrel, one of reeds and herbs of the river, the other of rushes and plants of the lake; they were put into a van made for the purpose; they lived thus, the sterlet twelve days, and the lamprey eight; and both were living perfectly when my cook seized them to kill one in milk, the other in wine. You do not believe it, M. Danglars?"

"I at least doubt it," replied Danglars, smiling his thick smile.

"Baptistin!" said Monte Cristo, "have the other sterlet and the other lamprey brought; you know, those that came in other barrels and that are still living."

Danglars opened astonished eyes; the company clapped their hands.

Four servants brought two barrels garnished with marine plants, in each of which palpitated a fish like those served upon the table.

"But why two of each species?" asked Danglars.

"Because one might have died," replied Monte Cristo simply.

"You are truly a prodigious man," said Danglars, "and philosophers may say what they will, it is superb to be rich."

"And above all to have ideas," said Mme Danglars.

"Oh! do not give me the credit for this one, madame; it was much in honor among the Romans, and Pliny relates that they sent from Ostia to Rome, with relays of slaves who carried them on their heads, fish of the species that he calls the mulus and which, from the portrait he gives of it, is probably the gilt-head bream. It was also a luxury to have it alive, and a very amusing spectacle to see it die, for in dying it changed three or four times color, and like an evaporating rainbow, passed through all the shades of the prism, after which it was sent to the kitchens. Its agony formed part of its merit. If one did not see it alive, one despised it dead."

"Yes," said Debray, "but there are only seven or eight leagues from Ostia to Rome."

"Ah! there, that is true," said Monte Cristo; "but where would be the merit of coming eighteen hundred years after Lucullus, if one did not do better than he?"

The two Cavalcanti opened enormous eyes, but they had the good sense to say not a word.

"All that is very agreeable," said Château-Renaud; "however, what I admire most, I confess, is the admirable promptness with which you are served. Is it not true, count, that you bought this house only five or six days ago?"

"Upon my word, at most," said Monte Cristo.

"Well, I am sure that in eight days it has undergone a complete transformation; for, if I am not mistaken, it had another entrance than this one, and the courtyard was paved and empty, whereas today the courtyard is a magnificent lawn bordered with trees that appear to be a hundred years old."

"What would you have? I love greenery and shade," said Monte Cristo.

"Indeed," said Mme de Villefort, "formerly one entered by a door opening onto the road, and the day of my miraculous deliverance, it is by the road, I recall, that you had me brought into the house."

"Yes, madame," said Monte Cristo; "but since then I have preferred an entrance that would permit me to see the Bois de Boulogne through my grating."

"In four days," said Morrel, "it is a prodigy!"

"Indeed," said Château-Renaud, "to make a new house out of an old one is a miraculous thing; for the house was very old, and even very gloomy. I recall being charged by my mother to visit it, when M. de Saint-Méran put it up for sale, two or three years ago."

"M. de Saint-Méran?" said Mme de Villefort, "but this house belonged then to M. de Saint-Méran before you bought it?"

"It appears so," replied Monte Cristo.

"How, it appears! You do not know from whom you bought this house?"

"Upon my word, no, it is my steward who occupies himself with all those details."

"It is true that it had not been inhabited for at least ten years," said Château-Renaud, "and it was a great sadness to see it with its shutters closed, its doors locked, and weeds in the courtyard. In truth, if it had not belonged to the father-in-law of a king's attorney, one might have taken it for one of those accursed houses where some great crime has been committed."

Villefort, who until then had not touched the three or four glasses of extraordinary wines placed before him, took one at random and emptied it at a single draught.

Monte Cristo let a moment elapse; then, in the midst of the silence that had followed Château-Renaud's words:

"It is strange," said he, "baron, but the same thought came to me the first time I entered there; and the house seemed to me so dismal, that never should I have bought it if my steward had not done the thing for me. Probably the knave had received some gratuity from the notary."

"It is probable," stammered Villefort, trying to smile; "but believe that I am in no way responsible for that corruption. M. de Saint-Méran wished this house, which forms part of his granddaughter's dowry, to be sold, because, remaining uninhabited for three or four more years, it would have fallen into ruin."

It was Morrel who turned pale in his turn.

"There was above all," continued Monte Cristo, "a room, ah! my God! very simple in appearance—a room like all rooms, hung with red damask, which seemed to me, I know not why, as dramatic as possible."

"Why so?" asked Debray; "why dramatic?"

"Does one account for instinctive things?" said Monte Cristo; "is there not a place where one seems naturally to breathe sadness? why? one knows not; by a chain of memories, by a caprice of thought that carries us back to other times, to other places, which perhaps have no relation to the times and places where we find ourselves; so it is that this room recalled to me admirably the room of the marquise de Ganges or that of Desdemona. Eh! my faith, look here, since we have finished dinner, I must show it to you, then we shall go down to take coffee in the garden; after dinner, the spectacle."

Monte Cristo made a sign to question his guests; Mme de Villefort rose, Monte Cristo did likewise, everyone imitated their example.

Villefort and Mme Danglars remained an instant as if nailed to their places; they questioned each other with their eyes, cold, mute, and frozen.

"Did you hear?" said Mme Danglars.

"We must go," replied Villefort, rising and offering her his arm.

Everyone was already scattered through the house, impelled by curiosity, for it was well thought that the visit would not be confined to that room, and that at the same time one would traverse the rest of this hovel of which Monte Cristo had made a palace. Everyone therefore darted through the open doors. Monte Cristo waited for the two laggards; then, when they in their turn had passed, he closed the procession with a smile which, could they have understood it, would have terrified the guests far more than that room into which they were about to enter.

They began in fact by traversing the apartments, the rooms furnished in the oriental style with divans and cushions for all beds, pipes and arms for all furniture; the salons hung with the finest pictures of the old masters; boudoirs in Chinese stuffs, of capricious colors, of fantastic designs, of marvelous weaves; then at last they arrived in the famous room.

It had nothing particular about it, except that, although daylight was fading, it was not lighted and was in a state of decay, while all the other rooms had assumed a new attire.

These two causes sufficed, indeed, to give it a lugubrious tint.

"Hoo!" cried Mme de Villefort, "it is frightful, indeed."

Mme Danglars tried to stammer a few words that were not heard.

Several observations crossed, the result of which was that indeed the red damask room had a sinister aspect.

"Is it not?" said Monte Cristo. "See how this bed is strangely placed, what a dark and bloody hangings! and these two pastel portraits, which dampness has paled, do they not seem to say, with their livid lips and startled eyes: I have seen!"

Villefort grew livid, Mme Danglars fell upon a chaise longue placed near the fireplace.

"Oh!" said Mme de Villefort, smiling, "have you the courage to sit upon that chair where perhaps crime was committed!"

Mme Danglars rose quickly.

"And then," said Monte Cristo, "that is not all."

"What more is there then?" asked Debray, to whom the emotion of Mme Danglars did not escape.

"Ah! yes, what more is there?" asked Danglars, "for up to now I confess I see nothing very great in it, and you, M. Cavalcanti?"

"Ah!" said the latter, "we have at Pisa the tower of Ugolino, at Ferrara the prison of Tasso, and at Rimini the chamber of Francesca and Paolo."

"Yes; but you have not this little staircase," said Monte Cristo, opening a door lost in the hangings; "look at it, and tell me what you think of it."

"What a sinister curve of a staircase!" said Château-Renaud, laughing.

"The fact is," said Debray, "that I know not if it is the wine of Chio that inclines to melancholy, but certainly I see this house all in black."

As for Morrel, since there had been question of Valentine's dowry, he had remained sad and had not uttered a word.

"Do you picture to yourselves," said Monte Cristo, "some Othello or some abbé de Ganges, descending step by step, upon a dark and stormy night, this staircase with some lugubrious burden that he is in haste to hide from the sight of men, if not from the eye of God!"

Mme Danglars half fainted upon Villefort's arm, who was himself obliged to lean against the wall.

"Ah! my God! madame," cried Debray, "what is the matter with you? how pale you are!"

"What ails her?" said Mme de Villefort; "it is very simple; it is that M. de Monte Cristo is telling us dreadful stories, with the intention, no doubt, of making us die of fright."

"But yes," said Villefort; "indeed, count, you are terrifying these ladies."

"What is it?" repeated softly Debray to Mme Danglars.

"Nothing, nothing," said she, making an effort; "I need air, that is all."

"Will you go down into the garden?" asked Debray, offering his arm to Mme Danglars and advancing toward the hidden staircase.

"No," said she, "no; I prefer to remain here."

"In truth, madame," said Monte Cristo, "is this terror serious?"

"No, monsieur," said Mme Danglars; "but you have a way of supposing things that gives to illusion the aspect of reality."

"Oh! my God, yes," said Monte Cristo, smiling; "and all that is a matter of imagination; for likewise, why not rather represent this room as the good and honest room of a mother of a family? this bed with its purple-hued hangings, as a bed visited by the goddess Lucina, and this mysterious staircase as the passage by which, gently and so as not to disturb the restorative sleep of the lying-in woman, passes the physician or the nurse, or the father himself carrying the sleeping child?..."

This time Mme Danglars, instead of reassuring herself at this gentle picture, uttered a groan and fainted completely.

"Mme Danglars is unwell," stammered Villefort; "perhaps she should be taken to her carriage."

"Oh! my God," said Monte Cristo, "and I who forgot my smelling bottle!"

"I have mine," said Mme de Villefort.

And she passed to Monte Cristo a bottle full of a red liquor like that whose beneficial influence the count had tried upon Édouard.

"Ah!..." said Monte Cristo, taking it from Mme de Villefort's hands.

"Yes," murmured she, "upon your indications, I tried it."

"And you succeeded?"

"I believe so."

They had carried Mme Danglars into the next room. Monte Cristo let fall upon her lips a drop of the red liquor; she came to herself.

"Oh!" said she, "what a frightful dream!"

Villefort pressed her wrist hard to make her understand that she had not dreamed. They looked for M. Danglars, but, little disposed to poetic impressions, he had gone down into the garden, and was talking, with M. Cavalcanti father, of a railway project from Leghorn to Florence. Monte Cristo seemed in despair; he took Mme Danglars's arm and led her into the garden where they found M. Danglars taking coffee between MM. Cavalcanti father and son.

"In truth, madame," said he to her, "did I greatly frighten you?"

"No, monsieur; but, you know, things impress us according to the disposition of mind in which we find ourselves."

Villefort strove to laugh.

"And so you understand," said he, "it suffices of a supposition, of a chimera...."

"Well," said Monte Cristo, "believe me if you will, I am convinced that a crime was committed in that house."

"Take care," said Mme de Villefort, "we have here the king's attorney."

"My faith," replied Monte Cristo, "since it falls out thus, I shall profit by it to make my declaration."

"Your declaration?" said Villefort.

"Yes, and before witnesses."

"All this is very interesting," said Debray; "and if there is really a crime, we are going to digest admirably."

"There is a crime," said Monte Cristo. "Come this way, gentlemen; come, M. de Villefort, for the declaration to be valid, it must be made to the competent authorities."

Monte Cristo took Villefort's arm, and at the same time as he pressed Mme Danglars's beneath his own, he dragged the king's attorney under the plane tree, where the shade was thickest.

All the other guests followed.

"See," said Monte Cristo, "here, in this very spot (and he struck the earth with his foot), here, to rejuvenate these already old trees, I had the soil dug and dressed with loam; well, my workmen, in digging, unearthed a chest or rather the iron fittings of a chest, in the midst of which was the skeleton of a newborn child. That is not phantasmagoria, I hope?"

Monte Cristo felt Mme Danglars's arm stiffen and Villefort's wrist shudder.

"A newborn child?" repeated Debray; "the devil, this becomes serious, it seems to me."

"Well," said Château-Renaud, "I was not mistaken then when I maintained just now that houses have a soul and a face like men, and that they bear upon their physiognomy a reflection of their entrails. The house was sad because it had remorse; it had remorse because it hid a crime."

"Oh! who says it is a crime?" rejoined Villefort, attempting a last effort.

"How! a child buried alive in a garden, that is not a crime?" cried Monte Cristo. "How do you call that action, M. the king's attorney?"

"But who says it was buried alive?"

"Why bury it there, if it was dead? This garden was never a cemetery."

"What is done to infanticides in this country?" naively asked Major Cavalcanti.

"Oh! my God! they simply cut off their heads," replied Danglars.

"Ah! they cut off their heads," said Cavalcanti.

"I believe so.... Is it not, M. de Villefort?" asked Monte Cristo.

"Yes, M. le comte," replied the latter with an accent that had nothing human left in it.

Monte Cristo saw that this was all the two persons for whom he had prepared this scene could bear; and not wishing to push it too far:

"But the coffee, gentlemen," said he; "it seems to me we are forgetting it."

And he led his guests back toward the table placed in the middle of the lawn.

"In truth, M. le comte," said Mme Danglars, "I am ashamed to avow my weakness, but all those dreadful stories have upset me; let me sit down, I beg you."

And she fell upon a chair.

Monte Cristo bowed to her and approached Mme de Villefort.

"I believe Mme Danglars still has need of your smelling bottle," said he.

But before Mme de Villefort had approached her friend, the king's attorney had already said in Mme Danglars's ear:

"I must speak with you."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Where?"

"At my office... at the parquet if you will, that is still the safest place."

"I shall come."

At this moment Mme de Villefort approached.

"Thank you, dear friend," said Mme Danglars, trying to smile; "it is nothing more, and I feel quite better."

“Stories of the world, in your language.”