himself by a violent push from the encircling arms of his mother, and to
rush forward to the casket from whence the count had taken the phial of
elixir; then, without asking permission of any one, he proceeded, in all
the wilfulness of a spoiled child unaccustomed to restrain either whims
or caprices, to pull the corks out of all the bottles.
"Touch nothing, my little friend," cried the count eagerly; "some of
those liquids are not only dangerous to taste, but even to inhale."
Madame de Villefort became very pale, and, seizing her son's arm, drew
him anxiously toward her; but, once satisfied of his safety, she also
cast a brief but expressive glance on the casket, which was not lost
upon the count. At this moment Ali entered. At sight of him Madame de
Villefort uttered an expression of pleasure, and, holding the child
still closer towards her, she said, "Edward, dearest, do you see that
good man? He has shown very great courage and resolution, for he exposed
his own life to stop the horses that were running away with us, and
would certainly have dashed the carriage to pieces. Thank him, then,
my child, in your very best manner; for, had he not come to our aid,
neither you nor I would have been alive to speak our thanks." The child
stuck out his lips and turned away his head in a disdainful manner,
saying, "He's too ugly."
The count smiled as if the child bade fair to realize his hopes, while
Madame de Villefort reprimanded her son with a gentleness and moderation
very far from conveying the least idea of a fault having been committed.
"This lady," said the Count, speaking to Ali in the Arabic language, "is
desirous that her son should thank you for saving both their lives; but
the boy refuses, saying you are too ugly." Ali turned his intelligent
countenance towards the boy, on whom he gazed without any apparent
emotion; but the spasmodic working of the nostrils showed to the
practiced eye of Monte Cristo that the Arab had been wounded to the
heart.
"Will you permit me to inquire," said Madame de Villefort, as she arose
to take her leave, "whether you usually reside here?"
"No, I do not," replied Monte Cristo; "it is a small place I have
purchased quite lately. My place of abode is No. 30, Avenue des Champs
Elysees; but I see you have quite recovered from your fright, and are,
no doubt, desirous of returning home. Anticipating your wishes, I have
desired the same horses you came with to be put to one of my carriages,
and Ali, he whom you think so very ugly," continued he, addressing the
boy with a smiling air, "will have the honor of driving you home, while
your coachman remains here to attend to the necessary repairs of your
calash. As soon as that important business is concluded, I will have a
pair of my own horses harnessed to convey it direct to Madame Danglars."
"I dare not return with those dreadful horses," said Madame de
Villefort.
"You will see," replied Monte Cristo, "that they will be as different as
possible in the hands of Ali. With him they will be gentle and docile
as lambs." Ali had, indeed, given proof of this; for, approaching the
animals, who had been got upon their legs with considerable difficulty,
he rubbed their foreheads and nostrils with a sponge soaked in aromatic
vinegar, and wiped off the sweat and foam that covered their mouths.
Then, commencing a loud whistling noise, he rubbed them well all over
their bodies for several minutes; then, undisturbed by the noisy crowd
collected round the broken carriage, Ali quietly harnessed the pacified
animals to the count's chariot, took the reins in his hands, and mounted
the box, when to the utter astonishment of those who had witnessed
the ungovernable spirit and maddened speed of the same horses, he was
actually compelled to apply his whip in no very gentle manner before
he could induce them to start; and even then all that could be obtained
from the celebrated "dappled grays," now changed into a couple of dull,
sluggish, stupid brutes, was a slow, pottering pace, kept up with
so much difficulty that Madame de Villefort was more than two hours
returning to her residence in the Faubourg St. Honore.
Scarcely had the first congratulations upon her marvellous escape been
gone through when she wrote the following letter to Madame Danglars:--
Dear Hermine,--I have just had a wonderful escape from the most imminent
danger, and I owe my safety to the very Count of Monte Cristo we were
talking about yesterday, but whom I little expected to see to-day. I
remember how unmercifully I laughed at what I considered your eulogistic
and exaggerated praises of him; but I have now ample cause to admit that
your enthusiastic description of this wonderful man fell far short of
his merits. Your horses got as far as Ranelagh, when they darted forward
like mad things, and galloped away at so fearful a rate, that there
seemed no other prospect for myself and my poor Edward but that of being
dashed to pieces against the first object that impeded their progress,
when a strange-looking man,--an Arab, a negro, or a Nubian, at least
a black of some nation or other--at a signal from the count, whose
domestic he is, suddenly seized and stopped the infuriated animals, even
at the risk of being trampled to death himself; and certainly he must
have had a most wonderful escape. The count then hastened to us, and
took us into his house, where he speedily recalled my poor Edward to
life. He sent us home in his own carriage. Yours will be returned to you
to-morrow. You will find your horses in bad condition, from the results
of this accident; they seem thoroughly stupefied, as if sulky and vexed
at having been conquered by man. The count, however, has commissioned
me to assure you that two or three days' rest, with plenty of barley for
their sole food during that time, will bring them back to as fine, that
is as terrifying, a condition as they were in yesterday. Adieu! I cannot
return you many thanks for the drive of yesterday; but, after all,
I ought not to blame you for the misconduct of your horses, more
especially as it procured me the pleasure of an introduction to the
Count of Monte Cristo,--and certainly that illustrious personage, apart
from the millions he is said to be so very anxious to dispose of, seemed
to me one of those curiously interesting problems I, for one, delight in
solving at any risk, even if it were to necessitate another drive to
the Bois behind your horses. Edward endured the accident with miraculous
courage--he did not utter a single cry, but fell lifeless into my arms;
nor did a tear fall from his eyes after it was over. I doubt not you
will consider these praises the result of blind maternal affection, but
there is a soul of iron in that delicate, fragile body. Valentine sends
many affectionate remembrances to your dear Eugenie. I embrace you with
all my heart.
Heloise de Villefort.
P.S.--Do pray contrive some means for me to meet the Count of Monte
Cristo at your house. I must and will see him again. I have just made
M. de Villefort promise to call on him, and I hope the visit will be
returned.
That night the adventure at Auteuil was talked of everywhere. Albert
related it to his mother; Chateau-Renaud recounted it at the Jockey
Club, and Debray detailed it at length in the salons of the minister;
even Beauchamp accorded twenty lines in his journal to the relation
of the count's courage and gallantry, thereby celebrating him as the
greatest hero of the day in the eyes of all the feminine members of the
aristocracy. Vast was the crowd of visitors and inquiring friends who
left their names at the residence of Madame de Villefort, with the
design of renewing their visit at the right moment, of hearing from her
lips all the interesting circumstances of this most romantic adventure.
As for M. de Villefort, he fulfilled the predictions of Heloise to the
letter,--donned his dress suit, drew on a pair of white gloves, ordered
the servants to attend the carriage dressed in their full livery, and
drove that same night to No. 30 in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees.
Chapter 48. Ideology.
If the Count of Monte Cristo had been for a long time familiar with
the ways of Parisian society, he would have appreciated better the
significance of the step which M. de Villefort had taken. Standing well
at court, whether the king regnant was of the older or younger branch,
whether the government was doctrinaire liberal, or conservative; looked
upon by all as a man of talent, since those who have never experienced
a political check are generally so regarded; hated by many, but warmly
supported by others, without being really liked by anybody, M. de
Villefort held a high position in the magistracy, and maintained
his eminence like a Harlay or a Mole. His drawing-room, under the
regenerating influence of a young wife and a daughter by his first
marriage, scarcely eighteen, was still one of the well-regulated Paris
salons where the worship of traditional customs and the observance of
rigid etiquette were carefully maintained. A freezing politeness,
a strict fidelity to government principles, a profound contempt for
theories and theorists, a deep-seated hatred of ideality,--these were
the elements of private and public life displayed by M. de Villefort.
He was not only a magistrate, he was almost a diplomatist. His relations
with the former court, of which he always spoke with dignity and
respect, made him respected by the new one, and he knew so many
things, that not only was he always carefully considered, but sometimes
consulted. Perhaps this would not have been so had it been possible to
get rid of M. de Villefort; but, like the feudal barons who rebelled
against their sovereign, he dwelt in an impregnable fortress. This
fortress was his post as king's attorney, all the advantages of which
he exploited with marvellous skill, and which he would not have resigned
but to be made deputy, and thus to replace neutrality by opposition.
Ordinarily M. de Villefort made and returned very few visits. His wife
visited for him, and this was the received thing in the world, where the
weighty and multifarious occupations of the magistrate were accepted as
an excuse for what was really only calculated pride, a manifestation of
professed superiority--in fact, the application of the axiom, "Pretend
to think well of yourself, and the world will think well of you," an
axiom a hundred times more useful in society nowadays than that of the
Greeks, "Know thyself," a knowledge for which, in our days, we have
substituted the less difficult and more advantageous science of knowing
others.
To his friends M. de Villefort was a powerful protector; to his enemies,
he was a silent, but bitter opponent; for those who were neither the
one nor the other, he was a statue of the law-made man. He had a haughty
bearing, a look either steady and impenetrable or insolently piercing
and inquisitorial. Four successive revolutions had built and cemented
the pedestal upon which his fortune was based. M. de Villefort had the
reputation of being the least curious and the least wearisome man in
France. He gave a ball every year, at which he appeared for a quarter of
an hour only,--that is to say, five and forty minutes less than the king
is visible at his balls. He was never seen at the theatres, at concerts,
or in any place of public resort. Occasionally, but seldom, he played
at whist, and then care was taken to select partners worthy of
him--sometimes they were ambassadors, sometimes archbishops, or
sometimes a prince, or a president, or some dowager duchess. Such was
the man whose carriage had just now stopped before the Count of Monte
Cristo's door. The valet de chambre announced M. de Villefort at the
moment when the count, leaning over a large table, was tracing on a map
the route from St. Petersburg to China.
The procureur entered with the same grave and measured step he would
have employed in entering a court of justice. He was the same man, or
rather the development of the same man, whom we have heretofore seen as
assistant attorney at Marseilles. Nature, according to her way, had
made no deviation in the path he had marked out for himself. From being
slender he had now become meagre; once pale, he was now yellow; his
deep-set eyes were hollow, and the gold spectacles shielding his eyes
seemed to be an integral portion of his face. He dressed entirely in
black, with the exception of his white tie, and his funeral appearance
was only mitigated by the slight line of red ribbon which passed almost
imperceptibly through his button-hole, and appeared like a streak of
blood traced with a delicate brush. Although master of himself, Monte
Cristo, scrutinized with irrepressible curiosity the magistrate whose
salute he returned, and who, distrustful by habit, and especially
incredulous as to social prodigies, was much more despised to look
upon "the noble stranger," as Monte Cristo was already called, as an
adventurer in search of new fields, or an escaped criminal, rather than
as a prince of the Holy See, or a sultan of the Thousand and One Nights.
"Sir," said Villefort, in the squeaky tone assumed by magistrates in
their oratorical periods, and of which they cannot, or will not, divest
themselves in society, "sir, the signal service which you yesterday
rendered to my wife and son has made it a duty for me to offer you my
thanks. I have come, therefore, to discharge this duty, and to express
to you my overwhelming gratitude." And as he said this, the "eye severe"
of the magistrate had lost nothing of its habitual arrogance. He spoke
in a voice of the procureur-general, with the rigid inflexibility of
neck and shoulders which caused his flatterers to say (as we have before
observed) that he was the living statue of the law.
"Monsieur," replied the count, with a chilling air, "I am very happy to
have been the means of preserving a son to his mother, for they say that
