Chapter 51. Pyramus and Thisbe
About two-thirds of the way along the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and in therear of one of the most imposing mansions in this rich neighborhood,where the various houses vie with each other for elegance of design andmagnificence of construction, extended a large garden, where the wide-spreading chestnut-trees raised their heads high above the walls in asolid rampart, and with the coming of every spring scattered a shower ofdelicate pink and white blossoms into the large stone vases that stoodupon the two square pilasters of a curiously wrought iron gate, thatdated from the time of Louis XIII.
This noble entrance, however, in spite of its striking appearance andthe graceful effect of the geraniums planted in the two vases, as theywaved their variegated leaves in the wind and charmed the eye with theirscarlet bloom, had fallen into utter disuse. The proprietors of themansion had many years before thought it best to confine themselves tothe possession of the house itself, with its thickly planted courtyard,opening into the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and to the garden shut in bythis gate, which formerly communicated with a fine kitchen-garden ofabout an acre. For the demon of speculation drew a line, or in otherwords projected a street, at the farther side of the kitchen-garden. Thestreet was laid out, a name was chosen and posted up on an iron plate,but before construction was begun, it occurred to the possessor of theproperty that a handsome sum might be obtained for the ground thendevoted to fruits and vegetables, by building along the line of theproposed street, and so making it a branch of communication with theFaubourg Saint-Honoré itself, one of the most important thoroughfares inthe city of Paris.
In matters of speculation, however, though “man proposes,” yet “moneydisposes.” From some such difficulty the newly named street died almostin birth, and the purchaser of the kitchen-garden, having paid a highprice for it, and being quite unable to find anyone willing to take hisbargain off his hands without a considerable loss, yet still clinging tothe belief that at some future day he should obtain a sum for it thatwould repay him, not only for his past outlay, but also the interestupon the capital locked up in his new acquisition, contented himselfwith letting the ground temporarily to some market-gardeners, at ayearly rental of 500 francs.
And so, as we have said, the iron gate leading into the kitchen-gardenhad been closed up and left to the rust, which bade fair before long toeat off its hinges, while to prevent the ignoble glances of the diggersand delvers of the ground from presuming to sully the aristocraticenclosure belonging to the mansion, the gate had been boarded up to aheight of six feet. True, the planks were not so closely adjusted butthat a hasty peep might be obtained through their interstices; but thestrict decorum and rigid propriety of the inhabitants of the house leftno grounds for apprehending that advantage would be taken of thatcircumstance.
Horticulture seemed, however, to have been abandoned in the desertedkitchen-garden; and where cabbages, carrots, radishes, peas, and melonshad once flourished, a scanty crop of lucern alone bore evidence of itsbeing deemed worthy of cultivation. A small, low door gave egress fromthe walled space we have been describing into the projected street, theground having been abandoned as unproductive by its various renters, andhad now fallen so completely in general estimation as to return not eventhe one-half per cent it had originally paid. Towards the house thechestnut-trees we have before mentioned rose high above the wall,without in any way affecting the growth of other luxuriant shrubs andflowers that eagerly dressed forward to fill up the vacant spaces, asthough asserting their right to enjoy the boon of light and air. At onecorner, where the foliage became so thick as almost to shut out day, alarge stone bench and sundry rustic seats indicated that this shelteredspot was either in general favor or particular use by some inhabitant ofthe house, which was faintly discernible through the dense mass ofverdure that partially concealed it, though situated but a hundred pacesoff.
Whoever had selected this retired portion of the grounds as the boundaryof a walk, or as a place for meditation, was abundantly justified in thechoice by the absence of all glare, the cool, refreshing shade, thescreen it afforded from the scorching rays of the sun, that found noentrance there even during the burning days of hottest summer, theincessant and melodious warbling of birds, and the entire removal fromeither the noise of the street or the bustle of the mansion. On theevening of one of the warmest days spring had yet bestowed on theinhabitants of Paris, might be seen negligently thrown upon the stonebench, a book, a parasol, and a work-basket, from which hung a partlyembroidered cambric handkerchief, while at a little distance from thesearticles was a young woman, standing close to the iron gate, endeavoringto discern something on the other side by means of the openings in theplanks,—the earnestness of her attitude and the fixed gaze with whichshe seemed to seek the object of her wishes, proving how much herfeelings were interested in the matter.
At that instant the little side-gate leading from the waste ground tothe street was noiselessly opened, and a tall, powerful young manappeared. He was dressed in a common gray blouse and velvet cap, but hiscarefully arranged hair, beard and moustache, all of the richest andglossiest black, ill accorded with his plebeian attire. After casting arapid glance around him, in order to assure himself that he wasunobserved, he entered by the small gate, and, carefully closing andsecuring it after him, proceeded with a hurried step towards thebarrier.
At the sight of him she expected, though probably not in such a costume,the young woman started in terror, and was about to make a hastyretreat. But the eye of love had already seen, even through the narrowchinks of the wooden palisades, the movement of the white robe, andobserved the fluttering of the blue sash. Pressing his lips close to theplanks, he exclaimed:
“Don’t be alarmed, Valentine—it is I!”
Again the timid girl found courage to return to the gate, saying, as shedid so:
“And why do you come so late today? It is almost dinner-time, and I hadto use no little diplomacy to get rid of my watchful mother-in-law, mytoo-devoted maid, and my troublesome brother, who is always teasing meabout coming to work at my embroidery, which I am in a fair way never toget done. So pray excuse yourself as well as you can for having made mewait, and, after that, tell me why I see you in a dress so singular thatat first I did not recognize you.”
“Dearest Valentine,” said the young man, “the difference between ourrespective stations makes me fear to offend you by speaking of my love,but yet I cannot find myself in your presence without longing to pourforth my soul, and tell you how fondly I adore you. If it be but tocarry away with me the recollection of such sweet moments, I could eventhank you for chiding me, for it leaves me a gleam of hope, that if youdid not expect me (and that indeed would be worse than vanity tosuppose), at least I was in your thoughts. You asked me the cause of mybeing late, and why I come disguised. I will candidly explain the reasonof both, and I trust to your goodness to pardon me. I have chosen atrade.”
“A trade? Oh, Maximilian, how can you jest at a time when we have suchdeep cause for uneasiness?”
“Heaven keep me from jesting with that which is far dearer to me thanlife itself! But listen to me, Valentine, and I will tell you all aboutit. I became weary of ranging fields and scaling walls, and seriouslyalarmed at the idea suggested by you, that if caught hovering about hereyour father would very likely have me sent to prison as a thief. Thatwould compromise the honor of the French army, to say nothing of thefact that the continual presence of a captain of Spahis in a place whereno warlike projects could be supposed to account for it might wellcreate surprise; so I have become a gardener, and, consequently, adoptedthe costume of my calling.”
“What excessive nonsense you talk, Maximilian!”
“Nonsense? Pray do not call what I consider the wisest action of my lifeby such a name. Consider, by becoming a gardener I effectually screenour meetings from all suspicion or danger.”
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“I beseech of you, Maximilian, to cease trifling, and tell me what youreally mean.”
A faint cry of mingled pleasure and surprise escaped from the lips ofValentine, who almost instantly said, in a saddened tone, as though someenvious cloud darkened the joy which illumined her heart:
“Alas, no, Maximilian, this must not be, for many reasons. We shouldpresume too much on our own strength, and, like others, perhaps, be ledastray by our blind confidence in each other’s prudence.”
“How can you for an instant entertain so unworthy a thought, dearValentine? Have I not, from the first blessed hour of our acquaintance,schooled all my words and actions to your sentiments and ideas? And youhave, I am sure, the fullest confidence in my honor. When you spoke tome of experiencing a vague and indefinite sense of coming danger, Iplaced myself blindly and devotedly at your service, asking no otherreward than the pleasure of being useful to you; and have I ever since,by word or look, given you cause of regret for having selected me fromthe numbers that would willingly have sacrificed their lives for you?You told me, my dear Valentine, that you were engaged to M. d’Épinay,and that your father was resolved upon completing the match, and thatfrom his will there was no appeal, as M. de Villefort was never known tochange a determination once formed. I kept in the background, as youwished, and waited, not for the decision of your heart or my own, buthoping that Providence would graciously interpose in our behalf, andorder events in our favor. But what cared I for delays or difficulties,Valentine, as long as you confessed that you loved me, and took pity onme? If you will only repeat that avowal now and then, I can endureanything.”
“Ah, Maximilian, that is the very thing that makes you so bold, andwhich renders me at once so happy and unhappy, that I frequently askmyself whether it is better for me to endure the harshness of my mother-in-law, and her blind preference for her own child, or to be, as I nowam, insensible to any pleasure save such as I find in these meetings, sofraught with danger to both.”
“I will not admit that word,” returned the young man; “it is at oncecruel and unjust. Is it possible to find a more submissive slave thanmyself? You have permitted me to converse with you from time to time,Valentine, but forbidden my ever following you in your walks orelsewhere—have I not obeyed? And since I found means to enter thisenclosure to exchange a few words with you through this gate—to be closeto you without really seeing you—have I ever asked so much as to touchthe hem of your gown or tried to pass this barrier which is but a trifleto one of my youth and strength? Never has a complaint or a murmurescaped me. I have been bound by my promises as rigidly as any knight ofolden times. Come, come, dearest Valentine, confess that what I say istrue, lest I be tempted to call you unjust.”
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“It is true,” said Valentine, as she passed the end of her slenderfingers through a small opening in the planks, and permitted Maximilianto press his lips to them, “and you are a true and faithful friend; butstill you acted from motives of self-interest, my dear Maximilian, foryou well knew that from the moment in which you had manifested anopposite spirit all would have been ended between us. You promised tobestow on me the friendly affection of a brother. For I have no friendbut yourself upon earth, who am neglected and forgotten by my father,harassed and persecuted by my mother-in-law, and left to the solecompanionship of a paralyzed and speechless old man, whose withered handcan no longer press mine, and who can speak to me with the eye alone,although there still lingers in his heart the warmest tenderness for hispoor grandchild. Oh, how bitter a fate is mine, to serve either as avictim or an enemy to all who are stronger than myself, while my onlyfriend and supporter is a living corpse! Indeed, indeed, Maximilian, Iam very miserable, and if you love me it must be out of pity.”
“Valentine,” replied the young man, deeply affected, “I will not say youare all I love in the world, for I dearly prize my sister and brother-in-law; but my affection for them is calm and tranquil, in no mannerresembling what I feel for you. When I think of you my heart beats fast,the blood burns in my veins, and I can hardly breathe; but I solemnlypromise you to restrain all this ardor, this fervor and intensity offeeling, until you yourself shall require me to render them available inserving or assisting you. M. Franz is not expected to return home for ayear to come, I am told; in that time many favorable and unforeseenchances may befriend us. Let us, then, hope for the best; hope is sosweet a comforter. Meanwhile, Valentine, while reproaching me withselfishness, think a little what you have been to me—the beautiful butcold resemblance of a marble Venus. What promise of future reward haveyou made me for all the submission and obedience I have evinced?—nonewhatever. What granted me?—scarcely more. You tell me of M. Franzd’Épinay, your betrothed lover, and you shrink from the idea of beinghis wife; but tell me, Valentine, is there no other sorrow in yourheart? You see me devoted to you, body and soul, my life and each warmdrop that circles round my heart are consecrated to your service; youknow full well that my existence is bound up in yours—that were I tolose you I would not outlive the hour of such crushing misery; yet youspeak with calmness of the prospect of your being the wife of another!Oh, Valentine, were I in your place, and did I feel conscious, as youdo, of being worshipped, adored, with such a love as mine, a hundredtimes at least should I have passed my hand between these iron bars, andsaid, ‘Take this hand, dearest Maximilian, and believe that, living ordead, I am yours—yours only, and forever!’”
The poor girl made no reply, but her lover could plainly hear her sobsand tears. A rapid change took place in the young man’s feelings.
“Dearest, dearest Valentine,” exclaimed he, “forgive me if I haveoffended you, and forget the words I spoke if they have unwittinglycaused you pain.”
“No, Maximilian, I am not offended,” answered she, “but do you not seewhat a poor, helpless being I am, almost a stranger and an outcast in myfather’s house, where even he is seldom seen; whose will has beenthwarted, and spirits broken, from the age of ten years, beneath theiron rod so sternly held over me; oppressed, mortified, and persecuted,day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, no person has cared for,even observed my sufferings, nor have I ever breathed one word on thesubject save to yourself. Outwardly and in the eyes of the world, I amsurrounded by kindness and affection; but the reverse is the case. Thegeneral remark is, ‘Oh, it cannot be expected that one of so stern acharacter as M. Villefort could lavish the tenderness some fathers do ontheir daughters. What though she has lost her own mother at a tenderage, she has had the happiness to find a second mother in Madame deVillefort.’ The world, however, is mistaken; my father abandons me fromutter indifference, while my mother-in-law detests me with a hatred somuch the more terrible because it is veiled beneath a continual smile.”
“Hate you, sweet Valentine,” exclaimed the young man; “how is itpossible for anyone to do that?”
“Alas,” replied the weeping girl, “I am obliged to own that my mother-in-law’s aversion to me arises from a very natural
source—heroverweening love for her own child, my brother Edward.”
“But why should it?”
“I do not know; but, though unwilling to introduce money matters intoour present conversation, I will just say this much—that her extremedislike to me has its origin there; and I much fear she envies me thefortune I enjoy in right of my mother, and which will be more thandoubled at the death of M. and Mme. de Saint-Méran, whose sole heiress Iam. Madame de Villefort has nothing of her own, and hates me for beingso richly endowed. Alas, how gladly would I exchange the half of thiswealth for the happiness of at least sharing my father’s love. Godknows, I would prefer sacrificing the whole, so that it would obtain mea happy and affectionate home.”
“Poor Valentine!”
“I seem to myself as though living a life of bondage, yet at the sametime am so conscious of my own weakness that I fear to break therestraint in which I am held, lest I fall utterly helpless. Then, too,my father is not a person whose orders may be infringed with impunity;protected as he is by his high position and firmly establishedreputation for talent and unswerving integrity, no one could oppose him;he is all-powerful even with the king; he would crush you at a word.Dear Maximilian, believe me when I assure you that if I do not attemptto resist my father’s commands it is more on your account than my own.”
“But why, Valentine, do you persist in anticipating the worst,—whypicture so gloomy a future?”
“Because I judge it from the past.”
“Still, consider that although I may not be, strictly speaking, what istermed an illustrious match for you, I am, for many reasons, notaltogether so much beneath your alliance. The days when suchdistinctions were so nicely weighed and considered no longer exist inFrance, and the first families of the monarchy have intermarried withthose of the empire. The aristocracy of the lance has allied itself withthe nobility of the cannon. Now I belong to this last-named class; andcertainly my prospects of military preferment are most encouraging aswell as certain. My fortune, though small, is free and unfettered, andthe memory of my late father is respected in our country, Valentine, asthat of the most upright and honorable merchant of the city; I say ourcountry, because you were born not far from Marseilles.”
“Don’t speak of Marseilles, I beg of you, Maximilian; that one wordbrings back my mother to my recollection—my angel mother, who died toosoon for myself and all who knew her; but who, after watching over herchild during the brief period allotted to her in this world, now, Ifondly hope, watches from her home in heaven. Oh, if my mother werestill living, there would be nothing to fear, Maximilian, for I wouldtell her that I loved you, and she would protect us.”
“I fear, Valentine,” replied the lover, “that were she living I shouldnever have had the happiness of knowing you; you would then have beentoo happy to have stooped from your grandeur to bestow a thought on me.”
“Now it is you who are unjust, Maximilian,” cried Valentine; “but thereis one thing I wish to know.”
“And what is that?” inquired the young man, perceiving that Valentinehesitated.
“Tell me truly, Maximilian, whether in former days, when our fathersdwelt at Marseilles, there was ever any misunderstanding between them?”
“Not that I am aware of,” replied the young man, “unless, indeed, anyill-feeling might have arisen from their being of opposite parties—yourfather was, as you know, a zealous partisan of the Bourbons, while minewas wholly devoted to the emperor; there could not possibly be any otherdifference between them. But why do you ask?”
“I will tell you,” replied the young girl, “for it is but right youshould know. Well, on the day when your appointment as an officer of theLegion of Honor was announced in the papers, we were all sitting with mygrandfather, M. Noirtier; M. Danglars was there also—you recollect M.Danglars, do you not, Maximilian, the banker, whose horses ran away withmy mother-in-law and little brother, and very nearly killed them? Whilethe rest of the company were discussing the approaching marriage ofMademoiselle Danglars, I was reading the paper to my grandfather; butwhen I came to the paragraph about you, although I had done nothing elsebut read it over to myself all the morning (you know you had told me allabout it the previous evening), I felt so happy, and yet so nervous, atthe idea of speaking your name aloud, and before so many people, that Ireally think I should have passed it over, but for the fear that mydoing so might create suspicions as to the cause of my silence; so Isummoned up all my courage, and read it as firmly and as steadily as Icould.”
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“Dear Valentine!”
“Well, would you believe it? directly my father caught the sound of yourname he turned round quite hastily, and, like a poor silly thing, I wasso persuaded that everyone must be as much affected as myself by theutterance of your name, that I was not surprised to see my father start,and almost tremble; but I even thought (though that surely must havebeen a mistake) that M. Danglars trembled too.”
“‘Morrel, Morrel,’ cried my father, ‘stop a bit;’ then knitting hisbrows into a deep frown, he added, ‘surely this cannot be one of theMorrel family who lived at Marseilles, and gave us so much trouble fromtheir violent Bonapartism—I mean about the year 1815.’
“‘Yes,’ replied M. Danglars, ‘I believe he is the son of the oldshipowner.’”
“Indeed,” answered Maximilian; “and what did your father say then,Valentine?”
“Oh, such a dreadful thing, that I don’t dare to tell you.”
“Always tell me everything,” said Maximilian with a smile.
“‘Ah,’ continued my father, still frowning, ‘their idolized emperortreated these madmen as they deserved; he called them ‘food for cannon,’which was precisely all they were good for; and I am delighted to seethat the present government have adopted this salutary principle withall its pristine vigor; if Algiers were good for nothing but to furnishthe means of carrying so admirable an idea into practice, it would be anacquisition well worthy of struggling to obtain. Though it certainlydoes cost France somewhat dear to assert her rights in that uncivilizedcountry.’”
“Brutal politics, I must confess.” said Maximilian; “but don’t attachany serious importance, dear, to what your father said. My father wasnot a bit behind yours in that sort of talk. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘does notthe emperor, who has devised so many clever and efficient modes ofimproving the art of war, organize a regiment of lawyers, judges andlegal practitioners, sending them in the hottest fire the enemy couldmaintain, and using them to save better men?’ You see, my dear, that forpicturesque expression and generosity of spirit there is not much tochoose between the language of either party. But what did M. Danglarssay to this outburst on the part of the procureur?”
“Oh, he laughed, and in that singular manner so peculiar tohimself—half-malicious, half-ferocious; he almost immediately got up andtook his leave; then, for the first time, I observed the agitation of mygrandfather, and I must tell you, Maximilian, that I am the only personcapable of discerning emotion in his paralyzed frame. And I suspectedthat the conversation that had been carried on in his presence (for theyalways say and do what they like before the dear old man, without thesmallest regard for his feelings) had made a strong impression on hismind; for, naturally enough, it must have pained him to hear the emperorhe so devotedly loved and served spoken of in that depreciating manner.”
“The name of M. Noirtier,” interposed Maximilian, “is celebratedthroughout Europe; he was a statesman of high standing, and you may ormay not know, Valentine, that he took a leading part in everyBonapartist conspiracy set on foot during the restoration of theBourbons.”
“Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me moststrange—the father a Bonapartist, the son a Royalist; what can have beenthe reason of so singular a difference in parties and politics? But toresume my story; I turned towards my grandfather, as though to questionhim as to the cause of his emotion; he looked expressively at thenewspaper I had been reading. ‘What is the matter, dear grandfather?’said
I, ‘are you pleased?’ He gave me a sign in the affirmative. ‘Withwhat my father said just now?’ He returned a sign in the negative.‘Perhaps you liked what M. Danglars said?’ Another sign in the negative.‘Oh, then, you were glad to hear that M. Morrel (I didn’t dare to sayMaximilian) had been made an officer of the Legion of Honor?’ Hesignified assent; only think of the poor old man’s being so pleased tothink that you, who were a perfect stranger to him, had been made anofficer of the Legion of Honor! Perhaps it was a mere whim on his part,for he is falling, they say, into second childhood, but I love him forshowing so much interest in you.”
“How singular,” murmured Maximilian; “your father hates me, while yourgrandfather, on the contrary—What strange feelings are aroused bypolitics.”
“Hush,” cried Valentine, suddenly; “someone is coming!” Maximilianleaped at one bound into his crop of lucern, which he began to pull upin the most ruthless way, under the pretext of being occupied in weedingit.
“Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!” exclaimed a voice from behind the trees.“Madame is searching for you everywhere; there is a visitor in thedrawing-room.”
“A visitor?” inquired Valentine, much agitated; “who is it?”
“Some grand personage—a prince I believe they said—the Count of MonteCristo.”
“I will come directly,” cried Valentine aloud.
The name of Monte Cristo sent an electric shock through the young man onthe other side of the iron gate, to whom Valentine’s “I am coming” wasthe customary signal of farewell.
“Now, then,” said Maximilian, leaning on the handle of his spade, “Iwould give a good deal to know how it comes about that the Count ofMonte Cristo is acquainted with M. de Villefort.”
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