WHEN THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO ENTERS HIS coveted spot in the most prestigious Parisian theater, he is overwhelmed by the warm hugs that await him. As Emmanuel and Julie calm, Edmond Dantes notices Mercedes seated, quietly hiding behind her veil. Apprehensively, Edmond takes Mercedes’ hand, gently presses his lips to her golden skin, saying, “Mademoiselle Herrera, finding you here has brought me great joy, and fulfilled a hope I had that we would meet again. When I last saw you, you fled from me, and I have felt empty ever since. Have you forgiven me? Have you forgiven yourself?”
Mercedes lifts her eyes to meet his, her gaze concealed by the veil. “Yes Edmond, I have forgiven myself — and as for you, there is nothing to forgive. Letting go of the past has rejuvenated my youthfulness and restored my zeal for life. Lift my veil and tell me if I am dreaming.”
Lifting the veil to behold a Mercedes more beautiful than the young bride he once dreamed of marrying, more intoxicating and radiant than Juno, the Queen of Heaven, Edmond says, “You are one of those rare women who grow more beautiful with age.”
Mercedes, veiling herself once more, says, “I hope you will not let what you have beheld pine away, without knowing your love. When we are alone again, I have many blessings to shower on you. Will you visit me in your father’s apartment tomorrow?”
“Yes, Mercedes, I promise I shall.”
Across the theater, the gorgeous Countess G is the first to spot the Count of Monte Cristo, and asks Franz to request Le Comte to visit her between Act I and Act II of “Zarzuela,” a comic Spanish opera based on the royal residence near Madrid, first performed in 1770. The Count dutifully does as he is bade, kissing the Countess’ hand as he greets her. After formalities are exchanged, she makes her request. “My dear Count, I beg you to visit my chateau tonight, for a soiree. I promise you will never forget it. I will introduce you to that bloodhound of investigative journalism, Alexandre Dumas. He publishes a chapter every day in the Debats about you, and perhaps you know he has published a book about your exploits.”
“Indeed,” says Dantes, “I have heard rumors and read some of the details in the Debats and the Presse newspapers. He makes me out to be quite an extraordinary, and even frightening, man.”
“Frightening,” Countess G retorts with a coy smile. “To be frightening, we would need some evidence that you imbibe blood — the only elixir which could stop you from aging. I still believe you are Lord Ruthwen, because no one born in the 1700s could look to be so young.”
The Count of Monte Cristo grins, “Would you like me to share my secret nostrum?”
Countess G says, “I will give you my answer this night, but only if you visit my new chateau.”
“You can depend on my descent into your little Versailles tonight, dear Countess,” Dantes says, as he takes his leave, slowly bowing. “Now, please excuse me — I must return to my seat for the second act.”
“Franz!” says Countess G to her companion, as the lights dim. “Did he say ‘descent’? Did he mean he would be lowering himself to visit me?”
“I am sure he would not be so insulting,” Franz replies. “I think he was playing with your jokes about him being a vampire; that like a bat he would descend from the air to relieve you of your blood. That is what you are hoping, I suspect.”
Countess G, blushing, says, “I admit that this vampire, Lord Ruthwen, or whatever he is, has spellbound me; and he has something I want and need. I don’t know if this desire is wholesome or diabolical, but I know I must have what I crave or else die.”
By this time, all eyes are on the notorious Count of Monte Cristo, and his name is heard on every lip.
Mercedes, observing the interactions between Countess G and the Count of Monte Cristo, clutches her envious heart. Could Dantes be drawn to another?
The Count of Monte Cristo does indeed descend upon the chateau of the wealthy Italian heiress; he brings with him Mercedes, Julie, Emmanuel, and a host of hired servants in a caravan of his phaeton, brougham, coupe, barouche, and britzka carriages, all drawn by the world’s finest Arabian horses. As he leads Mercedes in on his arm, he feels a slight twinge of guilt — what would Haydee think of this reunion with his first love? He brushes his misgivings aside, however, telling himself that his intentions are honorable and Mercedes is an old friend, albeit a beautiful one.
As Mercedes watches the finely-dressed couples sweeping across the marble floor of the ballroom, she feels a longing in her own feet to join the elegant movement and tear off the veil she still wears. But her longing goes deeper than that — she longs to have a certain man dance with her, holding her in his strong arms.
Mercedes and Dantes have danced together only a few times in their lives, and their last waltz was twenty years ago. Mercedes quietly asks Dantes to dance with her, hardly daring to hope he will agree. Apprehensively, he accepts, and is surprised to realize that their feet move in rhythmic harmony, as they effortlessly join the graceful flow of Parisian aristocracy. When the orchestra finishes performing Amadeus Mozart’s ‘Waltz in G Minor,’ the women of Parisian high society surround the Count of Monte Cristo, requesting a dance for themselves. They have been watching him and whispering ever since he stepped into the chateau, and now they each want their own turn in his arms. Countess G cuts through her guests and aggressively takes the Count’s hand, walking him back to the ballroom floor, as the orchestra begins yet another waltz. Although his chemistry with Countess G is not as engaging as with Mercedes, he still finds her an enjoyable partner. Countess G whispers in his ear, “I have something I want to show you,” and takes Dantes’ hand, while leading him up along the balustrade of the winding stairs.
Mercedes is outraged as she observes this blatant seduction in front of Paris’ aristocratic society. She’s not sure if she’s more angry at Dantes or at Countess G, but she begins to shake with rage, as the two disappear into the gloom of the upper level.
Countess G leads Dantes into her fashionable bedroom, which contains some of the world’s greatest artwork. One piece in particular catches Dantes’ eye, but as he moves to inspect it more closely, she pulls him back to the center of the room, laughing. “Don't look at those, my dear Count; look at me,” she says, flirtatiously pulling away the scarf that covered her neck. “Look at this tender white, soft skin. Gaze at these blue, virgin veins. I want to be young forever. Please, I beg of you.” She gently places his hand on the left side of her neck. “Tenderly avail yourself of my precious blood to satisfy your thirst, and grant me eternal life.”
The Count of Monte Cristo, ever amused by the folly of others, cannot help himself — he slowly moves his mouth to her neck, and sucks until she faints. He guides her unconscious body onto the silken linens of her bed, and pulls shut the purple velvet curtains, embroidered with clusters of laburnum and pink acacia branches, so that she is entirely enclosed within.
As he prepares to return to the party, Dantes hears a knock on the door, and finds Ali, who points downstairs, his features indicating that the matter is urgent. “Yes, my good man?” asks Dantes. “Lead and I will follow — show me the source of your distress.”
Ali leads Dantes down a back staircase, into a small library off of the ballroom. Mercedes sits inside, on a low ottoman; she has removed her veil and twists it in her hands, and tears streak her cheeks.
Relieved that Dantes has returned with Ali, she asks, “What business do you have with that temptress?”
“Would you be jealous if I added her to my seraglio?” inquires Dantes, laughter in his eyes.
“What is a seraglio?” asks Mercedes, distracted from her pique by Dantes’ question.
“A harem palace, my love,” Dantes answers. “To live with the rest of my beautiful wives.”
“What? You mean to say that you already have a harem of wives?” Mercedes’ voice rose in disbelief. “I have never heard of a Westerner of the civilized world engaging in such barbarism.”
“How do you know it is barbaric, if you have never tried it?” Dantes asked, his tone turning serious
and contemplative. “Haydee has told me many stories of her father’s harem. Her mother was his Vasiliki, and she and the other wives treated each other like sisters, and all of the children treated each other like whole, not half, sisters and brothers. It was a large and joyous family of the kind never seen in Europe. And yet Haydee’s mother was born a civilized Christian, and she willingly married a Sultan, a Muslim. You respect King Solomon, don't you? Recall he had 700 wives and 300 concubines, authored Proverbs, and built the Lord’s temple as well.”
“I am not sure I can condone such a life,” says Mercedes. “But your revelation reminds me of one of the secrets I have to reveal to you,” Mercedes says. “Your father wrote a letter, which he hid before his death, that claims King Solomon in your genealogy; and you won’t believe the letter when you read it. If that is your heritage, and you are descended from King Solomon, then having a harem may indeed be your birthright. How did you come to possess a harem, and how many wives have you already wed?”
“As you may know,” Dantes answers, “I restored Haydee’s sultanate to her and freed her from my bondage. Though I intended to wish her good luck and many blessings, and then take my leave, she bade me to marry her. I was dumbfounded and realized she loved me more than a brother or mere protector or former master. In a state of shock, I obeyed this unexpected and strange edict. She reminded me of you, when we were young lovers; and I thought that God was giving me a second Mercedes to reward me.”
“So, are you in love with her then?” Mercedes says, her heart falling.
“Yes, I am. Yet she is a very traditional creature; and she told me before I journeyed to Paris that, as the new Sultan of Albania, I must also have a harem, as her father had; and since she intuited that I have always loved you somewhere in my heart, Haydee wants you to be my second wife, on the condition that, you and your children born of me will only inherit my former wealth; but the wealth and power of Albania will belong to Haydee’s children alone. Another prerequisite is that you love and treat her like a younger sister or daughter, and that you do not attempt to dominate all of my attention or affection. She, as my first bride, will hold the position of first wife.”
Mercedes replies, “I am in a state of shock, so let me ponder your words. Please, Edmond, let us return to the ballroom — I wish to be among others.”
Mercedes and Dantes return to the ballroom, Ali trailing them loyally. Mercedes secures her veil over her face once more, and Dantes takes her arm to steady her steps. Their entrance holds the attention of the room for only a few moments, before all eyes move from the veiled woman and the Count of Monte Cristo, to Countess G descending the magnificent staircase. The Countess G looks disheveled, and as she approaches Dantes, he gestures for her to halt and joins her on the ballroom floor. He notices the deep red mark on her neck and asks, “Have you looked in the mirror?”
“No,” she answers. “Am I not myself? Have I changed in any way since our — encounter?”
“Yes,” Dantes answers; his voice is serious but his eyes are dancing with amusement. “Your eyes are glazed, and you have a noticeable bite on your neck. I would hide this mark until it heals — perhaps with a scarf, or a necklace.”
Countess G dashes to the mirror and, realizing she hadn’t merely dreamed of the exciting bite, slowly returns to ask the Count of Monte Cristo, “Does this mean I have turned?”
“No,” says Dantes, “but if you visit me in my palace in Albania in a fortnight, I will teach you what you will need, should you have undergone any metamorphosis by that time.”
Before Countess G can reply, Dantes bows politely and returns to Mercedes, and the pair enjoy several hours of dancing. Though their words are lost in the murmur of the crowd and the swish of ball gowns, it appears they are rekindling something that has long lain dormant within both of their hearts.
After midnight, Dantes approaches Countess G, thanking her for her hospitality and complimenting her on her grand new abode. “Stay out of the direct sunlight. Au Revoir, dear Countess,” he says in closing. He presses his lips to her hand, as he bows and makes his exit. Though he is disappointed to have not met Alexandre Dumas, as he had been promised by the Countess, he still counts the night a success.
To Mercedes’ surprise, Dantes drops her off not at her own doorstep, but at the posh Paris Princess, telling her that the royal suite of rooms is hers for the night. He assigns five servants to wait on her hand and foot, and tells her that Paris’ premier milliner and dressmaker will arrive tomorrow to indulge her every sartorial whim. As Dantes is taking his leave, Mercedes says, “This cold spring night has chilled me to my bones. Even the dancing has not warmed me.”
Dantes tells Ali to fetch the concierge, who appears in a moment. Dantes says, “Monsieur, please give the following order to the maitre d’ to brew a night-cap, using these ingredients: 1 cup apple cider, 1 cup red wine, 1-1/2 cups pomegranate juice, 2 sticks of cinnamon, 1 whole orange peel, a dozen whole cloves pierced into the orange peel, and 6 ounces of Cointreau . Using these ingredients, combine the cider, wine, juice, cinnamon, and clove-pierced orange-peel in a sauce pan. Warm at low heat to about 180 degrees. Strain into 6 mugs rimmed with cinnamon and sugar, then add an ounce of Cointreau to each of the six mugs. Garnish with pomegranate seeds.
“Let the chef keep one cup and bring the other five cups up while they are still steaming.”
“Yes, Majesty,” replies the concierge.
“Will you stay then, oh majestic Edmond, to be warmed by the delightful brew?” asks Mercedes.
“You said earlier you need time to sort out the strange thoughts dancing in your head,” Dantes says, “and I have work that I must complete tonight.”
“Oh my dear Edmond, are you rushing back to unfinished business with your captivated Countess G?”
“No,” says Edmond, “the unfinished work involves the girl I left waiting near the altar two decades ago.”
“You will work for me, in the middle of the night?” questions Mercedes. “If you are willing to do that, please, share the decadent hot toddies with me. Then leave me to finish your work, so I can fully appreciate how you have made me feel like a queen tonight, as I float into the dreamiest state of mind, free of any fear or regrets.”
Book II Count VII:
DANTES WAXES ELOQUENT
The Sultan of Monte Cristo: First Sequel to The Count of Monte Cristo Page 7