# The Count of Monte-Cristo/Volume 3/Chapter 51

Contents
CHAPTER LI
PYRAMUS AND THISBE
BOUT the center of the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and at the back of one of the most distinguished-looking mansions in this rich neighborhood, extended a large garden, whose widely spreading chestnut-trees raised their heads above the walls, high and solid as those of a rampart, scattering, each spring, a shower of delicate pink and white blossoms into the large stone vases placed at equal distances upon the two square pilasters, supporting an iron gate, of the reign of Louis XIV.
This noble entrance, however, spite of its striking appearance and the graceful effect of the geraniums planted in the two vases, as they waved in the wind their variegated leaves and their scarlet bloom, had fallen into utter disuse, from the period when the proprietors of the hotel (and many years had elapsed since then) had confined themselves to the possession of the hotel with its thickly planted court-yard, opening into the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and the garden shut in by this gate, which formerly communicated with a fine kitchen-garden of about an acre in extent.
But the demon of speculation having drawn a line, or in other words projected a street, at the extremity of this kitchen-garden, and even before the foundations of the said street were dug, its name being duly affixed upon an iron plate at the corner of the situation chosen, it was resolved to sell this kitehen-garden and build in the street, which was to rival the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, that great artery of Paris.
In matters of speculation, however, though "man proposes," yet "money disposes." The newly named street died almost in birth, and the purchaser of the "kitchen-garden," having paid a high price for it, could not resell it for the same sum; yet, still clinging to the belief that at some future day he should obtain a sum for it that would repay him, ​not only for his past outlay, but also for the interest upon the capital, contented himself with letting the ground temporarily to some market gardeners, at a yearly rent of five hundred francs.
Thus, then, as already stated, the iron gate leading into the kitchen-garden had been closed up and left to the rust; while, to prevent the ignoble diggers and delvers of the ground from presuming to sully with their looks the aristocratical inclosure belonging to the hotel, the gate in question had been boarded up to a height of six feet. True the planks were not so closely adjusted but that a hasty peep might be obtained between their interstices; but the strict decorum and rigid propriety of the inhabitants of the hotel left no grounds for apprehending that advantage would be taken of that circumstance.
In the deserted kitchen-garden, in place of cabbages and carrots, pears and melons, a scanty crop of lucern alone bore evidence of its being deemed worthy of cultivation. A small, low door gave egress from the walled space we have been describing, into the projected street, the ground having been abandoned as unproductive by its various renters, and had now fallen so completely in general estimation as to return not even a fraction of the poor half of one per cent, it had originally paid. Toward the hotel the chestnut-trees we have before mentioned rose high above the wall, without in any way affecting the growth of other luxuriant shrubs and flowers that eagerly pressed for ward to fill up the vacant spaces, as though asserting their right to air. At one corner, where the foliage became so thick as almost to shut out day, a large stone bench and sundry rustic seats indicated that this sheltered spot was either in general favor or particular use by some inhabitant of the hotel, which was faintly discernible through the dense mass of verdure that partially concealed it though situated but a hundred paces off.
Whoever had selected this retired portion of the grounds was abundantly justified in his choice by the absence of all glare the cool, refreshing shade the screen it afforded from the scorching rays of the sun, that found no entrance there even during the burning days of hot test summer the incessant and melodious warbling of birds, and the entire removal from either the noise of the street or the bustle of the hotel. On the evening of one of the warmest days spring had yet bestowed on the inhabitants of Paris, might be seen, negligently thrown upon the stone bench, a book, a parasol, and a work-basket, from which hung a partly embroidered cambric handkerchief, while, at a little distance from these articles, was a young girl, standing close to the iron gate, endeavoring to discern something on the other side by means of the openings in the planks.
​At that instant, the little side-door leading from the waste ground to the street was noiselessly opened, and a tall, powerful young man, dressed in a common gray blouse and velvet cap, but whose carefully arranged hair, beard and mustaches, all of the glossiest black, but ill accorded with his plebeian attire, after casting a rapid glance around him, in order to assure himself he was unobserved, entered by this door, and carefully closing it after him, proceeded with a hurried step toward the iron gate.
At the sight of him she expected, though probably not under such a costume, the girl started in terror, and was about to retreat. But the eye of love had already seen, even through the narrow chinks of the wooden palisades, the movement of the white robe and of the blue sash. Pressing his lips to the planks, he exclaimed:
"Fear nothing, Valentine—it is I!" Again the girl returned, saying as she did so:
"And wherefore come you so late to-day? It is almost the dinner-hour, and I have been compelled to exercise my utmost skill to get rid of my step-mother's spying as well as the espionage of my maid, and of the troublesome society of my brother, under pretense of coming hither to work at my embroidery, which, I fear, I am in no hurry to finish. So pray excuse yourself as well as you can for having made me wait, and, after that, tell me why I see you in so singular a dress, that at first I did not recognize you."
"Dearest Valentine," said the young man, "the difference between our stations makes me fear to speak of my love, but yet I cannot find myself in your presence without longing to tell you how I adore you, so that the echo of my own words may linger in my heart when I see you no longer. Now, I thank you for chiding me, for it leaves me a hope, that if not expecting me, at least I was in your thoughts. You asked me the cause of my being late, as also why I come thus disguised. I will explain both. I have chosen a trade."
"A trade! Oh, Maximilian, how can you jest at a time when we have such deep cause for uneasiness?"
"Heaven keep me from jesting with that which is far dearer to me than life itself! Tired out with ranging fields and scaling walls, and seriously alarmed at the idea suggested by yourself, that your father would very likely have me sent to prison as a thief, which would compromise the honor of the whole French army, alarmed too, at the possibility of being seen always prowling around this spot where there is no citadel to besiege and no blockhouse to defend; from a captain of Spahis I have become a gardener, and, consequently, adopted the costume of my calling."
​"What nonsense!"
"It is the wisest action of my life, for it gives us security."
"Come! Tell me what you mean."
"Simply, that having ascertained that the piece of ground was to let, I made application for it, was accepted, and am now master of this
crop of lucern! Valentine! There is nothing now to prevent my building myself a little hut on my plantation, and residing not twenty yards from you, Only imagine what happiness that would afford me. I can scarcely contain myself. But would you believe that I purchase ​all this delight, joy, and happiness, for which I would cheerfully have surrendered ten years of my life, at the small cost of five hundred francs per annum, paid quarterly! Henceforth we have nothing to fear. I am on my own ground, and have a right to place a ladder against the wall, and to look over when I please, without having any apprehensions of the police. I may also enjoy the privilege of assuring you of my love, unless, indeed, it offends your pride to listen to love from the lips of a poor working-man, clad in a blouse and cap."
A faint cry of mingled pleasure and surprise escaped from the lips of Valentine, who almost instantly said, in a saddened tone, as though some envious cloud darkened the joy which illumined her heart:
"Alas! Maximilian, this must not be! We should presume too much on our own strength, and, like others, perhaps, be led astray by our blind confidence in each other's prudence."
"How can you say that, dear Valentine? Have I not, from the first blessed hour of our acquaintance, schooled all my words and actions to your sentiments and ideas! And you have, I am sure, the fullest confidence in my honor. When you spoke to me of your experiencing a vague and indefinite sense of coming danger, I placed myself blindly and devotedly at your service, asking no other reward 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 from the numbers that would willingly have sacrificed their lives for you I You told me, my dear Valentine, that you were engaged to M. d'Epinay, and that your father was resolved upon completing the match, and that from his will there was no appeal, as M. de Villefort was never known to change a deter mination once formed. I kept in the background, as you wished, waiting not the decision of your heart or my own, but hoping Providence would graciously interpose in our behalf, and order events in our favor. Nevertheless you love me, Valentine, and you have told me so; thanks for your kind words. To hear you repeat them from time to time is all I ask, to make me forget all my disquietudes."
"Ah, Maximilian, that is the very thing that makes you so bold, and which renders me at once so happy and unhappy, that I frequently ask myself which is better for me the harshness of my step-mother, and her blind preference for her own child, or the pleasure I find in our meetings, so fraught with danger to both."
"I will not admit that word," returned the young man; "it is at once cruel and unjust. Is it possible to find a more submissive slave than myself? You have permitted me to converse with you from time to time, Valentine, but forbidden my ever following you in your walks or elsewhere—have I not obeyed I And since I found means to enter ​this inclosure to exchange a few words with you through this door,—to be close to you without being enabled to obtain a view of your features,—have I even solicited to touch the tip of your glove through the bars? Do you think that at my age, and with my strength, this wall that now
parts us would keep me from your side one instant, were it not that my respect for your wishes presents an impassable barrier? Never has a complaint or a murmur of your rigor escaped me. I have been bound by my promises as rigidly as any knight of olden times. Confess that, lest I be tempted to call you unjust." ​"It is true," said Valentine, as she passed the end of her slender fingers through a small opening in the planks, thus permitting her lover to press them with his lips, "and you are a true and faithful friend; but still you acted from motives of self-interest, my dear Maximilian, for you well knew that from the moment in which you had manifested an opposite spirit, all would have been ended between us. You promised to bestow on me the friendly affection of a brother I, who have no friend but yourself upon earth, who am neglected and forgotten by my father, persecuted by my step-mother, and left to the sole companionship of a paralyzed and speechless old man, whose withered hand can no longer press mine, and whose eye alone converses with me, while, doubt less, there still lingers in his heart some tenderness. Oh, how bitter a fate is mine, to serve either as a victim or an enemy to all who are stronger than myself, while my only friend and supporter is but a living corpse! Indeed, indeed, Maximilian, I am very miserable, and you are right to love me for myself alone."
"Dear Valentine," replied the young man, deeply affected, "I will not say you are 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 manner resembling that I feel for you. At the mere thought of you my heart beats more quickly, my blood flows with increased rapidity through my veins, and my breast heaves with tumultuous emotions; but I solemnly promise you to restrain all this ardor, this fervor and intensity of feeling, until you yourself shall require me to render them available in serving or assisting you. M. Franz is not expected to return home for a year to come, I am told; in that time many favorable and unforeseen chances may befriend us. Let us, then, hope for the best; hope is so sweet a comforter. Meanwhile, Valentine, while reproaching me with selfishness, think a little what you have been to me—the beautiful but cold resemblance of a marble Venus. What promise of future reward have you made me for all the submission and obedience I have evinced?—none whatever. What granted me?—scarcely more. You tell me of M. Franz d'Epinay, your betrothed lover, and you shrink from, the idea of being his wife; but tell me, Valentine, is there no other sorrow in your heart? You see me devoted to you, body and soul; my life and each warm drop that circles round my heart are consecrated to your service; you know full well that my existence is bound up in yours that were I to lose you I would not outlive the hour of such crushing misery; yet you speak 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 you do, of being worshiped, adored, with such a love as mine, a hundred times at least should I have passed my hand ​between these iron bars, and said to poor Maximilian, 'Take this hand, dearest Maximilian, and believe that, living or dead, I am yours yours only, and forever!'"
The poor girl made no reply, but her lover could plainly hear her sobs and tears. A rapid change took place in the young man's feelings.
"Dearest, dearest Valentine!" exclaimed he, "forgive me if I have offended you, and forget the words I spoke if they have unwittingly caused you pain."
"No, Maximilian, I am not offended," answered she; "but do you not see what a helpless being I am, almost a stranger and an outcast in my father's house, where even he is seldom seen; whose will has been broken, from the age of ten years, beneath the iron rod of my masters, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute; no person has observed my sufferings, nor have I ever breathed one word on the subject save to yourself. Outwardly and in the eyes of the world, I am surrounded by kindness and affection; but the reverse is the case. The general remark is, 'Oh, it cannot be expected that one of so stern a character as M. Villefort could lavish the tenderness some fathers do on their daughters. But she has had the happiness to find a second mother in Madame de Villefort.' The world, however, is mistaken; my father abandons me from utter indifference, while my step-mother detests me with a hatred so much the more terrible as it is veiled beneath a continual smile."
"Hate you, sweet Valentine!" exclaimed the young man; "how is it possible for any one to do that!"
"Alas!" replied the weeping girl, "I am obliged to own that her aversion to me arises from a very natural source her love for her own child, my brother Edward."
"But why should it?"
"Nay, I know not; but, though unwilling to introduce money matters into our conversation, I will just say thus much that her extreme dislike to me has its origin in mercenary motives; and I much fear she envies me the fortune I already enjoy in right of my mother, and which will be more than doubled at the death of M. and Mme. Meran, whose sole heiress I am. Alas! how gladly would I exchange the half of this wealth for the happiness of at least sharing my father's love, so that it would obtain me a happy and affectionate home."
"Poor Valentine!"
"I seem to myself as though living a life of bondage, yet at the same time am so conscious of my own weakness that I fear to break the restraint in which I am held, lest I fall utterly powerless and 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 established ​reputation, he is all powerful against me, against you, even against his king. Dear Maximilian, I assure you that I attempt not to resist, more on your account than my own, for I would not peril your safety."
"But wherefore, Valentine, do you view everything through so gloomy a medium why picture the future so fraught with evil?"
"Because I judge it from the past."
"Still, consider that although I may not be, strictly speaking, what is termed an illustrious match for you, I am, for many reasons, not altogether so much beneath your alliance. The days when there were two Frances in France exist no longer, and the first families of the monarchy have intermarried with those of the empire. The aristocracy of the lance has allied itself with the nobility of the cannon. Now I belong to this last-named class; and my prospects of military preferment are encouraging. My fortune, though small, is unfettered, and the memory of my late father respected in our country, Valentine, as that of the most upright and honorable merchant of the city. I say our country, because you were born not far from Marseilles."
"Name not Marseilles, I beseech you, Maximilian; that one word brings back my mother to my recollection my angel mother, whom all regret, who, after watching over her child during the brief period allotted to her in this world, now, I hope, watches over her from the eternal abode on high. Ah, were she still living, we need fear nothing, Maximilian, for I would confide our love to her, and she would aid and protect us."
"I fear, Valentine," replied the lover, "that were she living I should never have had the happiness of knowing you; you would then have been too happy to have stooped from your grandeur to bestow a thought on me."
"It is you who are unjust, now, Maximilian," cried Valentine; "but there is one thing I wish to know."
"And what is that?" inquired the young man, perceiving that Valen tine hesitated and seemed at a loss how to proceed.
"Tell me truly, Maximilian, whether in former days, when our fathers dwelt at Marseilles, there ever existed any misunderstanding between them?"
"Not that I am at all aware of," replied the young man, "unless it arose from your father being a zealous partisan of the Bourbons, while mine was wholly devoted to the emperor. Dearest, why do you ask?"
"I will tell you," replied his companion, "for it is but right you should know all. Then I must begin by referring to the day when your being made an officer of the Legion of Honor was publicly announced in the papers. We were all sitting in the apartments of my grandfather, ​M. Noirtier; M. Danglars was there also—you recollect M. Danglars, do you not, Maximilian, the banker, whose horses ran away with my step-mother and little brother, and very nearly killed them? While the rest of the company were discussing the approaching marriage of
Mademoiselle Danglars, I was occupied in reading the paper aloud to my grandfather; but when I came to the paragraph concerning you, although I had already read it (you know you had told me all about it the previous evening), I felt so happy, and yet so nervous, at the idea ​of pronouncing your name aloud, that I should have passed it over, but for the fear that my so doing might create suspicions as to my silence; so I summoned up all my courage, and read it."
"Dear Valentine!"
"Well, would you believe it? directly my father caught the sound of your name he turned round quite hastily, and, like a poor silly thing, I was so persuaded that every one must be as much affected as myself by the utterance of your name, that I was not surprised to see my father tremble; but I even thought (though that surely must have been a mistake) that M. Danglars underwent a similar emotion.
"'Morrel! Morrel!' cried my father, 'stop a bit'; then, knitting his brows into a deep frown, he added, 'Surely this cannot be one of the Morrel family who lived at Marseilles, and gave us so much trouble from their being such violent Bonapartists—I mean about the year 1815.'
"'I fancy,' replied M. Danglars, 'that he is the son of the large ship owner there.'"
"Indeed!" answered Maximilian; "and what said your father then, Valentine?"
"Oh, such a dreadful thing, I dare not repeat it."
"Still!" said the young man, "say, what was it?"
"'Ah,' continued my father, still frowning severely, l their idolized emperor treated these madmen as they deserved; he called them "food for cannon," which was precisely all they were good for; and I am delighted to see that the present government have adopted this salutary principle with vigor; if Algiers were good for nothing else, I would congratulate the government, although it costs us dear.'"
"The sentiments were somewhat unfeeling," said Maximilian; "but do not blush, Valentine; for my father was not a jot behind yours in his expressions. 'Why,' said he, 'does not the emperor, who has devised so many clever things, form a regiment of lawyers, judges, and legal practitioners, sending them in the hottest fire? ' You see, Valentine, that for mildness of expression and imaginative benefits there is not much to choose between the parties. But what said M. Danglars to this burst of party spirit on the part of the procureur du roi?"
​"The name of M. Noirtier," interposed Maximilian, "is celebrated throughout Europe; he was a statesman of high standing; and I know not whether you are aware, Valentine, that he took a leading part in every Bonapartean conspiracy set on foot during the restoration of the Bourbons."
"Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me most strange—the father a Bonapartist, the son a Royalist. I turned toward my grandfather; he looked at the newspaper. 'What is the matter, dear grandfather?' said I; 'are you pleased?' He gave me a sign in the affirmative. 'With what my father said just now!' He returned a sign in the negative. 'Perhaps you liked what M. Danglars remarked?' Another sign in the negative. 'Oh, then, you are glad to hear that M. Morrel (I durst not pronounce the dear name of Maximilian) had been made an officer of the Legion of Honor? He signified assent in a way that convinced me he was delighted that you, who were a perfect stranger to him, had been made an officer of the Legion of Honor! Perhaps, though, it was a mere whim, for he is almost falling into a second childhood! but, for all that, I love him dearly."
"How singular," murmured Maximilian, "that your father should hate the very mention of my name, while your grandfather, on the contrary—strange, indeed, are party likes and dislikes."
"Hush!" cried Valentine, suddenly, "conceal yourself!—Go, go! Some one conies!"
Maximilian seized his spade and began to dig in his lucern, in the most pitiless manner.
"Mademoiselle! mademoiselle!" exclaimed a voice from behind the trees. "Madame is searching for you everywhere; there are visitors in the drawing-room."
"Who is it!" inquired Valentine, much agitated.
"Oh, mademoiselle! I believe it is some grand prince or lord; they say he was the Count of Monte-Cristo."
"I will come directly," said Valentine aloud.
The name caused a shock on the other side of the iron gate to him on whose ear the "I will come!" of Valentine sounded the usual parting knell of all their interviews."