Chapter 111: The Breakfast: III
The Count smiled mysteriously at his dinner companions. "If you knew me better, you wouldn’t worry about such things. I’m a traveler who’s eaten everywhere. Pasta in Italy, rice dishes in Turkey, curry in India, even exotic delicacies in China. I eat anything, just not much of it. And today, when you’re criticizing my small appetite, is actually one of my hungry days. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning."
"What?!" The guests gasped in unison. "You haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours?"
"That’s right," the Count said casually. "I had to make a detour to gather some information, so I arrived late and didn’t want to stop for food."
"Did you at least eat in your carriage?" Albert de Morcerf asked, incredulous.
"No, I slept. That’s what I usually do when I’m tired but don’t feel like entertaining myself, or when I’m hungry but don’t feel like eating."
"Wait, you can just sleep whenever you want?" Morrel leaned forward with interest.
"Yes."
"You have some kind of technique?"
"An infallible one."
"That would be incredibly useful for us soldiers who don’t always have food or water available."
"True," Monte Cristo replied, "but unfortunately, my method would be dangerous for an army. They might not wake up when needed."
"Can you tell us what this technique is?" Debray asked curiously.
"Of course, it’s no secret." The Count’s eyes gleamed. "I use a mixture of pure opium, which I personally obtained from China, and the finest hashish from the Middle East. I combine them in equal parts and form them into pills. Ten minutes after taking one, it works. You can ask Baron Franz d’Epinay if you don’t believe me. He tried them once."
"Yeah, he mentioned something about that," Morcerf confirmed.
Beauchamp, the journalist, raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You carry this drug with you at all times?"
"Always."
"Would it be too much to ask to see these precious pills?" Beauchamp pressed, clearly trying to catch him in a lie.
"Not at all." The Count reached into his pocket and produced an extraordinary case carved from a single massive emerald. The golden lid unscrewed to reveal small greenish pills about the size of peas, each giving off a sharp, penetrating smell. Four or five more rested inside the emerald case, which could hold about a dozen total.
The case was passed around the table. Everyone was more interested in examining the stunning emerald than the pills themselves.
"Does your cook prepare these for you?" Beauchamp asked.
"Oh no," Monte Cristo replied with amusement. "I don’t share my pleasures with common servants. I’m quite skilled in chemistry and prepare my pills myself."
"This emerald is magnificent," Château-Renaud said, turning it in his hands. "It’s the largest I’ve ever seen, and my mother owns some impressive family jewels."
"I once had three identical ones," the Count said matter-of-factly. "I gave one to the Sultan, who mounted it on his sword. Another went to the Pope, who set it in his crown opposite another large emerald that Napoleon had given to a previous Pope. I kept the third for myself and had it hollowed out. It reduced its value somewhat, but made it perfect for my purposes."
Everyone stared at Monte Cristo in amazement. He spoke so simply that he was either telling the truth or completely insane. But looking at that magnificent emerald, they were inclined to believe him.
"What did these two rulers give you in return for such generous gifts?" Debray asked.
"The Sultan gave me a woman’s freedom," the Count answered. "The Pope gave me a man’s life. So for once in my existence, I was as powerful as if I’d been born into royalty."
"It was Peppino you saved, wasn’t it?" Morcerf exclaimed. "That’s who you got the pardon for?"
"Perhaps," the Count said with an enigmatic smile.
"My dear Count, you have no idea how much I enjoy hearing you talk like this," Morcerf said enthusiastically. "I told my friends beforehand that you were like an enchanter from ancient legends, a wizard from medieval times. But Parisians are so cynical that they dismiss the most incredible truths as fantasy when those truths aren’t part of their daily routine. For example, Debray reads about it and Beauchamp prints stories every day about robberies on major streets and murders in fashionable districts. Yet these same men deny that bandits exist in the Italian countryside! Tell them yourself that I was captured by bandits, and that without your generous help, I’d be dead in the catacombs instead of hosting you in my home right now."
"Ah," Monte Cristo said, "but you promised never to mention that incident."
"That wasn’t me!" Morcerf protested. "You must be confusing me with someone else you rescued. Please, tell the story! I’ll share what little I know, and hopefully you’ll fill in the rest."
"It seems to me," the Count replied with a smile, "that you played an important enough role to know what happened yourself."
"Alright, if I tell everything I know, will you explain everything I don’t know?"
"That’s only fair."
"Well," Morcerf began, "for three days I thought I was being pursued by a beautiful masked woman, like something from ancient Rome. In reality, I was being targeted by a peasant girl, or so I thought. What I actually know is that I was a complete fool. I mistook a young bandit of fifteen or sixteen for a girl. Just as I was about to kiss ’her,’ she put a pistol to my head. Along with seven or eight others, she dragged me to the catacombs, where I found a highly educated bandit chief reading ancient Roman military texts. He politely informed me that unless four thousand coins were deposited in his account by six o’clock the next morning, I would be dead fifteen minutes later. The ransom letter still exists, Franz d’Epinay has it, signed by me with a note from Luigi Vampa himself. That’s all I know. What I don’t understand, Count, is how you inspired so much respect in Roman bandits who normally respect nothing. Franz and I were completely amazed."
"It’s quite simple," the Count explained. "I’ve known Vampa for over ten years. When he was just a child working as a shepherd, I gave him some gold coins for showing me directions. In return, he gave me a dagger he’d carved himself, which you may have seen in my weapons collection. Years later, he either forgot about our friendship or didn’t recognize me, because he tried to capture me. Instead, I captured him and a dozen of his men. I could have turned him over to the authorities, who would have dealt with him swiftly and harshly, but I didn’t. I let him and his entire gang go free."
"With the condition that they’d reform?" Beauchamp joked.
"No," Monte Cristo said firmly. "Simply with the condition that they’d respect me and my friends. What I’m about to say may sound strange to you idealists who believe in helping everyone, but I never protect a society that doesn’t protect me. Society only seems to notice me when it wants to harm me. By not caring what society thinks of me, and by staying neutral toward it, society actually owes me a debt."
"Bravo!" Château-Renaud applauded. "You’re the first person I’ve ever met brave enough to openly preach selfishness!"
"At least he’s honest about it," Morrel said thoughtfully. "Though I’m certain the Count doesn’t regret breaking his own rule at least once."
Monte Cristo looked at Morrel with such intensity that the young man had to look away. "How exactly have I broken my principles?"
"Well," Morrel replied carefully, "it seems to me that by saving Albert de Morcerf, whom you didn’t even know, you helped both your neighbor and society."
"Of which he’s a shining example," Beauchamp added, raising his champagne glass.
"My dear Count," Morcerf laughed, "you’ve contradicted yourself, and you’re one of the most logical people I know! It’s clearly proven that instead of being selfish, you’re actually generous. You call yourself Oriental, Middle Eastern, from various exotic places, and claim your family name is Monte Cristo with Sinbad the Sailor as your first name. Yet the moment you arrive in Paris, you instinctively display our greatest virtue, or perhaps our worst flaw: you pretend to have vices you don’t have, while hiding the virtues you do possess."
"My dear Viscount," Monte Cristo responded, "I don’t see anything in my actions that deserves these supposed compliments from you or your friends. You weren’t a stranger to me. I knew you from when I gave you rooms in my home, invited you to breakfast, lent you my carriage, watched the festival with you, and witnessed an execution that disturbed you so deeply you nearly fainted. Could I really abandon my guest to bandits? Besides, I knew you could introduce me to Parisian society when I came to France. What might have seemed like a vague plan is now reality, and you must honor your promise or break your word."