Chapter 162: Chapter 162

The moment the guests stepped into the dining room, an unspoken tension filled the air. Each person wondered what strange fate had drawn them to this mysterious mansion. Despite their unease, none of them would have wanted to miss this evening. After all, their host, the Count, was a complete enigma. A wealthy recluse with a fortune so vast it seemed almost impossible to believe.

Under normal circumstances, respectable men would have been cautious about accepting such an invitation, and proper ladies would never have visited a house without another woman to receive them. Yet curiosity had proven stronger than caution, leading them all to cross the boundaries of good judgment.

Everyone present, including the Cavalcantis, father and son, felt thoughtful and slightly off-balance as they gathered in the home of this incomprehensible man. Even the usually stiff elder Cavalcanti and his careless son seemed affected by the strange atmosphere.

Madame Danglars had visibly tensed when Villefort offered her his arm at the Count’s suggestion. Villefort himself felt uncomfortable, his gaze uneasy behind his gold-rimmed glasses as he felt the pressure of the baroness’s hand on his arm. The Count noticed everything. For a keen observer like him, even these small interactions made the evening fascinating.

The seating arrangement was deliberate: Villefort sat with Madame Danglars on his right and Morrel on his left. The Count positioned himself between Madame de Villefort and Danglars. Debray sat between the two Cavalcantis, while Château-Renaud found himself between Madame de Villefort and Morrel.

The feast was nothing short of spectacular. Monte Cristo had set out to completely upend Parisian expectations, feeding both curiosity and appetite in equal measure. The spread was like something from an Arabian fairy tale, exotic fruits from every corner of the world overflowed from Chinese vases and Japanese jars. Rare birds still adorned with brilliant plumage lay beside enormous fish displayed on massive silver platters. Wines from distant lands sparkled in bottles whose unusual shapes seemed to enhance their flavor.

The entire display passed before the astonished eyes of the Parisian guests, who realized one could easily spend a small fortune on a dinner for ten people, though they’d always assumed that would require literally eating pearls or drinking liquid gold.

Monte Cristo observed their amazement and began to laugh. "Gentlemen," he said with a smile, "you’ll agree that once someone reaches a certain level of wealth, only luxuries matter. And the ladies will acknowledge that after achieving a certain status, only the impossible becomes truly desirable. So what is the marvelous? Simply what we cannot understand. And what do we truly desire? What we cannot obtain. You see, seeking things I cannot understand and acquiring impossibilities, these are my life’s pursuits. I satisfy my whims through two means: my willpower and my money. I take as much pleasure in chasing a fancy as you do, Mr. Danglars, in launching a new railway. Or you, Mr. Villefort, in sentencing a criminal. Or you, Mr. Debray, in managing political affairs. Or you, Mr. Château-Renaud, in charming a woman. And you, Morrel, in taming an unrideable horse. For instance, take these two fish, one brought from thousands of miles beyond the northern capital, the other from the south. Isn’t it amusing to see them both on the same table?"

"What are these two fish?" Danglars asked. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs n0velfire.net

"Mr. Château-Renaud, who has lived in the north, will tell you about one. And Major Cavalcanti, being from the south, will identify the other."

"This one is, I believe, a sterlet," said Château-Renaud.

"And that one, if I’m not mistaken, is a lamprey."

"Exactly right. Now, Mr. Danglars, ask these gentlemen where such fish are found."

"Sterlets are only found in the northern river," said Château-Renaud.

"And," Cavalcanti added, "I know that only a specific southern lake supplies lampreys of that size."

"Precisely. One from the northern river, one from the southern lake."

"Impossible!" the guests exclaimed in unison.

"Well, that’s exactly what amuses me," Monte Cristo said with evident satisfaction. "I’m like the ancient emperor who desired the impossible. This fish that seems so exquisite to you is probably no better than common varieties, but acquiring it seemed impossible, and yet here it is."

"But how did you transport these fish all the way here?"

"Oh, nothing simpler. Each fish traveled in its own barrel, one filled with river vegetation, the other with lake plants. They were placed in a specially designed wagon. The sterlet survived twelve days, the lamprey eight. Both were still alive when my chef took them, killing one with milk and the other with wine. You don’t believe me, Mr. Danglars?"

"I find it hard to accept," Danglars answered with his foolish smile.

"Baptistin," the Count called, "bring in the backup fish, the sterlet and lamprey from the other barrels. The ones still alive."

Danglars’s eyes widened in disbelief. The guests applauded as four servants carried in two barrels covered with aquatic plants, each containing a fish identical to those already on the table, both still breathing.

"But why two of each?" Danglars asked.

"Simply because one might have died," Monte Cristo answered casually.

"You’re certainly an extraordinary man," said Danglars. "Philosophers are right when they say it’s wonderful to be rich."

"And to have imagination," Madame Danglars added.

"Oh, don’t credit me with originality, madame. The ancient nobility did this. Historical accounts tell of slaves who carried rare fish on their heads for miles to the capital, just to serve them fresh. Having them alive was considered the ultimate luxury, because watching them die was considered entertaining, as they died, they changed colors three or four times, passing through rainbow-like shades before being sent to the kitchen. Their death throes were part of their appeal. If they weren’t seen alive, they were worthless when dead."

"Yes," said Debray, "but that was only a short distance."

"True," said Monte Cristo, "but what would be the point of living nearly two thousand years later if we couldn’t surpass the ancients?"

The Cavalcantis opened their eyes wide but wisely said nothing.

"All this is remarkable," said Château-Renaud, "but what I find most impressive is the incredible speed with which your orders are executed. Didn’t you only buy this house five or six days ago?"

"Certainly no longer than that."

"Well, I’m certain it’s completely transformed since last week. If I remember correctly, it had a different entrance, and the courtyard was paved and bare. Now we have a magnificent lawn bordered by trees that look a hundred years old."

"Why not? I enjoy grass and shade," Monte Cristo said simply.

"Yes," said Madame de Villefort, "the entrance faced the main road before. On the day you saved me from that accident, you brought me in from that direction. I remember it clearly."

"Yes, madame," Monte Cristo confirmed, "but I preferred having an entrance that would give me a view of the forest beyond my gates."

"In four days?" Morrel said with amazement. "That’s extraordinary!"

"Indeed," Château-Renaud agreed. "It’s like magic, transforming an old house into something new. It was very old and dreary before. I actually came here with my mother to view it when Mr. Saint-Méran was selling it two or three years ago."

"Mr. Saint-Méran?" Madame de Villefort’s voice sharpened. "This house belonged to Mr. Saint-Méran before you purchased it?"

"It appears so," Monte Cristo replied.

"You mean you don’t know who you bought it from?"

"Not at all. My steward handles all such business for me."

"The house hadn’t been occupied for at least ten years," Château-Renaud continued. "It looked quite melancholy with the shutters closed, doors locked, and weeds everywhere. Honestly, if it hadn’t belonged to the prosecutor’s father-in-law, one might have thought it was some cursed place where a horrible crime had been committed."

Villefort, who hadn’t touched any of the rare wines placed before him until now, suddenly grabbed a glass and drank it down.

After a brief pause, Monte Cristo spoke again. "It’s strange, Baron, but the same thought crossed my mind when I first saw this place. It looked so gloomy that I never would have bought it if my steward hadn’t taken matters into his own hands. Perhaps the fellow was bribed by the lawyer handling the sale."

"Quite possible," Villefort stammered, attempting to smile. "But I assure you I had nothing to do with any such thing. This house is part of Valentine’s inheritance, and Mr. Saint-Méran wanted to sell it. If it had remained empty another year or two, it would have fallen into complete ruin."

It was Morrel’s turn to go pale.

"There was one room in particular," Monte Cristo continued, "very plain-looking, decorated with red fabric, which struck me as strangely dramatic for some reason."