Chapter 89 A Nocturnal Interview
CRISTO waited, according to his usual custom, until Duprez had sung his
famous "Suivez-moi;" then he rose and went out. Morrel took
leave of him at the door, renewing his promise to be with him the next
morning at seven o'clock, and to bring Emmanuel. Then he stepped into his
coupé, calm and smiling, and was at
home in five minutes. No one who knew the count could mistake his
expression when, on entering, he said, "Ali, bring me my pistols with
the ivory cross."
brought the box to his master, who examined the weapons with a solicitude
very natural to a man who is about to intrust his life to a little powder
and shot. These were pistols of an especial pattern, which Monte Cristo
had had made for target practice in his own room. A cap was sufficient to
drive out the bullet, and from the adjoining room no one would have
suspected that the count was, as sportsmen would say, keeping his hand in.
He was just taking one up and looking for the point to aim at on a little
iron plate which served him as a target, when his study door opened, and
Baptistin entered. Before he had spoken a word, the count saw in the next
room a veiled woman, who had followed closely after Baptistin, and now,
seeing the count with a pistol in his hand and swords on the table, rushed
in. Baptistin looked at his master, who made a sign to him, and he went
out, closing the door after him. "Who are you, madame?" said the
count to the veiled woman.
stranger cast one look around her, to be certain that they were quite
alone; then bending as if she would have knelt, and joining her hands, she
said with an accent of despair, "Edmond, you will not kill my
son?" The count retreated a step, uttered a slight exclamation, and
let fall the pistol he held. "What name did you pronounce then,
Madame de Morcerf?" said he. "Yours!" cried she, throwing
back her veil,--"yours, which I alone, perhaps, have not forgotten.
Edmond, it is not Madame de Morcerf who is come to you, it is Mercédès."
"Mercédès is dead, madame," said Monte Cristo; "I
know no one now of that name."
"Mercédès lives, sir, and she remembers, for she alone
recognized you when she saw you, and even before she saw you, by your
voice, Edmond,--by the simple sound of your voice; and from that moment
she has followed your steps, watched you, feared you, and she needs not to
inquire what hand has dealt the blow which now strikes M. de Morcerf."
do you mean?" replied Monte Cristo, with bitter irony; "since we
are recalling names, let us remember them all." Monte Cristo had
pronounced the name of Fernand with such an expression of hatred that Mercédès felt a thrill of horror run through every vein.
"You see, Edmond, I am not mistaken, and have cause to say, 'Spare my
who told you, madame, that I have any hostile intentions against your
one, in truth; but a mother has twofold sight. I guessed all; I followed
him this evening to the opera, and, concealed in a parquet box, have seen
you have seen all, madame, you know that the son of Fernand has publicly
insulted me," said Monte Cristo with awful calmness.
for pity's sake!"
have seen that he would have thrown his glove in my face if Morrel, one of
my friends, had not stopped him."
to me, my son has also guessed who you are,--he attributes his father's
misfortunes to you."
you are mistaken, they are not misfortunes,--it is a punishment. It is not
I who strike M. de Morcerf; it is providence which punishes him."
why do you represent providence?" cried Mercédès.
"Why do you remember when it forgets? What are Yanina and its vizier
to you, Edmond? What injury his Fernand Mondego done you in betraying Ali
madame," replied Monte Cristo, "all this is an affair between
the French captain and the daughter of Vasiliki. It does not concern me,
you are right; and if I have sworn to revenge myself, it is not on the
French captain, or the Count of Morcerf, but on the fisherman Fernand, the
husband of Mercédès the Catalane."
sir!" cried the countess, "how terrible a vengeance for a fault
which fatality made me commit!--for I am the only culprit, Edmond, and if
you owe revenge to any one, it is to me, who had not fortitude to bear
your absence and my solitude."
exclaimed Monte Cristo, "why was I absent? And why were you
you had been arrested, Edmond, and were a prisoner."
why was I arrested? Why was I a prisoner?"
do not know," said Mercédès. "You do not, madame; at
least, I hope not. But I will tell you. I was arrested and became a
prisoner because, under the arbor of La Rèserve, the day before I was to marry you, a man
named Danglars wrote this letter, which the fisherman Fernand himself
posted." Monte Cristo went to a secretary, opened a drawer by a
spring, from which he took a paper which had lost its original color, and
the ink of which had become of a rusty hue--this he placed in the hands of
Mercédès. It was Danglars' letter to the king's attorney,
which the Count of Monte Cristo, disguised as a clerk from the house of
Thomson & French, had taken from the file against Edmond Dantès, on the day he had paid the two
hundred thousand francs to M. de Boville. Mercédès read with terror the following lines:--
king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne and religion that
one Edmond Dantès,
second in command on board the Pharaon, this day arrived from Smyrna,
after having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, is the bearer of a
letter from Murat to the usurper, and of another letter from the usurper
to the Bonapartist club in Paris. Ample corroboration of this statement
may be obtained by arresting the above-mentioned Edmond Dantès, who either carries the letter for Paris about
with him, or has it at his father's abode. Should it not be found in
possession of either father or son, then it will assuredly be discovered
in the cabin belonging to the said Dantès
on board the Pharaon."
dreadful!" said Mercédès, passing her hand across her
brow, moist with perspiration; "and that letter"--
bought it for two hundred thousand francs, madame," said Monte Cristo;
"but that is a trifle, since it enables me to justify myself to
the result of that letter"--
well know, madame, was my arrest; but you do not know how long that arrest
lasted. You do not know that I remained for fourteen years within a
quarter of a league of you, in a dungeon in the Chateau d'If. You do not
know that every day of those fourteen years I renewed the vow of vengeance
which I had made the first day; and yet I was not aware that you had
married Fernand, my calumniator, and that my father had died of
it be?" cried Mercédès, shuddering.
is what I heard on leaving my prison fourteen years after I had entered
it; and that is why, on account of the living Mercédès
and my deceased father, I have sworn to revenge myself on Fernand, and--I
have revenged myself."
you are sure the unhappy Fernand did that?"
am satisfied, madame, that he did what I have told you; besides, that is
not much more odious than that a Frenchman by adoption should pass over to
the English; that a Spaniard by birth should have fought against the
Spaniards; that a stipendiary of Ali should have betrayed and murdered
Ali. Compared with such things, what is the letter you have just read?--a
lover's deception, which the woman who has married that man ought
certainly to forgive; but not so the lover who was to have married her.
Well, the French did not avenge themselves on the traitor, the Spaniards
did not shoot the traitor, Ali in his tomb left the traitor unpunished;
but I, betrayed, sacrificed, buried, have risen from my tomb, by the grace
of God, to punish that man. He sends me for that purpose, and here I
am." The poor woman's head and arms fell; her legs bent under her,
and she fell on her knees. "Forgive, Edmond, forgive for my sake, who
love you still!"
dignity of the wife checked the fervor of the lover and the mother. Her
forehead almost touched the carpet, when the count sprang forward and
raised her. Then seated on a chair, she looked at the manly countenance of
Monte Cristo, on which grief and hatred still impressed a threatening
expression. "Not crush that accursed race?" murmured he;
"abandon my purpose at the moment of its accomplishment? Impossible,
said the poor mother, who tried every means, "when I call you Edmond,
why do you not call me Mercédès?"
"Mercédès!" repeated Monte Cristo; "Mercédès! Well yes, you are right; that name has still its
charms, and this is the first time for a long period that I have
pronounced it so distinctly. Oh, Mercédès, I have uttered your name with
the sigh of melancholy, with the groan of sorrow, with the last effort of
despair; I have uttered it when frozen with cold, crouched on the straw in
my dungeon; I have uttered it, consumed with heat, rolling on the stone
floor of my prison. Mercédès, I must revenge myself, for I
suffered fourteen years,--fourteen years I wept, I cursed; now I tell you,
Mercédès, I must revenge myself."
count, fearing to yield to the entreaties of her he had so ardently loved,
called his sufferings to the assistance of his hatred. "Revenge
yourself, then, Edmond," cried the poor mother; "but let your
vengeance fall on the culprits,--on him, on me, but not on my son!"
is written in the good book," said Monte Cristo, "that the sins
of the fathers shall fall upon their children to the third and fourth
generation. Since God himself dictated those words to his prophet, why
should I seek to make myself better than God?"
continued Mercédès, with her arms extended towards
the count, "since I first knew you, I have adored your name, have
respected your memory. Edmond, my friend, do not compel me to tarnish that
noble and pure image reflected incessantly on the mirror of my heart.
Edmond, if you knew all the prayers I have addressed to God for you while
I thought you were living and since I have thought you must be dead! Yes,
dead, alas! I imagined your dead body buried at the foot of some gloomy
tower, or cast to the bottom of a pit by hateful jailers, and I wept! What
could I do for you, Edmond, besides pray and weep? Listen; for ten years I
dreamed each night the same dream. I had been told that you had endeavored
to escape; that you had taken the place of another prisoner; that you had
slipped into the winding sheet of a dead body; that you had been thrown
alive from the top of the Chateau d'If, and that the cry you uttered as
you dashed upon the rocks first revealed to your jailers that they were
your murderers. Well, Edmond, I swear to you, by the head of that son for
whom I entreat your pity,--Edmond, for ten years I saw every night every
detail of that frightful tragedy, and for ten years I heard every night
the cry which awoke me, shuddering and cold. And I, too, Edmond--oh!
believe me--guilty as I was--oh, yes, I, too, have suffered much!"
you known what it is to have your father starve to death in your
absence?" cried Monte Cristo, thrusting his hands into his hair;
"have you seen the woman you loved giving her hand to your rival,
while you were perishing at the bottom of a dungeon?"
interrupted Mercédès, "but I have seen him whom
I loved on the point of murdering my son." Mercédès uttered these words with such deep anguish, with
an accent of such intense despair, that Monte Cristo could not restrain a
sob. The lion was daunted; the avenger was conquered. "What do you
ask of me?" said he,--"your son's life? Well, he shall
live!" Mercédès uttered a cry which made the tears start from
Monte Cristo's eyes; but these tears disappeared almost instantaneously,
for, doubtless, God had sent some angel to collect them--far more precious
were they in his eyes than the richest pearls of Guzerat and Ophir.
said she, seizing the count's hand and raising it to her lips; "oh,
thank you, thank you, Edmond! Now you are exactly what I dreamt you
were,--the man I always loved. Oh, now I may say so!"
much the better," replied Monte Cristo; "as that poor Edmond
will not have long to be loved by you. Death is about to return to the
tomb, the phantom to retire in darkness."
do you say, Edmond?"
say, since you command me, Mercédès, I must die."
and why so? Who talks of dying? Whence have you these ideas of
do not suppose that, publicly outraged in the face of a whole theatre, in
the presence of your friends and those of your son--challenged by a boy
who will glory in my forgiveness as if it were a victory--you do not
suppose that I can for one moment wish to live. What I most loved after
you, Mercédès, was myself, my dignity, and that strength which
rendered me superior to other men; that strength was my life. With one
word you have crushed it, and I die."
the duel will not take place, Edmond, since you forgive?"
will take place," said Monte Cristo, in a most solemn tone; "but
instead of your son's blood to stain the ground, mine will flow."
Mercédès shrieked, and sprang towards Monte Cristo, but,
suddenly stopping, "Edmond," said she, "there is a God
above us, since you live and since I have seen you again; I trust to him
from my heart. While waiting his assistance I trust to your word; you have
said that my son should live, have you not?"
madame, he shall live," said Monte Cristo, surprised that without
more emotion Mercédès had accepted the heroic
sacrifice he made for her. Mercédès extended her hand to the count.
said she, and her eyes were wet with tears while looking at him to whom
she spoke, "how noble it is of you, how great the action you have
just performed, how sublime to have taken pity on a poor woman who
appealed to you with every chance against her, Alas, I am grown old with
grief more than with years, and cannot now remind my Edmond by a smile, or
by a look, of that Mercédès whom he once spent so many hours in contemplating.
Ah, believe me, Edmond, as I told you, I too have suffered much; I repeat,
it is melancholy to pass one's life without having one joy to recall,
without preserving a single hope; but that proves that all is not yet
over. No, it is not finished; I feel it by what remains in my heart. Oh, I
repeat it, Edmond; what you have just done is beautiful--it is grand; it
you say so now, Mercédès?--then what would you say if
you knew the extent of the sacrifice I make to you? Suppose that the
Supreme Being, after having created the world and fertilized chaos, had
paused in the work to spare an angel the tears that might one day flow for
mortal sins from her immortal eyes; suppose that when everything was in
readiness and the moment had come for God to look upon his work and see
that it was good--suppose he had snuffed out the sun and tossed the world
back into eternal night--then--even then, Mercédès, you could not imagine what I
lose in sacrificing my life at this moment." Mercédès looked at the count in a way which expressed at
the same time her astonishment, her admiration, and her gratitude. Monte
Cristo pressed his forehead on his burning hands, as if his brain could no
longer bear alone the weight of its thoughts. "Edmond," said
Mercédès, "I have but one word more to say to
you." The count smiled bitterly. "Edmond," continued she,
"you will see that if my face is pale, if my eyes are dull, if my
beauty is gone; if Mercédès, in short, no longer resembles
her former self in her features, you will see that her heart is still the
same. Adieu, then, Edmond; I have nothing more to ask of heaven--I have
seen you again, and have found you as noble and as great as formerly you
were. Adieu, Edmond, adieu, and thank you."
the count did not answer. Mercédès opened the door of the study
and had disappeared before he had recovered from the painful and profound
revery into which his thwarted vengeance had plunged him. The clock of the
Invalides struck one when the carriage which conveyed Madame de Morcerf
away rolled on the pavement of the Champs-Elysées, and made Monte Cristo raise his head. "What
a fool I was," said he, "not to tear my heart out on the day
when I resolved to avenge myself!"