Reading Help The Count of Monte Cristo Ch.75-117
cross." `
` `
` Ali 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. `
` `
` The 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 Mercedes." `
` `
` "Mercedes is dead, madame," said Monte Cristo; "I know no `
` one now of that name." `
` `
` "Mercedes 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." `
` `
` "Fernand, 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 Mercedes felt a thrill of `
` horror run through every vein. "You see, Edmond, I am not `
` mistaken, and have cause to say, `Spare my son!'" `
` `
` "And who told you, madame, that I have any hostile `
` intentions against your son?" `
` `
` "No 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 all." `
` `
` "If you have seen all, madame, you know that the son of `
` Fernand has publicly insulted me," said Monte Cristo with `
` awful calmness. `
` `
` "Oh, for pity's sake!" `
` `
` "You have seen that he would have thrown his glove in my `
` face if Morrel, one of my friends, had not stopped him." `
` `
` "Listen to me, my son has also guessed who you are, -- he `
` attributes his father's misfortunes to you." `
` `
` "Madame, 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." `
` `
` "And why do you represent providence?" cried Mercedes. "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 Tepelini?" `
` `
` "Ah, 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 Mercedes the Catalane." `
` `
` "Ah, 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." `
` `
` "But," exclaimed Monte Cristo, "why was I absent? And why `
` were you alone?" `
` `
` "Because you had been arrested, Edmond, and were a `
` prisoner." `
` `
` "And why was I arrested? Why was I a prisoner?" `
` `
` "I do not know," said Mercedes. "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 Reserve, `
` 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 Mercedes. 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 Dantes, on `
` the day he had paid the two hundred thousand francs to M. de `
` Boville. Mercedes read with terror the following lines: -- `
` `
` "The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne `
` and religion that one Edmond Dantes, 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 Dantes, 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 Dantes on board the Pharaon." `
` `
` "How dreadful!" said Mercedes, passing her hand across her `
` brow, moist with perspiration; "and that letter" -- `
` `
` "I bought it for two hundred thousand francs, madame," said `
` Monte Cristo; "but that is a trifle, since it enables me to `
` justify myself to you." `
` `
` "And the result of that letter" -- `
` `
` "You 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 hunger!" `
` `
` "Can it be?" cried Mercedes, shuddering. `
` `
` "That is what I heard on leaving my prison fourteen years `
` after I had entered it; and that is why, on account of the `
` living Mercedes and my deceased father, I have sworn to `
` revenge myself on Fernand, and -- I have revenged myself." `
` `
` "And you are sure the unhappy Fernand did that?" `
` `
` "I 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!" `
` `
` The 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, madame, impossible!" `
` `
` "Edmond," said the poor mother, who tried every means, "when `
` I call you Edmond, why do you not call me Mercedes?" `
` `
` "Mercedes!" repeated Monte Cristo; "Mercedes! 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, Mercedes, 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. `
` Mercedes, I must revenge myself, for I suffered fourteen `
` years, -- fourteen years I wept, I cursed; now I tell you, `
` Mercedes, I must revenge myself." `
` `
` The 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!" `
` `
` "It is written in the good book," said Monte Cristo, "that `
`
` `
` Ali 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. `
` `
` The 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 Mercedes." `
` `
` "Mercedes is dead, madame," said Monte Cristo; "I know no `
` one now of that name." `
` `
` "Mercedes 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." `
` `
` "Fernand, 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 Mercedes felt a thrill of `
` horror run through every vein. "You see, Edmond, I am not `
` mistaken, and have cause to say, `Spare my son!'" `
` `
` "And who told you, madame, that I have any hostile `
` intentions against your son?" `
` `
` "No 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 all." `
` `
` "If you have seen all, madame, you know that the son of `
` Fernand has publicly insulted me," said Monte Cristo with `
` awful calmness. `
` `
` "Oh, for pity's sake!" `
` `
` "You have seen that he would have thrown his glove in my `
` face if Morrel, one of my friends, had not stopped him." `
` `
` "Listen to me, my son has also guessed who you are, -- he `
` attributes his father's misfortunes to you." `
` `
` "Madame, 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." `
` `
` "And why do you represent providence?" cried Mercedes. "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 Tepelini?" `
` `
` "Ah, 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 Mercedes the Catalane." `
` `
` "Ah, 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." `
` `
` "But," exclaimed Monte Cristo, "why was I absent? And why `
` were you alone?" `
` `
` "Because you had been arrested, Edmond, and were a `
` prisoner." `
` `
` "And why was I arrested? Why was I a prisoner?" `
` `
` "I do not know," said Mercedes. "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 Reserve, `
` 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 Mercedes. 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 Dantes, on `
` the day he had paid the two hundred thousand francs to M. de `
` Boville. Mercedes read with terror the following lines: -- `
` `
` "The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne `
` and religion that one Edmond Dantes, 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 Dantes, 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 Dantes on board the Pharaon." `
` `
` "How dreadful!" said Mercedes, passing her hand across her `
` brow, moist with perspiration; "and that letter" -- `
` `
` "I bought it for two hundred thousand francs, madame," said `
` Monte Cristo; "but that is a trifle, since it enables me to `
` justify myself to you." `
` `
` "And the result of that letter" -- `
` `
` "You 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 hunger!" `
` `
` "Can it be?" cried Mercedes, shuddering. `
` `
` "That is what I heard on leaving my prison fourteen years `
` after I had entered it; and that is why, on account of the `
` living Mercedes and my deceased father, I have sworn to `
` revenge myself on Fernand, and -- I have revenged myself." `
` `
` "And you are sure the unhappy Fernand did that?" `
` `
` "I 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!" `
` `
` The 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, madame, impossible!" `
` `
` "Edmond," said the poor mother, who tried every means, "when `
` I call you Edmond, why do you not call me Mercedes?" `
` `
` "Mercedes!" repeated Monte Cristo; "Mercedes! 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, Mercedes, 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. `
` Mercedes, I must revenge myself, for I suffered fourteen `
` years, -- fourteen years I wept, I cursed; now I tell you, `
` Mercedes, I must revenge myself." `
` `
` The 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!" `
` `
` "It is written in the good book," said Monte Cristo, "that `
`