Reading Help The Count of Monte Cristo Ch.75-117
"It 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?" `
` `
` "Edmond," continued Mercedes, 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!" `
` `
` "Have 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?" `
` `
` "No," interrupted Mercedes, "but I have seen him whom I `
` loved on the point of murdering my son." Mercedes 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!" Mercedes 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. `
` `
` "Oh," 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!" `
` `
` "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." `
` `
` "What do you say, Edmond?" `
` `
` "I say, since you command me, Mercedes, I must die." `
` `
` "Die? and why so? Who talks of dying? Whence have you these `
` ideas of death?" `
` `
` "You 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, Mercedes, 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." `
` `
` "But the duel will not take place, Edmond, since you `
` forgive?" `
` `
` "It 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." Mercedes 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?" `
` `
` "Yes, madame, he shall live," said Monte Cristo, surprised `
` that without more emotion Mercedes had accepted the heroic `
` sacrifice he made for her. Mercedes extended her hand to the `
` count. `
` `
` "Edmond," 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 Mercedes 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 is `
` sublime." `
` `
` "Do you say so now, Mercedes? -- 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, Mercedes, you could not imagine what I lose in `
` sacrificing my life at this moment." Mercedes 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 Mercedes, "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 Mercedes, 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." `
` `
` But the count did not answer. Mercedes 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-Elysees, 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!" `
` `
` `
` `
` Chapter 90 `
` The Meeting. `
` `
` After Mercedes had left Monte Cristo, he fell into profound `
` gloom. Around him and within him the flight of thought `
` seemed to have stopped; his energetic mind slumbered, as the `
` body does after extreme fatigue. "What?" said he to himself, `
` while the lamp and the wax lights were nearly burnt out, and `
` the servants were waiting impatiently in the anteroom; `
` "what? this edifice which I have been so long preparing, `
` which I have reared with so much care and toil, is to be `
` crushed by a single touch, a word, a breath! Yes, this self, `
` of whom I thought so much, of whom I was so proud, who had `
` appeared so worthless in the dungeons of the Chateau d'If, `
` and whom I had succeeded in making so great, will be but a `
` lump of clay to-morrow. Alas, it is not the death of the `
` body I regret; for is not the destruction of the vital `
` principle, the repose to which everything is tending, to `
` which every unhappy being aspires, -- is not this the repose `
` of matter after which I so long sighed, and which I was `
` seeking to attain by the painful process of starvation when `
` Faria appeared in my dungeon? What is death for me? One step `
` farther into rest, -- two, perhaps, into silence. `
` `
` "No, it is not existence, then, that I regret, but the ruin `
` of projects so slowly carried out, so laboriously framed. `
` Providence is now opposed to them, when I most thought it `
` would be propitious. It is not God's will that they should `
` be accomplished. This burden, almost as heavy as a world, `
` which I had raised, and I had thought to bear to the end, `
` was too great for my strength, and I was compelled to lay it `
` down in the middle of my career. Oh, shall I then, again `
` become a fatalist, whom fourteen years of despair and ten of `
` hope had rendered a believer in providence? And all this -- `
` all this, because my heart, which I thought dead, was only `
` sleeping; because it has awakened and has begun to beat `
` again, because I have yielded to the pain of the emotion `
` excited in my breast by a woman's voice. Yet," continued the `
` count, becoming each moment more absorbed in the `
` anticipation of the dreadful sacrifice for the morrow, which `
` Mercedes had accepted, "yet, it is impossible that so `
` noble-minded a woman should thus through selfishness consent `
` to my death when I am in the prime of life and strength; it `
` is impossible that she can carry to such a point maternal `
` love, or rather delirium. There are virtues which become `
` crimes by exaggeration. No, she must have conceived some `
` pathetic scene; she will come and throw herself between us; `
` and what would be sublime here will there appear `
` ridiculous." The blush of pride mounted to the count's `
` forehead as this thought passed through his mind. `
` "Ridiculous?" repeated he; "and the ridicule will fall on `
` me. I ridiculous? No, I would rather die." `
` `
` By thus exaggerating to his own mind the anticipated `
` ill-fortune of the next day, to which he had condemned `
` himself by promising Mercedes to spare her son, the count at `
`
` 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?" `
` `
` "Edmond," continued Mercedes, 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!" `
` `
` "Have 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?" `
` `
` "No," interrupted Mercedes, "but I have seen him whom I `
` loved on the point of murdering my son." Mercedes 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!" Mercedes 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. `
` `
` "Oh," 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!" `
` `
` "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." `
` `
` "What do you say, Edmond?" `
` `
` "I say, since you command me, Mercedes, I must die." `
` `
` "Die? and why so? Who talks of dying? Whence have you these `
` ideas of death?" `
` `
` "You 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, Mercedes, 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." `
` `
` "But the duel will not take place, Edmond, since you `
` forgive?" `
` `
` "It 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." Mercedes 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?" `
` `
` "Yes, madame, he shall live," said Monte Cristo, surprised `
` that without more emotion Mercedes had accepted the heroic `
` sacrifice he made for her. Mercedes extended her hand to the `
` count. `
` `
` "Edmond," 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 Mercedes 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 is `
` sublime." `
` `
` "Do you say so now, Mercedes? -- 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, Mercedes, you could not imagine what I lose in `
` sacrificing my life at this moment." Mercedes 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 Mercedes, "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 Mercedes, 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." `
` `
` But the count did not answer. Mercedes 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-Elysees, 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!" `
` `
` `
` `
` Chapter 90 `
` The Meeting. `
` `
` After Mercedes had left Monte Cristo, he fell into profound `
` gloom. Around him and within him the flight of thought `
` seemed to have stopped; his energetic mind slumbered, as the `
` body does after extreme fatigue. "What?" said he to himself, `
` while the lamp and the wax lights were nearly burnt out, and `
` the servants were waiting impatiently in the anteroom; `
` "what? this edifice which I have been so long preparing, `
` which I have reared with so much care and toil, is to be `
` crushed by a single touch, a word, a breath! Yes, this self, `
` of whom I thought so much, of whom I was so proud, who had `
` appeared so worthless in the dungeons of the Chateau d'If, `
` and whom I had succeeded in making so great, will be but a `
` lump of clay to-morrow. Alas, it is not the death of the `
` body I regret; for is not the destruction of the vital `
` principle, the repose to which everything is tending, to `
` which every unhappy being aspires, -- is not this the repose `
` of matter after which I so long sighed, and which I was `
` seeking to attain by the painful process of starvation when `
` Faria appeared in my dungeon? What is death for me? One step `
` farther into rest, -- two, perhaps, into silence. `
` `
` "No, it is not existence, then, that I regret, but the ruin `
` of projects so slowly carried out, so laboriously framed. `
` Providence is now opposed to them, when I most thought it `
` would be propitious. It is not God's will that they should `
` be accomplished. This burden, almost as heavy as a world, `
` which I had raised, and I had thought to bear to the end, `
` was too great for my strength, and I was compelled to lay it `
` down in the middle of my career. Oh, shall I then, again `
` become a fatalist, whom fourteen years of despair and ten of `
` hope had rendered a believer in providence? And all this -- `
` all this, because my heart, which I thought dead, was only `
` sleeping; because it has awakened and has begun to beat `
` again, because I have yielded to the pain of the emotion `
` excited in my breast by a woman's voice. Yet," continued the `
` count, becoming each moment more absorbed in the `
` anticipation of the dreadful sacrifice for the morrow, which `
` Mercedes had accepted, "yet, it is impossible that so `
` noble-minded a woman should thus through selfishness consent `
` to my death when I am in the prime of life and strength; it `
` is impossible that she can carry to such a point maternal `
` love, or rather delirium. There are virtues which become `
` crimes by exaggeration. No, she must have conceived some `
` pathetic scene; she will come and throw herself between us; `
` and what would be sublime here will there appear `
` ridiculous." The blush of pride mounted to the count's `
` forehead as this thought passed through his mind. `
` "Ridiculous?" repeated he; "and the ridicule will fall on `
` me. I ridiculous? No, I would rather die." `
` `
` By thus exaggerating to his own mind the anticipated `
` ill-fortune of the next day, to which he had condemned `
` himself by promising Mercedes to spare her son, the count at `
`