Count of Monte Cristo (abridged) (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Alexandre Dumas

“Allow me to observe, madame,” said the Count good naturedly, “that you are very severe with your mischievous child.”

  “It is sometimes necessary,” replied Mme de Villefort with all the firmness of a mother.

  “He was reciting his Cornelius Nepos when he spoke of King Mithridates,” said the Count, “and you interrupted a quotation which proves that his tutor has not lost time with him; in fact that your son is advanced for his age.”

  “The fact is, Count,” replied the mother, pleasantly flattered, “that he is very quick, and can learn all he wants to. He has only one fault: he is very self-willed. But do you really think Mithridates took such precautions and that they were efficacious?”

  “I believe it so firmly that I myself have taken these precautions so as not to be poisoned at Naples, Palermo, and Smyrna, that is to say, in the three cases when, without these precautions I should have lost my life.”

  “Did you find this means successful?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “It is true. I recollect that you told me something about it at Perugia.”

  “Really?” said the Count with well-feigned surprise. “I do not remember.”

  “I asked you whether poisons acted with the same force with Northerners as with Southerners, and you informed me that the cold, lymphatic temperament of the Northerners did not offer the same aptitude as the rich and energetic nature of the Southerners.”

  “It is true,” said Monte Cristo, “I have seen Russians devour vegetable substances without being in the least indisposed, which would have infallibly killed a Neapolitan or an Arab.”

  “Then do you think the result would be more certain with us than in the East, and that, in the midst of our fog and rain, a man would become more easily accustomed to this progressive absorption of poison than he would do in a warm climate?”

  “Certainly. It must be understood, however, that he would only become immune from the particular poison to which he had accustomed himself.”

  “I quite understand that. But tell me, how would you accustom yourself, or rather how did you accustom yourself ?”

  “It is quite easy. Supposing you knew beforehand what poison was going to be administered to you, supposing this poison were brucine,bn for instance—”

  “Brucine is extracted from the Brucea ferruginea, is it not?” inquired Mme de Villefort.

  “Just so. Well, then, supposing the poison were brucine,” resumed the Count, “and that you took a milligram the first day, two milligrams the second day, and so on progressively. Well, at the end of ten days you would have taken a centigram; at the end of twenty days, by increasing this by another milligram, you would have taken another three centigrams; that is to say, a dose you would absorb without suffering inconvenience, but which would be extremely dangerous for any other person who had not taken the same precautions as yourself. Well, then, at the end of a month you would have killed the person who drank the water out of the same carafe as yourself; yet, except for a slight indisposition, you would have no other indication that there was poisonous substance mixed with the water.”

  “Do you know of any other antidote?”

  “I do not.”

  Mme de Villefort sat pensive. After a short silence she said:

  “It is very fortunate that such substances can only be prepared by chemists, otherwise one-half of the world would be poisoning the other.”

  “By chemists or those who dabble in chemistry,” replied Monte Cristo carelessly.

  “And then no matter how scientifically planned a crime may be, it is still a crime,” said Mme de Villefort, tearing herself from her thoughts with an effort, “and though it may escape human investigation, it cannot escape the eye of God. Yes, there is conscience to grapple with,” continued Mme de Villefort in a voice broken with emotion and stifling a sigh.

  “It is fortunate that we still have some conscience left, otherwise we should be very unhappy,” said Monte Cristo. “After any vigorous action it is conscience that saves us, for it furnishes us with a thousand and one excuses of which we alone are judges, and however excellent these reasons may be to lull us to sleep, before a tribunal they would most likely avail us little in preserving our lives. Take, for instance, Lady Macbeth. She found an excellent servant in her conscience, for she wanted a throne, not for her husband but for her son. Ah, maternal love is a great virtue and such a powerful motive that it excuses much. But for her conscience, Lady Macbeth would have been very unhappy after Duncan’s death.”

  “Do you know, Count, that you are a terrible reasoner,” said Mme de Villefort after a moment’s silence, “and that you view the world through very dark spectacles! Is it by regarding humanity through alembics and retorts that you have formed your opinion? You are right; you are a great chemist, and the elixir you administered to my son which brought him back to life so rapidly . . .”

  “Oh! madame,” said Monte Cristo, “one drop of the elixir sufficed to call the dying child back to life, but three drops would have forced the blood to his lungs in such a manner as to produce palpitations of the heart; six would have arrested respiration and caused a much more serious syncope; ten would have killed him! You may remember, madame, how eagerly I snatched from him the phials that he so imprudently touched.”

  “Is it such a terrible poison then?”

  “Good gracious, no! First of all let us admit that the word poison does not exist, since poisons are used in medicines and, according to the manner in which they are administered, become health-giving remedies.”

  “What is your elixir then?”

  “A scientific preparation of my friend, the Abbé Adelmonte, who taught me the use of it.”

  “It must be an excellent antispasmodic,” observed Mme de Villefort.

  “A perfect one, madame. You saw for yourself. I frequently make use of it; with all possible prudence of course,” he added with a laugh.

  “I should think so,” replied Mme de Villefort in the same tone. “As for me, who am so nervous and prone to fainting, I need a Doctor Adelmonte to invent for me some means of breathing freely to relieve me of my fear that I shall suffocate one of these days. In the meantime, as it is difficult to obtain it in France, and as your abbé will not feel inclined to make a journey to Paris on my account, I must content myself with Monsieur Planche’s antispasmodics.”

  “But I have the pleasure of offering it to you,” said Monte Cristo, rising.

  “Oh, Count!”

  “Only remember one thing. In small doses it is a remedy, in large doses it is a poison! One drop will restore life as you have witnessed, five or six will inevitably kill and all the more terribly that, even when diluted in a glass of wine, it in no way changes the flavour. But I will say no more, madame. It is almost as if I were advising you.”

  The clock struck half-past six, and a friend of Mme de Villefort’s, who was dining with her, was announced.

  “If I had the pleasure of seeing you for the third or fourth time, Count, instead of the second, if I had the honour of being your friend instead of simply having the pleasure of being under an obligation to you, I should insist on keeping you for dinner, and I should not let myself be daunted by a first refusal.”

  “A thousand thanks, madame,” replied Monte Cristo, “but I have an engagement which I cannot avoid. I have promised to take to the Opera a Grecian princess of my acquaintance, who has never yet seen Grand Opera and is relying on me to escort her.”

  “I will not detain you then, but do not forget my recipe.”

  “Most assuredly not, madame, for that would mean forgetting the hour’s conversation I have just had with you, and that would be impossible.”

  Monte Cristo bowed and went out.

  Mme de Villefort remained standing, wrapt in thought.

  “He is a strange man,” said she, “and I could almost believe his baptismal name is Adelmonte.”

  As for Monte Cristo, the results had far surpassed all expectations. “Here is fruitful soil,” said he
to himself as he went away. “I am convinced that the seed I have sown has not fallen on barren ground.”

  Next morning, faithful to his promise, he sent the prescription Mme de Villefort had requested.

  Chapter XXXVII

  THE RISE AND FALL OF STOCKS

  Some days later, Albert de Morcerf called on the Count of Monte Cristo at his house in the Champs Élysées, which had already assumed that palace-like appearance that the Count, thanks to his immense fortune, always gave even to his temporary residences.

  Albert was accompanied by Lucien Debray. The Count attributed this visit to a twofold sentiment of curiosity, the larger share of which emanated from the Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin. It was obvious that Mme Danglars, being unable to view with her own eyes the home of the man who gave away horses worth thirty thousand francs, and who went to the opera accompanied by a slave wearing a million’s worth of diamonds, had sent her deputy to gather what information he could. Notwithstanding, the Count did not appear to suspect the slightest connexion between Lucien’s visit and the Baroness’s curiosity.

  “You are in constant communication with Baron Danglars?” he inquired of Albert de Morcerf.

  “Oh, yes, you know what I told you.”

  “It still holds good then?”

  “It is quite a settled affair,” interposed Lucien, and, doubtless thinking that this remark was all he was called upon to make, he put his tortoiseshell lorgnette to his eye and, with the gold top of his stick in his mouth, began to pace round the room examining the different pictures and weapons.

  “Is Mademoiselle Eugénie pretty?” asked Monte Cristo. “I seem to remember that is her name.”

  “Very pretty, or rather beautiful,” replied Albert. “But it is a beauty I do not appreciate. I am an undeserving fellow! Mademoiselle Danglars is too rich for me. Her riches frighten me.”

  “That’s a fine reason to give!” said Monte Cristo. “Are you not rich yourself ?”

  “My father has an income of some fifty thousand francs, and will probably give me ten or twelve thousand when I marry. But there is something besides that.”

  “I must own I can hardly understand your objections to such a beautiful and rich young woman,” replied the Count.

  “Even if there are any objections, they are not all on my side.”

  “Who raises objections then? I think you told me your father was in favour of the marriage.”

  “My mother objects to it, and she has a very prudent and penetrating eye. She does not smile on this union; for some reason she has a prejudice against the Danglars family.”

  “Ah, that is quite comprehensible,” said the Count in a somewhat strained tone of voice. “The Countess of Morcerf, who is distinction, aristocracy, and refinement personified, is somewhat disinclined to touch the thick, clumsy hand of a plebeian; that is only natural.”

  “I really do not know whether that is the reason,” said Albert. “What I do know is that, if this marriage is concluded, it will make her unhappy. It would be too great a disappointment to my father if I did not marry Mademoiselle Danglars. And yet I would rather quarrel with the Count than cause my mother pain.”

  Monte Cristo turned away, apparently agitated.

  “What are you doing there?” said he to Debray, who was seated in a deep armchair at the other end of the room with a pencil in one hand and a notebook in the other. “Are you making a sketch of that Poussin?”bo

  “I?” said he calmly; “a sketch! No, I am doing something very different. I am doing some arithmetic.”

  “Arithmetic?”

  “Yes, and it concerns you indirectly, Morcerf. I was reckon ing what the firm of Danglars have gained by the last rise in Hayti stock; they have risen from two hundred and six to four hundred and nine in three days, and the wise banker bought a large amount at two hundred and six. He must have gained three hundred thousand francs.”

  “That is not his best deal,” said Morcerf. “Didn’t he make a million this year with his Spanish bonds?”

  “Yes, but the Haytis are quite a different matter. Yesterday Monsieur Danglars sold them at four hundred and six and pocketed three hundred thousand francs; had he waited until to-day when the bonds fell to two hundred and five, he would have lost twenty-five thousand francs instead of making three hundred thousand.”

  “But why have the bonds fallen from four hundred and nine to two hundred and five?” asked Monte Cristo. “Pardon my question, but I am very ignorant of all these tricks on the Exchange.”

  “Because one piece of news follows the other and there is great dissimilarity between them,” replied Albert with a laugh.

  “What? Does Monsieur Danglars speculate at the risk of losing or gaining three hundred thousand francs a day? He must be enormously rich!”

  “It is not he who speculates,” exclaimed Lucien energetically. “It is Madame Danglars. She is very daring.”

  “But you should stop her,” said Morcerf with a smile. “You have common sense enough to know how little one can rely on communiqués, for you are at their very source.”

  “How should I be able to stop her when her husband has not yet succeeded in doing so? You know the Baroness. No one has any influence over her. She does just what she pleases.”

  “If I were in your place, I should cure her,” said Albert. “You would be doing a kind action to her future son-in-law.”

  “How would you set about it?”

  “It would be perfectly easy. I should teach her a lesson. Your position as Minister’s secretary gives you great power over telegraphic dispatches. You never open your mouth to speak but stockbrokers take down every word you say. Make her lose a hundred thousand francs and she will soon be more careful.”

  “I don’t understand,” stammered Lucien.

  “Nevertheless it is quite comprehensible,” replied the young man simply. “One fine morning tell her something stupendous, a telegraphic communication that you alone could know, for example, that Henry the Fourth was seen yesterday at Gabrielle’s. That would cause the bonds to rise, she would speculate and would certainly lose when Beauchamp wrote in his journal the following day: ‘The news circulated by some well-informed person that King Henry the Fourth was seen at Gabrielle’s the day before yesterday is absolutely without foundation; King Henry the Fourth has not left the Pont Neuf.’”bp

  Lucien gave a forced laugh. Monte Cristo, to all appearances quite indifferent to the conversation, had not lost one word of it, and his quick perception had detected a hidden secret in the private secretary’s embarrassment.

  In fact Lucien was so embarrassed, though Albert did not perceive it, that he cut short his visit. He evidently felt ill at ease. When the Count accompanied him to the door, he said something to him in a low voice to which he replied: “I accept with pleasure, Count.”

  The Count returned to young Morcerf, and said: “Do you not think that, on reflection, you were wrong to speak as you did of your mother-in-law before Monsieur Debray?”

  “Not so fast, Count,” said Morcerf. “I pray, do not give her that title so prematurely.”

  “Without any exaggeration, is your mother really so greatly opposed to this marriage?”

  “To such an extent that the Baroness rarely comes to the house, and so far as I know, my mother has not visited Madame Danglars twice in her whole life.”

  “Then I am emboldened to speak openly to you,” said the Count. “Monsieur Danglars is my banker; Monsieur de Ville fort has overwhelmed me with politeness in return for a service which a casual piece of good fortune enabled me to render him. I predict from this an avalanche of dinners and parties. Now, in order to forestall them, and if it be agreeable to you, I propose inviting Monsieur and Madame Danglars and Monsieur and Madame de Villefort to my country house at Auteuil. If I were to invite you and the Count and Countess of Morcerf to this dinner, it would give it the air of a matrimonial rendezvous, or at least, Madame de Morcerf would look upon it in that light, especially if Baron Danglars did
me the honour of bringing his daughter. In that case I should incur your mother’s displeasure, and that I do not wish; on the contrary (pray tell her this whenever the occasion arises), I desire to occupy a prominent place in her esteem.”

  “I thank you sincerely for having been so candid with me, Count, and I gratefully accept the exclusion you propose. You say you desire my mother’s good opinion of you; I assure you it is already yours to a very large extent.”

  “Do you think so?” said Monte Cristo interestedly.

  “I am sure of it; we talked of you for an hour after you left us the other day. But to return to what we were saying. If my mother knew of this consideration on your part, and I will venture to tell her, I am sure she would be most grateful to you; it is true that my father will be equally furious.”

  The Count laughed.

  “But I think your father will not be the only angry one,” he said to Morcerf. “Monsieur and Madame Danglars will think me a very ill-mannered person. They know that I am on an intimate footing with you, that you are in fact one of my oldest Paris acquaintances, yet they will not find you at my house. They will certainly ask me why I did not invite you. Be sure to provide yourself with some prior engagement with a semblance of probability, and communicate the fact to me in writing. You know that with bankers nothing but a written document is valid.”

  “I will do better than that,” said Albert. “My mother is anxious to go to the seaside. For which day is your dinner fixed?”

  “Saturday.”

  “This is Tuesday. Well, we will leave to-morrow evening, and the day after we shall be at Tréport. Do you know, Count, you have a charming way of setting people at their ease.”

  “Indeed, you give me credit for more than I deserve; I only wish to do what would be agreeable to you.”

  “That is settled, then. Now will you show yourself a true friend and come and dine with me? We shall be a small party, only yourself, my mother and I. You have scarcely seen my mother; you will have an opportunity of making her closer acquaintance. She is a remarkable woman, and I only regret there does not exist another about twenty years younger like her. In that case I assure you there would very soon be a Countess and a Viscountess of Morcerf.”