The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter 84. Beauchamp

  The daring attempt to rob the count was the topic of conversationthroughout Paris for the next fortnight. The dying man had signed adeposition declaring Benedetto to be the assassin. The police had ordersto make the strictest search for the murderer. Caderousse’s knife, darklantern, bunch of keys, and clothing, excepting the waistcoat, whichcould not be found, were deposited at the registry; the corpse wasconveyed to the morgue. The count told everyone that this adventure hadhappened during his absence at Auteuil, and that he only knew what wasrelated by the Abbé Busoni, who that evening, by mere chance, hadrequested to pass the night in his house, to examine some valuable booksin his library.

  Bertuccio alone turned pale whenever Benedetto’s name was mentioned inhis presence, but there was no reason why anyone should notice his doingso.

  Villefort, being called on to prove the crime, was preparing his briefwith the same ardor that he was accustomed to exercise when required tospeak in criminal cases.

  But three weeks had already passed, and the most diligent search hadbeen unsuccessful; the attempted robbery and the murder of the robber byhis comrade were almost forgotten in anticipation of the approachingmarriage of Mademoiselle Danglars to the Count Andrea Cavalcanti. It wasexpected that this wedding would shortly take place, as the young manwas received at the banker’s as the betrothed.

  Letters had been despatched to M. Cavalcanti, as the count’s father, whohighly approved of the union, regretted his inability to leave Parma atthat time, and promised a wedding gift of a hundred and fifty thousandlivres. It was agreed that the three millions should be intrusted toDanglars to invest; some persons had warned the young man of thecircumstances of his future father-in-law, who had of late sustainedrepeated losses; but with sublime disinterestedness and confidence theyoung man refused to listen, or to express a single doubt to the baron.

  The baron adored Count Andrea Cavalcanti; not so Mademoiselle EugénieDanglars. With an instinctive hatred of matrimony, she suffered Andrea’sattentions in order to get rid of Morcerf; but when Andrea urged hissuit, she betrayed an entire dislike to him. The baron might possiblyhave perceived it, but, attributing it to a caprice, feigned ignorance.

  The delay demanded by Beauchamp had nearly expired. Morcerf appreciatedthe advice of Monte Cristo to let things die away of their own accord.No one had taken up the remark about the general, and no one hadrecognized in the officer who betrayed the castle of Yanina the noblecount in the House of Peers.

  Albert, however, felt no less insulted; the few lines which hadirritated him were certainly intended as an insult. Besides, the mannerin which Beauchamp had closed the conference left a bitter recollectionin his heart. He cherished the thought of the duel, hoping to concealits true cause even from his seconds. Beauchamp had not been seen sincethe day he visited Albert, and those of whom the latter inquired alwaystold him he was out on a journey which would detain him some days. Wherehe was no one knew.

  One morning Albert was awakened by his valet de chambre, who announcedBeauchamp. Albert rubbed his eyes, ordered his servant to introduce himinto the small smoking-room on the ground floor, dressed himselfquickly, and went down.

  He found Beauchamp pacing the room; on perceiving him Beauchamp stopped.

  “Your arrival here, without waiting my visit at your house today, lookswell, sir,” said Albert. “Tell me, may I shake hands with you, saying,‘Beauchamp, acknowledge you have injured me, and retain my friendship,’or must I simply propose to you a choice of arms?”

  “Albert,” said Beauchamp, with a look of sorrow which stupefied theyoung man, “let us first sit down and talk.”

  “Rather, sir, before we sit down, I must demand your answer.”

  “Albert,” said the journalist, “these are questions which it isdifficult to answer.”

  “I will facilitate it by repeating the question, ‘Will you, or will younot, retract?’”

  “Morcerf, it is not enough to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to questions whichconcern the honor, the social interest, and the life of such a man asLieutenant-général the Count of Morcerf, peer of France.”

  “What must then be done?”

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  “What I have done, Albert. I reasoned thus—money, time, and fatigue arenothing compared with the reputation and interests of a whole family;probabilities will not suffice, only facts will justify a deadly combatwith a friend. If I strike with the sword, or discharge the contents ofa pistol at man with whom, for three years, I have been on terms ofintimacy, I must, at least, know why I do so; I must meet him with aheart at ease, and that quiet conscience which a man needs when his ownarm must save his life.”

  “Well,” said Morcerf, impatiently, “what does all this mean?”

  “It means that I have just returned from Yanina.”

  “From Yanina?”

  “Yes.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Here is my passport; examine the visa—Geneva, Milan, Venice, Trieste,Delvino, Yanina. Will you believe the government of a republic, akingdom, and an empire?” Albert cast his eyes on the passport, thenraised them in astonishment to Beauchamp.

  “You have been to Yanina?” said he.

  “Albert, had you been a stranger, a foreigner, a simple lord, like thatEnglishman who came to demand satisfaction three or four months since,and whom I killed to get rid of, I should not have taken this trouble;but I thought this mark of consideration due to you. I took a week togo, another to return, four days of quarantine, and forty-eight hours tostay there; that makes three weeks. I returned last night, and here Iam.”

  “What circumlocution! How long you are before you tell me what I mostwish to know?”

  “Because, in truth, Albert——”

  “You hesitate?”

  “Yes,—I fear.”

  “You fear to acknowledge that your correspondent has deceived you? Oh,no self-love, Beauchamp. Acknowledge it, Beauchamp; your courage cannotbe doubted.”

  “Not so,” murmured the journalist; “on the contrary——”

  Albert turned frightfully pale; he endeavored to speak, but the wordsdied on his lips.

  “My friend,” said Beauchamp, in the most affectionate tone, “I shouldgladly make an apology; but, alas!——”

  “But what?”

  “The paragraph was correct, my friend.”

  “What? That French officer——”

  “Yes.”

  “Fernand?”

  “Yes.”

  “The traitor who surrendered the castle of the man in whose service hewas——”

  “Pardon me, my friend, that man was your father!”

  Albert advanced furiously towards Beauchamp, but the latter restrainedhim more by a mild look than by his extended hand.

  “My friend,” said he, “here is a proof of it.”

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  Albert opened the paper, it was an attestation of four notableinhabitants of Yanina, proving that Colonel Fernand Mondego, in theservice of Ali Tepelini, had surrendered the castle for two millioncrowns. The signatures were perfectly legal. Albert tottered and felloverpowered in a chair. It could no longer be doubted; the family namewas fully given. After a moment’s mournful silence, his heartoverflowed, and he gave way to a flood of tears. Beauchamp, who hadwatched with sincere pity the young man’s paroxysm of grief, approachedhim.

  “Now, Albert,” said he, “you understand me—do you not? I wished to seeall, and to judge of everything for myself, hoping the explanation wouldbe in your father’s favor, and that I might do him justice. But, on thecontrary, the particulars which are given prove that Fernand Mondego,raised by Ali Pasha to the rank of governor-general, is no other thanCount Fernand of Morcerf; then, recollecting the honor you had done me,in admitting me to your friendship, I hastened to you.”

  Albert, still extended on the chair, covered his face with both hands,as if to prevent the light from reaching him.

  “I hastened to you,” continued Beauchamp, “to tell
you, Albert, that inthis changing age, the faults of a father cannot revert upon hischildren. Few have passed through this revolutionary period, in themidst of which we were born, without some stain of infamy or blood tosoil the uniform of the soldier, or the gown of the magistrate. Now Ihave these proofs, Albert, and I am in your confidence, no human powercan force me to a duel which your own conscience would reproach you withas criminal, but I come to offer you what you can no longer demand ofme. Do you wish these proofs, these attestations, which I alone possess,to be destroyed? Do you wish this frightful secret to remain with us?Confided to me, it shall never escape my lips; say, Albert, my friend,do you wish it?”

  Albert threw himself on Beauchamp’s neck.

  “Ah, noble fellow!” cried he.

  “Take these,” said Beauchamp, presenting the papers to Albert.

  Albert seized them with a convulsive hand, tore them in pieces, andtrembling lest the least vestige should escape and one day appear toconfront him, he approached the wax-light, always kept burning forcigars, and burned every fragment.

  “Dear, excellent friend,” murmured Albert, still burning the papers.

  “Let all be forgotten as a sorrowful dream,” said Beauchamp; “let itvanish as the last sparks from the blackened paper, and disappear as thesmoke from those silent ashes.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Albert, “and may there remain only the eternalfriendship which I promised to my deliverer, which shall be transmittedto our children’s children, and shall always remind me that I owe mylife and the honor of my name to you,—for had this been known, oh,Beauchamp, I should have destroyed myself; or,—no, my poor mother! Icould not have killed her by the same blow,—I should have fled from mycountry.”

  “Dear Albert,” said Beauchamp. But this sudden and factitious joy soonforsook the young man, and was succeeded by a still greater grief.

  “Well,” said Beauchamp, “what still oppresses you, my friend?”

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  “I am broken-hearted,” said Albert. “Listen, Beauchamp! I cannot thus,in a moment relinquish the respect, the confidence, and pride with whicha father’s untarnished name inspires a son. Oh, Beauchamp, Beauchamp,how shall I now approach mine? Shall I draw back my forehead from hisembrace, or withhold my hand from his? I am the most wretched of men.Ah, my mother, my poor mother!” said Albert, gazing through his tears athis mother’s portrait; “if you know this, how much must you suffer!”

  “Come,” said Beauchamp, taking both his hands, “take courage, myfriend.”

  “But how came that first note to be inserted in your journal? Someunknown enemy—an invisible foe—has done this.”

  “The more must you fortify yourself, Albert. Let no trace of emotion bevisible on your countenance, bear your grief as the cloud bears withinit ruin and death—a fatal secret, known only when the storm bursts. Go,my friend, reserve your strength for the moment when the crash shallcome.”

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  “You think, then, all is not over yet?” said Albert, horror-stricken.

  “I think nothing, my friend; but all things are possible. By the way——”

  “What?” said Albert, seeing that Beauchamp hesitated.

  “Are you going to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?”

  “Why do you ask me now?”

  “Because the rupture or fulfilment of this engagement is connected withthe person of whom we were speaking.”

  “How?” said Albert, whose brow reddened; “you think M. Danglars——”

  “I ask you only how your engagement stands? Pray put no construction onmy words I do not mean they should convey, and give them no undueweight.”

  “No.” said Albert, “the engagement is broken off.”

  “Well,” said Beauchamp. Then, seeing the young man was about to relapseinto melancholy, “Let us go out, Albert,” said he; “a ride in the woodin the phaeton, or on horseback, will refresh you; we will then returnto breakfast, and you shall attend to your affairs, and I to mine.”

  “Willingly,” said Albert; “but let us walk. I think a little exertionwould do me good.”

  The two friends walked out on the fortress. When they arrived at theMadeleine:

  “Since we are out,” said Beauchamp, “let us call on M. de Monte Cristo;he is admirably adapted to revive one’s spirits, because he neverinterrogates, and in my opinion those who ask no questions are the bestcomforters.”

  “Gladly,” said Albert; “let us call—I love him.”