The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter 88. The Insult

  At the banker’s door Beauchamp stopped Morcerf.

  “Listen,” said he; “just now I told you it was of M. de Monte Cristo youmust demand an explanation.”

  “Yes; and we are going to his house.”

  “Reflect, Morcerf, one moment before you go.”

  “On what shall I reflect?”

  “On the importance of the step you are taking.”

  “Is it more serious than going to M. Danglars?”

  “Yes; M. Danglars is a money-lover, and those who love money, you know,think too much of what they risk to be easily induced to fight a duel.The other is, on the contrary, to all appearance a true nobleman; but doyou not fear to find him a bully?”

  “I only fear one thing; namely, to find a man who will not fight.”

  “Do not be alarmed,” said Beauchamp; “he will meet you. My only fear isthat he will be too strong for you.”

  “My friend,” said Morcerf, with a sweet smile, “that is what I wish. Thehappiest thing that could occur to me, would be to die in my father’sstead; that would save us all.”

  “Your mother would die of grief.”

  “My poor mother!” said Albert, passing his hand across his eyes, “I knowshe would; but better so than die of shame.”

  “Are you quite decided, Albert?”

  “Yes; let us go.”

  “But do you think we shall find the count at home?”

  “He intended returning some hours after me, and doubtless he is now athome.”

  They ordered the driver to take them to No. 30 Champs-Élysées. Beauchampwished to go in alone, but Albert observed that as this was an unusualcircumstance he might be allowed to deviate from the usual etiquette ofduels. The cause which the young man espoused was one so sacred thatBeauchamp had only to comply with all his wishes; he yielded andcontented himself with following Morcerf. Albert sprang from theporter’s lodge to the steps. He was received by Baptistin. The counthad, indeed, just arrived, but he was in his bath, and had forbiddenthat anyone should be admitted.

  “But after his bath?” asked Morcerf.

  “My master will go to dinner.”

  “And after dinner?”

  “He will sleep an hour.”

  “Then?”

  “He is going to the Opera.”

  “Are you sure of it?” asked Albert.

  “Quite, sir; my master has ordered his horses at eight o’clockprecisely.”

  “Very good,” replied Albert; “that is all I wished to know.”

  Then, turning towards Beauchamp, “If you have anything to attend to,Beauchamp, do it directly; if you have any appointment for this evening,defer it till tomorrow. I depend on you to accompany me to the Opera;and if you can, bring Château-Renaud with you.”

  Beauchamp availed himself of Albert’s permission, and left him,promising to call for him at a quarter before eight. On his return home,Albert expressed his wish to Franz Debray, and Morrel, to see them atthe Opera that evening. Then he went to see his mother, who since theevents of the day before had refused to see anyone, and had kept herroom. He found her in bed, overwhelmed with grief at this publichumiliation.

  The sight of Albert produced the effect which might naturally beexpected on Mercédès; she pressed her son’s hand and sobbed aloud, buther tears relieved her. Albert stood one moment speechless by the sideof his mother’s bed. It was evident from his pale face and knit browsthat his resolution to revenge himself was growing weaker.

  “My dear mother,” said he, “do you know if M. de Morcerf has any enemy?”

  Mercédès started; she noticed that the young man did not say “myfather.”

  “My son,” she said, “persons in the count’s situation have many secretenemies. Those who are known are not the most dangerous.”

  “I know it, and appeal to your penetration. You are of so superior amind, nothing escapes you.”

  “Why do you say so?”

  “Because, for instance, you noticed on the evening of the ball we gave,that M. de Monte Cristo would eat nothing in our house.”

  Mercédès raised herself on her feverish arm.

  “M. de Monte Cristo!” she exclaimed; “and how is he connected with thequestion you asked me?”

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  “You know, mother, M. de Monte Cristo is almost an Oriental, and it iscustomary with the Orientals to secure full liberty for revenge by noteating or drinking in the houses of their enemies.”

  “Do you say M. de Monte Cristo is our enemy?” replied Mercédès, becomingpaler than the sheet which covered her. “Who told you so? Why, you aremad, Albert! M. de Monte Cristo has only shown us kindness. M. de MonteCristo saved your life; you yourself presented him to us. Oh, I entreatyou, my son, if you had entertained such an idea, dispel it; and mycounsel to you—nay, my prayer—is to retain his friendship.”

  “Mother,” replied the young man, “you have special reasons for tellingme to conciliate that man.”

  “I?” said Mercédès, blushing as rapidly as she had turned pale, andagain becoming paler than ever.

  “Yes, doubtless; and is it not that he may never do us any harm?”

  Mercédès shuddered, and, fixing on her son a scrutinizing gaze, “Youspeak strangely,” said she to Albert, “and you appear to have somesingular prejudices. What has the count done? Three days since you werewith him in Normandy; only three days since we looked on him as our bestfriend.”

  An ironical smile passed over Albert’s lips. Mercédès saw it and withthe double instinct of woman and mother guessed all; but as she wasprudent and strong-minded she concealed both her sorrows and her fears.Albert was silent; an instant after, the countess resumed:

  “You came to inquire after my health; I will candidly acknowledge that Iam not well. You should install yourself here, and cheer my solitude. Ido not wish to be left alone.”

  “Mother,” said the young man, “you know how gladly I would obey yourwish, but an urgent and important affair obliges me to leave you for thewhole evening.”

  “Well,” replied Mercédès, sighing, “go, Albert; I will not make you aslave to your filial piety.”

  Albert pretended he did not hear, bowed to his mother, and quitted her.Scarcely had he shut her door, when Mercédès called a confidentialservant, and ordered him to follow Albert wherever he should go thatevening, and to come and tell her immediately what he observed. Then sherang for her lady’s maid, and, weak as she was, she dressed, in order tobe ready for whatever might happen. The footman’s mission was an easyone. Albert went to his room, and dressed with unusual care. At tenminutes to eight Beauchamp arrived; he had seen Château-Renaud, who hadpromised to be in the orchestra before the curtain was raised. Both gotinto Albert’s coupé; and, as the young man had no reason to concealwhere he was going, he called aloud, “To the Opera.” In his impatiencehe arrived before the beginning of the performance.

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  Château-Renaud was at his post; apprised by Beauchamp of thecircumstances, he required no explanation from Albert. The conduct ofthe son in seeking to avenge his father was so natural that Château-Renaud did not seek to dissuade him, and was content with renewing hisassurances of devotion. Debray was not yet come, but Albert knew that heseldom lost a scene at the Opera.

  Albert wandered about the theatre until the curtain was drawn up. Hehoped to meet with M. de Monte Cristo either in the lobby or on thestairs. The bell summoned him to his seat, and he entered the orchestrawith Château-Renaud and Beauchamp. But his eyes scarcely quitted the boxbetween the columns, which remained obstinately closed during the wholeof the first act. At last, as Albert was looking at his watch for aboutthe hundredth time, at the beginning of the second act the door opened,and Monte Cristo entered, dressed in black, and, leaning over the frontof the box, looked around the pit. Morrel followed him, and looked alsofor his sister and brother in-law; he soon discovered them in anotherbox, and kissed his hand to them.

  The count, in his surve
y of the pit, encountered a pale face andthreatening eyes, which evidently sought to gain his attention. Herecognized Albert, but thought it better not to notice him, as he lookedso angry and discomposed. Without communicating his thoughts to hiscompanion, he sat down, drew out his opera-glass, and looked anotherway. Although apparently not noticing Albert, he did not, however, losesight of him, and when the curtain fell at the end of the second act, hesaw him leave the orchestra with his two friends. Then his head was seenpassing at the back of the boxes, and the count knew that theapproaching storm was intended to fall on him. He was at the momentconversing cheerfully with Morrel, but he was well prepared for whatmight happen.

  The door opened, and Monte Cristo, turning round, saw Albert, pale andtrembling, followed by Beauchamp and Château-Renaud.

  “Well,” cried he, with that benevolent politeness which distinguishedhis salutation from the common civilities of the world, “my cavalier hasattained his object. Good-evening, M. de Morcerf.”

  The countenance of this man, who possessed such extraordinary controlover his feelings, expressed the most perfect cordiality. Morrel onlythen recollected the letter he had received from the viscount, in which,without assigning any reason, he begged him to go to the Opera, but heunderstood that something terrible was brooding.

  “We are not come here, sir, to exchange hypocritical expressions ofpoliteness, or false professions of friendship,” said Albert, “but todemand an explanation.”

  The young man’s trembling voice was scarcely audible.

  “An explanation at the Opera?” said the count, with that calm tone andpenetrating eye which characterize the man who knows his cause is good.“Little acquainted as I am with the habits of Parisians, I should nothave thought this the place for such a demand.”

  “Still, if people will shut themselves up,” said Albert, “and cannot beseen because they are bathing, dining, or asleep, we must availourselves of the opportunity whenever they are to be seen.”

  “I am not difficult of access, sir; for yesterday, if my memory does notdeceive me, you were at my house.”

  “Yesterday I was at your house, sir,” said the young man; “because thenI knew not who you were.”

  In pronouncing these words Albert had raised his voice so as to be heardby those in the adjoining boxes and in the lobby. Thus the attention ofmany was attracted by this altercation.

  “Where are you come from, sir? “ said Monte Cristo “You do not appear tobe in the possession of your senses.”

  “Provided I understand your perfidy, sir, and succeed in making youunderstand that I will be revenged, I shall be reasonable enough,” saidAlbert furiously.

  “I do not understand you, sir,” replied Monte Cristo; “and if I did,your tone is too high. I am at home here, and I alone have a right toraise my voice above another’s. Leave the box, sir!”

  Monte Cristo pointed towards the door with the most commanding dignity.

  “Ah, I shall know how to make you leave your home!” replied Albert,clasping in his convulsed grasp the glove, which Monte Cristo did notlose sight of.

  “Well, well,” said Monte Cristo quietly, “I see you wish to quarrel withme; but I would give you one piece of advice, which you will do well tokeep in mind. It is in poor taste to make a display of a challenge.Display is not becoming to everyone, M. de Morcerf.”

  At this name a murmur of astonishment passed around the group ofspectators of this scene. They had talked of no one but Morcerf thewhole day. Albert understood the allusion in a moment, and was about tothrow his glove at the count, when Morrel seized his hand, whileBeauchamp and Château-Renaud, fearing the scene would surpass the limitsof a challenge, held him back. But Monte Cristo, without rising, andleaning forward in his chair, merely stretched out his arm and, takingthe damp, crushed glove from the clenched hand of the young man:

  “Sir,” said he in a solemn tone, “I consider your glove thrown, and willreturn it to you wrapped around a bullet. Now leave me or I will summonmy servants to throw you out at the door.”

  Wild, almost unconscious, and with eyes inflamed, Albert stepped back,and Morrel closed the door. Monte Cristo took up his glass again as ifnothing had happened; his face was like marble, and his heart was likebronze. Morrel whispered, “What have you done to him?”

  “I? Nothing—at least personally,” said Monte Cristo.

  “But there must be some cause for this strange scene.”

  “The Count of Morcerf’s adventure exasperates the young man.”

  “Have you anything to do with it?”

  “It was through Haydée that the Chamber was informed of his father’streason.”

  “Indeed?” said Morrel. “I had been told, but would not credit it, thatthe Grecian slave I have seen with you here in this very box was thedaughter of Ali Pasha.”

  “It is true, nevertheless.”

  “Then,” said Morrel, “I understand it all, and this scene waspremeditated.”

  “How so?”

  “Yes. Albert wrote to request me to come to the Opera, doubtless that Imight be a witness to the insult he meant to offer you.”

  “Probably,” said Monte Cristo with his imperturbable tranquillity.

  “But what shall you do with him?”

  “With whom?”

  “With Albert.”

  “What shall I do with Albert? As certainly, Maximilian, as I now pressyour hand, I shall kill him before ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”Morrel, in his turn, took Monte Cristo’s hand in both of his, and heshuddered to feel how cold and steady it was.

  “Ah, count,” said he, “his father loves him so much!”

  “Do not speak to me of that,” said Monte Cristo, with the first movementof anger he had betrayed; “I will make him suffer.”

  Morrel, amazed, let fall Monte Cristo’s hand. “Count, count!” said he.

  “Dear Maximilian,” interrupted the count, “listen how adorably Duprez issinging that line,—

  ‘O Mathilde! idole de mon âme!’ “I was the first to discover Duprez atNaples, and the first to applaud him. Bravo, bravo!”

  Morrel saw it was useless to say more, and refrained. The curtain, whichhad risen at the close of the scene with Albert, again fell, and a rapwas heard at the door.

  “Come in,” said Monte Cristo with a voice that betrayed not the leastemotion; and immediately Beauchamp appeared. “Good-evening, M.Beauchamp,” said Monte Cristo, as if this was the first time he had seenthe journalist that evening; “be seated.”

  Beauchamp bowed, and, sitting down, “Sir,” said he, “I just nowaccompanied M. de Morcerf, as you saw.”

  “And that means,” replied Monte Cristo, laughing, “that you had,probably, just dined together. I am happy to see, M. Beauchamp, that youare more sober than he was.”

  “Sir,” said M. Beauchamp, “Albert was wrong, I acknowledge, to betray somuch anger, and I come, on my own account, to apologize for him. Andhaving done so, entirely on my own account, be it understood, I wouldadd that I believe you too gentlemanly to refuse giving him someexplanation concerning your connection with Yanina. Then I will add twowords about the young Greek girl.”

  Monte Cristo motioned him to be silent. “Come,” said he, laughing,“there are all my hopes about to be destroyed.”

  “How so?” asked Beauchamp.

  “Doubtless you wish to make me appear a very eccentric character. I am,in your opinion, a Lara, a Manfred, a Lord Ruthven; then, just as I amarriving at the climax, you defeat your own end, and seek to make anordinary man of me. You bring me down to your own level, and demandexplanations! Indeed, M. Beauchamp, it is quite laughable.”

  “Yet,” replied Beauchamp haughtily, “there are occasions when probitycommands——”

  “M. Beauchamp,” interposed this strange man, “the Count of Monte Cristobows to none but the Count of Monte Cristo himself. Say no more, Ientreat you. I do what I please, M. Beauchamp, and it is always welldone.”

  “Sir,” replied the young man, “hon
est men are not to be paid with suchcoin. I require honorable guaranties.”

  “I am, sir, a living guaranty,” replied Monte Cristo, motionless, butwith a threatening look; “we have both blood in our veins which we wishto shed—that is our mutual guaranty. Tell the viscount so, and thattomorrow, before ten o’clock, I shall see what color his is.”

  “Then I have only to make arrangements for the duel,” said Beauchamp.

  “It is quite immaterial to me,” said Monte Cristo, “and it was veryunnecessary to disturb me at the Opera for such a trifle. In Francepeople fight with the sword or pistol, in the colonies with the carbine,in Arabia with the dagger. Tell your client that, although I am theinsulted party, in order to carry out my eccentricity, I leave him thechoice of arms, and will accept without discussion, without dispute,anything, even combat by drawing lots, which is always stupid, but withme different from other people, as I am sure to gain.”

  “Sure to gain!” repeated Beauchamp, looking with amazement at the count.

  “Certainly,” said Monte Cristo, slightly shrugging his shoulders;“otherwise I would not fight with M. de Morcerf. I shall kill him—Icannot help it. Only by a single line this evening at my house let meknow the arms and the hour; I do not like to be kept waiting.”

  “Pistols, then, at eight o’clock, in the Bois de Vincennes,” saidBeauchamp, quite disconcerted, not knowing if he was dealing with anarrogant braggadocio or a supernatural being.

  “Very well, sir,” said Monte Cristo. “Now all that is settled, do let mesee the performance, and tell your friend Albert not to come any morethis evening; he will hurt himself with all his ill-chosen barbarisms:let him go home and go to sleep.”

  Beauchamp left the box, perfectly amazed.

  “Now,” said Monte Cristo, turning towards Morrel, “I may depend uponyou, may I not?”

  “Certainly,” said Morrel, “I am at your service, count; still——”

  “What?”

  “It is desirable I should know the real cause.”

  “That is to say, you would rather not?”

  “No.”

  “The young man himself is acting blindfolded, and knows not the truecause, which is known only to God and to me; but I give you my word,Morrel, that God, who does know it, will be on our side.”

  “Enough,” said Morrel; “who is your second witness?”

  “I know no one in Paris, Morrel, on whom I could confer that honorbesides you and your brother Emmanuel. Do you think Emmanuel wouldoblige me?”

  “I will answer for him, count.”

  “Well? that is all I require. Tomorrow morning, at seven o’clock, youwill be with me, will you not?”

  “We will.”

  “Hush, the curtain is rising. Listen! I never lose a note of this operaif I can avoid it; the music of William Tell is so sweet.”