The Count of Monte Cristo

by Alexandre Dumas

  ‘Selim, the favourite of my father’s whom I mentioned, was standing by the barrels. He would watch day and night, holding a stave at the end of which was a burning wick. He had orders to blow everything up – the pavilion, the guards, the pasha, the women and the gold – at the slightest sign from my father. I remember that our slaves, knowing they were in such fearful company, spent their days and nights in praying, weeping and moaning. As for myself, I can still see the young soldier with his pale skin and black eyes. When the angel of death comes down to take me, I am certain I shall recognize Selim.

  ‘I cannot say how long we remained thus. In those days I did not know what time was. At intervals, though rarely, my father had us brought up to the terrace of the palace. These were moments of delight for me, since there was nothing to look at underground except the groaning figures in the darkness and Selim’s burning stave. Sitting in front of a large opening, my father would look grimly towards the depths of the horizon, studying every black dot that appeared on the lake, while my mother, half sitting, half lying beside him, rested her head on his shoulder and I played at his feet. With that wonder of childhood which magnifies things, I would admire the escarpments of Pinde, looming on the horizon, the castles of Janina, rising white and angular from the blue waters of the lake, and the huge tufts of black foliage, clinging like lichens to the mountainside, which from afar look like tufts of moss, and from close to are tall fir-trees and immense myrtle bushes.

  ‘One morning my father sent for us. We found him quite calm, but paler than usual.

  ‘ “Be patient, Vasiliki, for today all will be over. Today, the master’s firman11 arrives and my fate will be sealed. If there is a complete pardon, we shall return in triumph to Janina. If the news is bad, we shall flee tonight.”

  ‘ “But suppose they do not let us flee?” said my mother.

  ‘ “Have no fear on that score,” Ali answered, smiling. “Selim and his burning stave guarantee that. They might wish me dead, but not if it is a matter of dying with me.”

  ‘These words of consolation did not come from my father’s heart, and my mother answered them only with sighs. She prepared the iced water that he continually drank; because, from the moment when he retired into the pavilion, he had been seized with a burning fever. She perfumed his white beard and lit the chibouk, the smoke of which, as it curled into the air, he would watch abstractedly, sometimes for hours on end.

  ‘Then, suddenly, he made a brusque movement which startled me. Without taking his eyes away from what had attracted his attention, he asked for his telescope. My mother gave it to him, whiter than the balustrade against which she was leaning. I saw my father’s hand shake. “One boat… two… three,” he murmured. “Four…” And he got to his feet, grasped his weapons and, I remember, emptied some powder into the pan of his pistols.

  ‘ “Vasiliki,” he told my mother, with a visible shudder, “this is the moment that will decide our fate. In half an hour we shall know the response of the sublime emperor. Return underground with Haydée.”

  ‘ “I do not wish to leave you,” Vasiliki said. “If you die, my master, I want to die with you.”

  ‘ “Go to Selim!” my father cried.

  ‘ “Farewell, my Lord,” my mother muttered obediently, bent double as if by the approach of death.

  ‘ “Take Vasiliki!” my father told his Palicares. But I was forgotten. I ran to him and reached out my hands. He saw me and, leaning over, pressed his lips to my forehead.

  ‘Oh! That kiss! It was the last, and it is still on my brow.

  ‘On the way down, through the vines on the terrace, we saw the boats getting larger as they approached across the lake: at first they had been merely black dots; now they were already like birds skimming across the surface of the waters.

  ‘Meanwhile, in the pavilion, twenty Palicares, seated at my father’s feet and hidden by the wooden panelling, were watching the arrival of these boats with angry eyes, their long guns, encrusted with silver and mother-of-pearl, held at the ready; a large number of cartridges were spread around the floor. My father looked at his watch and walked anxiously back and forth.

  ‘This is the scene that I saw as I left my father, taking with me the last kiss that I ever received from him.

  ‘My mother and I went down the underground passage. Selim was still at his post. He smiled at us sadly. We went to search for cushions on the other side of the cavern and came to sit close to him: in times of great danger, loyal hearts seek one another and, though I was only a child, I felt instinctively that a great misfortune was hovering above our heads.’

  Albert had often heard tell of the last moments of the vizier of Janina – not from his father, who never spoke of it, but from strangers. He had also read different accounts of the man’s death; but this story, brought to life in the person and the voice of this young woman, these living tones and this mournful elegy, struck him with both an inexpressible charm and an inexpressible feeling of horror. As for Haydée, she had paused for a moment, caught up in her dreadful memories. Her head, like a flower bending on a stormy day, had fallen forward on to her hand; and her eyes, lost in the distance, still seemed to see the green slopes of Pinde on the horizon and the blue waters of the lake of Janina, a magic mirror reflecting the dark scene that she had described. Monte Cristo was looking at her with an indefinable look of concentration and pity. ‘Carry on,’ he said to her in Romaic.

  Haydée looked up, as though Monte Cristo’s sonorous voice had woken her from a dream, and continued her story: ‘It was four o’clock in the evening; but even though it was a pure and brilliant day outside, we were plunged in the darkness of the underground tunnel. A single light was burning in the cave, like a star trembling against a black sky: this was Selim’s taper. My mother was a Christian and she was praying, while from time to time Selim repeated the hallowed formula: “God is great!”

  ‘Even now my mother retained some hope. As she came down, she thought she recognized the Frank who had been sent to Constantinople and in whom my father had every confidence, knowing that the soldiers of the French sultan are usually noble and generous. She took a few steps towards the staircase and listened. “They are coming,” she said. “Let us pray that they are bringing peace and life.”

  ‘ “What are you afraid of, Vasiliki?” Selim replied, in a voice that was at once so soft and so proud. “If they do not bring peace, we shall give them death.” And he stirred the embers with his lance, in a gesture like that of an antique Cretan Dionysus. But, being an innocent child, I was afraid of his courage, which seemed to me savage and senseless, and I shrank from the terrible death that flared up in the air and the flames.

  ‘My mother experienced the same fear, because I felt her shudder.

  ‘ “My God, my God, mother!” I cried. “Are we going to die?”

  ‘When they heard this, the cries and lamentations of the slaves redoubled.

  ‘ “Child,” Vasiliki said, “pray God you may not come to desire the death that you fear so much now.” Then, under her breath, she said: “Selim, what are the master’s orders?”

  ‘ “If he sends me his dagger, then the sultan refuses him mercy and I must light the fire; if he sends me his ring, then the sultan has pardoned him and I hand over the powder store.”

  ‘ “Friend,” my mother said, “when the master’s order comes, if it is the dagger that he sends, instead of you subjecting us to that death which so terrifies us both, we shall offer you our throats and you can kill us with the dagger.”

  ‘ “Yes, Vasiliki,” Selim answered calmly.

  ‘Suddenly we heard loud cries. We listened. They were cries of joy. The name of the Frank who had been sent to Constantinople echoed backwards and forwards between our Palicares. It was clear that he had brought the reply of the sublime emperor and that the reply was favourable.’

  ‘You don’t remember his name?’ Morcerf asked, ready to prod the storyteller’s memory. Monte Cristo made a sign to her.

&n
bsp; ‘No, I don’t remember it,’ said Haydée.

  ‘The noise increased. Footsteps approached: someone was coming down the steps into the underground shelter.

  ‘Selim prepared his lance.

  ‘Shortly afterwards, a shape appeared in the bluish half-light of the sun’s rays which penetrated right down to the door of the cavern.

  ‘ “Who are you?” Selim asked. “Whoever you are, do not take another step.”

  ‘ “Glory to the sultan!” the shape said. “A full pardon has been granted to the Vizier Ali. Not only is his life spared, but his fortune and his possessions are returned to him.”

  ‘My mother gave a cry of joy and pressed me to her heart.

  ‘ “Stop!” Selim said to her, seeing that she was already preparing to run out. “You know that I need the ring.”

  ‘ “That is true,” my mother said, falling to her knees and raising me towards the heavens as if, since she was praying to God on my behalf, she actually wanted to lift me towards Him.’

  Once more Haydée paused, overcome with such emotion that the sweat ran down her pale brow and her strangled voice seemed unable to emerge from her dry throat.

  Monte Cristo poured a little iced water into a glass and gave it to her, saying: ‘Be strong!’ in a gentle voice beneath which there was the hint of an order.

  Haydée wiped her eyes and her forehead and went on: ‘Meanwhile our eyes, getting used to the dark, had recognized the Pasha’s envoy. He was a friend. Selim had recognized him, but the noble young man knew only one thing: how to obey!

  ‘ “In whose name do you come?” he asked.

  ‘ “In the name of our master, Ali Tebelin.”

  ‘ “If you come in Ali’s name, do you know what to give me?”

  ‘ “Yes,” said the envoy. “I bring you his ring.” And as he said this he held his hand above his head. But he was too far away, and from where we were standing it was not light enough for Selim to distinguish what he was holding up, and recognize it.

  ‘ “I cannot see what you are holding,” said Selim.

  ‘ “Then come over here,” said the messenger, “or I shall come over to you.”

  ‘ “Neither,” the young soldier replied. “Put whatever you are showing me down on the spot where you are, under that ray of light, and go away until I have examined it.”

  ‘ “Very well,” said the messenger, and he retired after putting down the token in the place where he had been told.

  ‘Our hearts were beating fast. The object did indeed appear to be a ring; but was it my father’s?

  ‘Selim, still holding his burning torch, went over to the doorway, bent down beneath the ray of light and picked up the token. “The master’s ring,” he said, kissing it. “All is well.” Then he turned the torch earthwards and extinguished it with his feet.

  ‘The messenger gave a cry of joy and clapped his hands. At the signal, four soldiers of seraskier Kurchid dashed forward and Selim fell beneath the wounds of five daggers, each man having smitten him with his own. Yet, drunk with their crime, though still pale with fear, they rushed into the cavern, searching everywhere for any sign of fire and rolling among the sacks of gold.

  ‘Meanwhile my mother seized me in her arms and, nimbly hurrying through meandering passages that only we knew, she came to a concealed staircase up to the pavilion, where the most frightful tumult reigned. The lower rooms were entirely occupied by Kurchid’s Tchodoars, that is, by our enemies. At the moment when my mother was about to push open the little door, we heard the pasha’s voice, terrible and threatening. My mother pressed her eye to an opening in the wall and it happened that there was another gap, at my own eye level, so I also looked.

  ‘ “What do you want?” my father was saying to some men holding a sheet of paper with gold lettering on it.

  ‘ “What do we want? We want to inform you of His Highness’s wishes. Do you see this firman?”

  ‘ “I do,” said my father.

  ‘ “Read it, then; it calls for your head.”

  ‘My father gave a shout of laughter more terrifying than any threat. It had not ended before two pistol-shots erupted from each of the pistols in his hands and he had killed two men. At this, the Palicares, who were lying all around my father, face down on the floor, leapt to their feet and began firing. The room filled with noise, flames and smoke. At the same moment, firing began from the other side and shots whistled through the wooden planks all around us.

  ‘Oh, how handsome he was and how great he was, my father, the vizier Ali Tebelin, in the midst of this gunfire, his scimitar in his hand and his face black with gunpowder! How his enemies fled before him!

  ‘ “Selim, Selim!” he cried. “Keeper of the fire, do your duty!”

  ‘ “Selim is dead,” replied a voice which seemed to come from the depths of the pavilion. “And you, my lord Ali, you are lost!”

  ‘At the same moment there was a dull thud and the floor burst into pieces around my father’s feet. The Tchodoars were firing upwards through it. Three or four Palicares fell, rent from head to foot by wounds that traversed their whole bodies.

  ‘My father roared, plunged his fingers into the bullet-holes and pulled up an entire floorboard. But at that moment, through the hole he had made, twenty shots rang out and a sheet of flame, rising as though from the crater of a volcano, lit the hangings and devoured them.

  ‘In the midst of all this dreadful noise, in the midst of all these fearful cries, two shots rang clearer than any of the rest and two cries more heart-rending than any around them. The two shots had delivered a mortal wound to my father and it was he who had cried out. Yet he still remained standing, clasping on to a window-frame. My mother beat on the door, wanting to enter and die with him, but the door was locked from the inside.

  ‘Around him the Palicares were writhing in their death-throes. Two or three who were unharmed or only lightly wounded dived out of the windows. At the same time the whole floor cracked open, shattered from below. My father fell to one knee and, as he did so, twenty arms reached up, holding sabres, pistols and daggers; twenty blows struck that one man simultaneously; and my father vanished in a maelstrom of fire, fanned into life by these roaring demons, as if hell itself had opened beneath his feet. I felt myself pulled to the ground: my mother had fainted.’

  Haydée let fall her arms, groaning and looking at the count as though to ask if he was satisfied with her obedience. He got up, came across to her, took her hand and said to her in Romaic: ‘Rest, my dear child, and console yourself with the thought that there is a God to punish traitors.’

  ‘This was a dreadful story, Count,’ Albert said, alarmed at Haydée’s pallor. ‘I reproach myself now for having been so indiscreet.’

  ‘You have no need to,’ Monte Cristo replied. Then, putting his hand on her head, he continued: ‘Haydée is a brave woman and she has sometimes found relief in describing her misfortunes.’

  ‘Because, my Lord,’ the young woman exclaimed, ‘the tale of my sufferings reminds me of your goodness towards me.’

  Albert looked at her curiously. She had not yet told him what he most wanted to know: how she had become the count’s slave. Haydée saw the same wish in his eyes and the count’s, so she went on:

  ‘When my mother came to herself, we were both in front of the seraskier. “Kill me,” my mother said, “but spare the honour of Ali’s widow.”

  ‘ “It is not I with whom you should plead,” said Kurchid.

  ‘ “With whom, then?”

  ‘ “With your new master.”

  ‘ “And who is that?”

  ‘Kurchid showed us one of the men who had most contributed to my father’s death,’ the young woman said, with brooding anger.

  ‘So did you become this man’s property?’ Albert asked.

  ‘No,’ Haydée replied. ‘He did not dare keep us, but sold us to some slave-dealers on their way to Constantinople. We crossed through Greece and were almost dead on arriving at the imperial gate, which
was crowded with onlookers who stepped aside to let us pass, when suddenly my mother follows their eyes, cries out and falls to the ground, showing me a head impaled above the gate. Beneath it were the words: “This is the head of Ali Tebelin, Pasha of Janina.”

  ‘Weeping, I tried to raise my mother to her feet; but she was dead!

  ‘I was taken to the bazaar. A rich Armenian bought me, educated me, gave me teachers and, when I was thirteen, sold me to Sultan Mahmoud.’

  ‘And from him,’ Monte Cristo said, ‘I bought her, as I told you, Albert, for that stone equal to the one in which I keep my lozenges of hashish.’

  ‘Oh, my lord, how good and great you are,’ said Haydée, kissing Monte Cristo’s hand. ‘How fortunate I am to belong to you!’

  Albert was dumbstruck at what he had heard.

  ‘Finish your coffee,’ the count said to him. ‘The story is over.’

  LXXVIII

  A CORRESPONDENT WRITES FROM JANINA

  Franz had staggered out of Noirtier’s room in such a confused state that even Valentine felt sorry for him. Villefort merely muttered some incoherent phrases and fled to his study where, two hours later, he received the following letter:

  After what was revealed this morning, Monsieur Noirtier de Villefort cannot imagine any alliance to be possible between his family and that of Monsieur Franz d’Epinay. Monsieur Franz d’Epinay is appalled when he considers that Monsieur Villefort, who appeared to know about the events that were described this morning, did not anticipate his reaction.

  Anyone who could have seen the magistrate at that moment, stricken as he was, would not have believed that he had foreseen it. Indeed, he would never have thought that his father would be so frank – or so brutal – as to recount such a story. True, M. Noirtier, contemptuous of his son’s opinion, had never taken the trouble to elucidate the matter for Villefort and the latter had always assumed that General Quesnel – or Baron d’Epinay, according to whether one prefers to call him by the name he made for himself or the one that was made for him – had been assassinated, rather than honourably killed in a duel.