The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin)

by Alexandre Dumas

  ‘My dear Maximilien,’ Valentine said, ‘your imagination really is running away with you… You will not love me for very long. A man who makes such poetry will never be happy, languishing in such a banal passion as ours… But, can you hear? They are calling me!’

  ‘Oh, Valentine!’ Maximilien said through the little gap in the barrier. ‘Your smallest finger… let me kiss it.’

  ‘Maximilien, we said that we would be only two voices and two shadows for one another, nothing more!’

  ‘As you wish, Valentine.’

  ‘Will you be happy if I do as you ask?’

  ‘Yes! Oh, yes!’

  Valentine got up on a bench and put, not her little finger but her whole hand through the opening in the fence.

  Maximilien gave a cry and, rushing to the spot, grasped the adored hand and covered it with burning kisses; but at once the little hand slipped between his and the young man heard Valentine run off, perhaps alarmed by her own feelings!

  LVIII

  MONSIEUR NOIRTIER DE VILLEFORT

  Here is what had happened in the crown prosecutor’s house after the departure of Mme Danglars and her daughter, and during the conversation that we have just recorded.

  M. de Villefort had gone to see his father, followed by Mme de Villefort (as for Valentine, we know where she was). Both of them greeted the old man and, after sending away Barrois, his servant for more than twenty-five years, sat down beside him.

  M. Noirtier was sitting in a large wheelchair where they put him from morning till evening, in front of a mirror which reflected the whole apartment and allowed him to see who was coming in or going out, and what was happening around him, without attempting any movement: this was something that had become impossible for him. Motionless as a corpse, he greeted his children with bright, intelligent eyes, their ceremonious bows telling him that they had come unexpectedly on some official business.

  Sight and hearing were the only two senses which, like two sparks, still lit up this human matter, already three-quarters remoulded for the tomb. Moreover, only one of these two senses could reveal to the outside world the inner life which animated this statue, and the look which disclosed that inner life was like one of those distant lights which shine at night, to tell a traveller in the desert that another being watches in the silence and the darkness.

  Consequently, in old Noirtier’s black eyes, under their black brows – black, while all the rest of the hair, which he wore long and resting on his shoulders, was white – in his black eyes (as usually happens with any human organ which has been exercised at the expense of the others) were concentrated all the activity, all the skill, all the strength and all the intelligence once distributed around this body and this mind. The gesture of the hand, the sound of the voice and the attitude of the body may indeed have gone, but these powerful eyes made up for all: he commanded with them and thanked with them. He was a corpse with living eyes and, at times, nothing could be more terrifying than this marble face out of which anger burned or joy shone. Only three people could read the poor man’s language: Villefort, Valentine and the old servant whom we mentioned. But Villefort rarely saw his father (indeed, only when it was unavoidable) and, when he did see him, made no effort to please him by understanding, so all the old man’s happiness derived from his granddaughter: Valentine had succeeded, by devoted effort, love and patience, in understanding all Noirtier’s thoughts in his looks. She replied to this language, incomprehensible to anyone else, with all her voice, all her expression and all her soul, setting up lively dialogues between the girl and this apparently dead clay, almost returned to dust; and which, despite that, was still a man of immense learning, unparalleled perception and a will as powerful as any can be when the soul is trapped in a body that no longer obeys its commands.

  Thus Valentine had managed to solve the enigma of understanding the old man’s thoughts in order to make him understand her own, to such an extent that it was now very rare, in normal circumstances, for her not to hit precisely on what this living soul desired or the needs of this near-insensible corpse. As for the servant, he had (as we mentioned) been serving his master for twenty-five years and knew all his habits, so it was not often that Noirtier needed to ask him for anything.

  However, Villefort did not need the help of either one of them to engage his father in the strange conversation that was to follow. As we said, he was perfectly well acquainted with the old man’s vocabulary; only boredom or indifference prevented him from using it more often. So he let Valentine go out into the garden and he sent Barrois away, taking the servant’s place on his father’s right, while Mme de Villefort sat on his left.

  ‘Monsieur,’ he said, ‘do not be surprised if Valentine has not come up with us and I have sent Barrois away, because the discussion that we are about to have is one that could not take place in front of a young girl or a servant. Madame de Villefort and I have something to tell you.’

  Noirtier’s face stayed impassive during these preliminaries, but Villefort’s, on the contrary, might have been trying to penetrate to the depths of the old man’s heart. He continued, in those icy tones that seemed to brook no contradiction: ‘Madame de Villefort and I are sure that what we have to say will be agreeable to you.’

  The old man’s eyes remained blank. He was listening, nothing more.

  ‘Monsieur,’ Villefort continued, ‘we are going to have Valentine married.’

  A wax figure could not have remained more indifferent to this news than the old man’s face.

  ‘The marriage will take place within three months,’ Villefort continued.

  The old man’s face still showed no emotion.

  Now Mme de Villefort spoke, and she hastened to add: ‘We thought that you would want to know this news, Monsieur. In any case, Valentine has always seemed to enjoy your affection. All that remains is for us to tell you the name of the young man we intend for her. He is one of the finest matches to which Valentine could aspire, bringing her a fortune, a good name and sure guarantees of happiness, given the manners and tastes of the man whom we have chosen for her. His name is not unknown to you. He is Monsieur Franz de Quesnel, Baron d’Epinay.’

  While his wife was speaking, Villefort had been concentrating still more closely on the old man’s face. When Mme de Villefort spoke Franz’s name, Noirtier’s eyes, which his son knew so well, fluttered, and their lids, opening as lips might do to allow the voice to pass, let out a flash of light. Knowing the public hostility that had existed between his own father and Franz’s, the crown prosecutor understood this flame and the agitation it betrayed. But he pretended not to have noticed and, continuing where his wife had left off, said: ‘You must accept that it is important for Valentine to be settled, as she is now nearly nineteen. However, we have not forgotten you in these negotiations and we have been assured in advance that Valentine’s husband, while he might not agree to live near us – that could be awkward for a young couple – but that you at least might live with them, since Valentine is so fond of you and you seem to return her affection. In this way, you will not have to change any of your habits, except that you will henceforth have two children instead of one to care for you.’

  The light in Noirtier’s eyes was savage. Something frightful must surely be taking place in the old man’s heart; and surely a cry of pain and anger was rising to his throat where, unable to escape, it suffocated him, because his face became purple and his lips turned blue.

  Villefort calmly opened the window, remarking as he did so: ‘It is very hot in here and the heat is making Monsieur Noirtier uncomfortable.’ Then he came back but did not sit down.

  ‘Both Monsieur d’Epinay and his family are pleased with the match,’ Mme de Villefort continued. ‘In any case, his only family is an uncle and an aunt. His mother died giving birth to him, and his father was murdered in 1815, when the child was barely two years old, so he is responsible only to himself.’

  ‘A mysterious business,’ said Villefort. ‘The murderer
s have never been identified, although many people were suspected.’

  Noirtier made such an effort that his lips almost contracted into a smile.

  ‘However,’ Villefort went on, ‘the guilty parties, those who know that they committed the crime and who may be subject to human justice in their lives and divine justice when they are dead, would be happy indeed to be in our place, with a daughter whom they could offer to Monsieur Franz d’Epinay, to extinguish even the merest glimmer of suspicion.’

  One might have thought it impossible for Noirtier’s broken frame to achieve such self-control. ‘Yes, I understand,’ his eyes replied, with a look that simultaneously expressed both profound contempt and contained rage.

  Villefort interpreted the meaning of this look perfectly and answered it with a slight shrug of the shoulders. Then he motioned to his wife to get up.

  ‘Now, Monsieur,’ Mme de Villefort said, ‘please accept my regards. Would you like Edouard to pay his respects to you?’

  It was understood that when the old man meant ‘yes’, he would close his eyes, when he meant ‘no’ he would blink them repeatedly and, when he needed something, he would raise them upwards. If he wanted Valentine, he closed only the right eye; if he wanted Barrois, he closed the left. At Mme de Villefort’s suggestion, he blinked vigorously.

  At this blatant refusal, Mme de Villefort pursed her lips.

  ‘So, shall I send you Valentine?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ the old man said, shutting his eyes tightly.

  M. and Mme de Villefort took their leave of the old man and went out, giving orders for Valentine to be called. She already knew that she would have to attend M. Noirtier during the day. She came in behind them, still flushed with emotion. It took only a glance for her to realize how much her grandfather was upset and how much he wanted to speak to her.

  ‘Oh, grandfather!’ she exclaimed. ‘What is wrong? Someone has upset you, haven’t they? You’re angry?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, closing his eyes.

  ‘Who has made you angry? My father? No. Madame de Villefort, then? No. Are you angry with me?’

  The old man indicated: ‘Yes.’

  ‘With me?’ Valentine said in astonishment.

  The old man again closed his eyes.

  ‘My dearest grandfather, what have I done?’ Then, getting no reply, she went on: ‘I have not seen you all day. Has someone told you something about me?’

  ‘Yes,’ the old man’s eyes said, emphatically.

  ‘Let me think. In God’s name, I swear… Ah! Monsieur and Madame de Villefort have just left, haven’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So it was they who told you whatever has made you angry. What can it be? Do you want me to go and ask them, so that I can apologize?’

  ‘No, no,’ said the eyes.

  ‘You are frightening me. Heavens, what can they have said?’

  She thought for a while, then she exclaimed: ‘Ah! I’ve got it!’ and, lowering her voice and coming close to the old man: ‘They spoke about my marriage, perhaps?’

  ‘Yes,’ the eyes replied angrily.

  ‘I understand. You are cross with me because I did not tell you. Oh, but you must understand, they insisted that I keep it from you, because they did not say anything to me themselves: I stumbled on the secret as it were by chance. That explains my reserve with you. But forgive me, dear Papa Noirtier.’

  The eyes became fixed and expressionless, seeming to reply: ‘It is not only your silence that pains me.’

  ‘What, then?’ the girl asked. ‘Do you think I would abandon you, grandfather, and that marriage would make me forgetful?’

  ‘No,’ said the old man.

  ‘So they told you that Monsieur d’Epinay agreed that we could still live together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why are you angry?’

  A look of infinite pain entered the old man’s eyes.

  ‘I understand,’ said Valentine. ‘Because you love me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you are afraid I shall be unhappy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You do not like Monsieur Franz?’

  Three or four times the eyes said: ‘No, no, no…’

  ‘And this causes you great sorrow, grandfather?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, then, listen to me,’ said Valentine, kneeling in front of Noirtier and putting her arms round his neck. ‘I, too, am very unhappy about it, because I do not love Monsieur Franz d’Epinay either.’

  The old man’s eyes lit up with joy.

  ‘Do you remember how angry you were with me when I wanted to retire to a convent?’

  A tear moistened the dry lid of the old man’s eye.

  ‘The reason,’ Valentine went on, ‘was to escape from this marriage which was driving me to despair.’

  Noirtier began to breathe more rapidly.

  ‘So, you are unhappy at the prospect of this match? Oh, God, if only you could help me, grandfather; if only we could join forces to undermine their schemes! But you are powerless against them, even though your mind is so sharp and your will so strong. When it comes to a fight, you are as weak, or even weaker than I am. Alas! In the days when you had your strength and your health, you would have been such a powerful protector for me. But now, all you can do is to sympathize, and either rejoice or mourn with me. That you can still do so is one last blessing that God has forgotten to take away with the rest.’

  At these words the depths of Noirtier’s eyes were lit with such malice that the girl thought she could hear them say: ‘You are wrong: I can still do a lot for you.’

  ‘You can do something for me?’ she translated.

  ‘Yes.’

  Noirtier looked upwards. This was the sign that meant he wanted something.

  ‘What do you want, grandfather? Let’s see.’ She racked her brains for a moment, expressing her ideas aloud as they came to her, but found that, whatever she said, the old man answered ‘no’.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to take more extreme measures, since I am so stupid!’ And she began to recite all the letters of the alphabet, one after another, starting with ‘a’, until she got to ‘n’, smiling and watching the invalid’s face; at ‘n’, Noirtier indicated: ‘Yes.’

  ‘So!’ Valentine said. ‘Whatever you want starts with “n”. We are dealing with the letter “n”? And what do we want after “n”? Na, ne, ni, no…’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ the old man said.

  ‘So it’s “no”… ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Valentine went to fetch a dictionary, which she put on a reading stand in front of Noirtier. She opened it and when she saw that he was looking attentively at the pages, she ran her finger up and down the columns. Over the six years during which Noirtier had been in his present unhappy state, the exercise had become so easy that she guessed the invalid’s thoughts as quickly as though he had been able to use the dictionary himself.

  At the word ‘notary’, Noirtier signalled to her to stop.

  ‘Notary,’ she said. ‘Do you want a notary, grandfather?’

  The old man indicated that this was the case.

  ‘So, shall I ask for them to fetch a notary?’ Valentine asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ought my father to be told?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you in a hurry to see this notary?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I shall send for him at once, dear grandfather. Is that all you need?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Valentine ran to the bell, called a servant and told him to ask M. or Mme de Villefort to come to her grandfather.

  ‘Are you happy?’ she asked. ‘Yes… Yes, I think you are, aren’t you? Wasn’t that quite easy, after all?’ And she smiled at the old man as she might have done to a child.

  M. de Villefort came in, having been fetched by Barrois.

  ‘What do you want, Monsieur?’ he asked the invalid.

>   ‘Monsieur, my grandfather would like to see a notary,’ said Valentine.

  At this odd and unexpected request, M. de Villefort looked at the invalid, whose eyes said ‘yes’ with a firmness that indicated that, with the help of Valentine and his old servant, who now knew what he wanted, he was ready to hold his own.

  ‘You are asking for a notary?’ Villefort repeated.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Noirtier did not answer.

  ‘What need can you have of a notary?’ Villefort asked.

  The invalid’s eyes remained motionless and, consequently, dumb, which meant: I am sticking by what I have said.

  ‘You want to do us a bad turn?’ Villefort said. ‘Is it worth it?’

  ‘But, after all,’ Barrois said, and, with the obstinacy characteristic of some old servants, he was prepared to argue the point, ‘if Monsieur wants a notary, that means he must need one. So I shall go and get a notary.’

  Barrois recognized no master but Noirtier, whose wishes he would never allow to be challenged in any way.

  ‘Yes, I want a notary,’ the old man said, closing his eyes with a defiant air, as if to say: refuse me, if you dare.

  ‘Since you are determined to have a notary, Monsieur, you shall have one. But I shall apologize to him on my behalf and you will on yours, because the scene will be quite ridiculous.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Barrois. ‘I shall fetch him even so.’ And he left the room in triumph.

  LIX

  THE WILL

  As Barrois went out, Noirtier looked at Valentine with a malicious interest that promised trouble to come. The girl understood the meaning of the look; so did Villefort, whose brow clouded with a dark frown. He took a seat, settled down in the invalid’s room and waited. Noirtier watched him with total indifference; but, out of the corner of his eye, he had told Valentine to wait, and not to worry.