The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated by Alexandre Dumas
Chapter 105. The Cemetery of Père-Lachaise
M. de Boville had indeed met the funeral procession which was takingValentine to her last home on earth. The weather was dull and stormy, acold wind shook the few remaining yellow leaves from the boughs of thetrees, and scattered them among the crowd which filled the boulevards.M. de Villefort, a true Parisian, considered the cemetery of Père-Lachaise alone worthy of receiving the mortal remains of a Parisianfamily; there alone the corpses belonging to him would be surrounded byworthy associates. He had therefore purchased a vault, which was quicklyoccupied by members of his family. On the front of the monument wasinscribed: “The families of Saint-Méran and Villefort,” for such hadbeen the last wish expressed by poor Renée, Valentine’s mother. Thepompous procession therefore wended its way towards Père-Lachaise fromthe Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Having crossed Paris, it passed through theFaubourg du Temple, then leaving the exterior boulevards, it reached thecemetery. More than fifty private carriages followed the twentymourning-coaches, and behind them more than five hundred persons joinedin the procession on foot.
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These last consisted of all the young people whom Valentine’s death hadstruck like a thunderbolt, and who, notwithstanding the raw chillinessof the season, could not refrain from paying a last tribute to thememory of the beautiful, chaste, and adorable girl, thus cut off in theflower of her youth.
As they left Paris, an equipage with four horses, at full speed, wasseen to draw up suddenly; it contained Monte Cristo. The count left thecarriage and mingled in the crowd who followed on foot. Château-Renaudperceived him and immediately alighting from his coupé, joined him;Beauchamp did the same.
The count looked attentively through every opening in the crowd; he wasevidently watching for someone, but his search ended in disappointment.
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“Where is Morrel?” he asked; “do either of these gentlemen know where heis?”
“We have already asked that question,” said Château-Renaud, “for none ofus has seen him.”
The count was silent, but continued to gaze around him. At length theyarrived at the cemetery. The piercing eye of Monte Cristo glancedthrough clusters of bushes and trees, and was soon relieved from allanxiety, for seeing a shadow glide between the yew-trees, Monte Cristorecognized him whom he sought.
One funeral is generally very much like another in this magnificentmetropolis. Black figures are seen scattered over the long whiteavenues; the silence of earth and heaven is alone broken by the noisemade by the crackling branches of hedges planted around the monuments;then follows the melancholy chant of the priests, mingled now and thenwith a sob of anguish, escaping from some woman concealed behind a massof flowers.
The shadow Monte Cristo had noticed passed rapidly behind the tomb ofAbélard and Héloïse, placed itself close to the heads of the horsesbelonging to the hearse, and following the undertaker’s men, arrivedwith them at the spot appointed for the burial. Each person’s attentionwas occupied. Monte Cristo saw nothing but the shadow, which no one elseobserved. Twice the count left the ranks to see whether the object ofhis interest had any concealed weapon beneath his clothes. When theprocession stopped, this shadow was recognized as Morrel, who, with hiscoat buttoned up to his throat, his face livid, and convulsivelycrushing his hat between his fingers, leaned against a tree, situated onan elevation commanding the mausoleum, so that none of the funeraldetails could escape his observation.
Everything was conducted in the usual manner. A few men, the leastimpressed of all by the scene, pronounced a discourse, some deploringthis premature death, others expatiating on the grief of the father, andone very ingenious person quoting the fact that Valentine had solicitedpardon of her father for criminals on whom the arm of justice was readyto fall—until at length they exhausted their stores of metaphor andmournful speeches, elaborate variations on the stanzas of Malherbe to DuPérier.
Monte Cristo heard and saw nothing, or rather he only saw Morrel, whosecalmness had a frightful effect on those who knew what was passing inhis heart.
“See,” said Beauchamp, pointing out Morrel to Debray. “What is he doingup there?” And they called Château-Renaud’s attention to him.
“How pale he is!” said Château-Renaud, shuddering.
“He is cold,” said Debray.
“Not at all,” said Château-Renaud, slowly; “I think he is violentlyagitated. He is very susceptible.”
“Bah,” said Debray; “he scarcely knew Mademoiselle de Villefort; yousaid so yourself.”
“True. Still I remember he danced three times with her at Madame deMorcerf’s. Do you recollect that ball, count, where you produced such aneffect?”
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“No, I do not,” replied Monte Cristo, without even knowing of what or towhom he was speaking, so much was he occupied in watching Morrel, whowas holding his breath with emotion.
“The discourse is over; farewell, gentlemen,” said the count,unceremoniously.
And he disappeared without anyone seeing whither he went.
The funeral being over, the guests returned to Paris. Château-Renaudlooked for a moment for Morrel; but while they were watching thedeparture of the count, Morrel had quitted his post, and Château-Renaud,failing in his search, joined Debray and Beauchamp.
Monte Cristo concealed himself behind a large tomb and awaited thearrival of Morrel, who by degrees approached the tomb now abandoned byspectators and workmen. Morrel threw a glance around, but before itreached the spot occupied by Monte Cristo the latter had advanced yetnearer, still unperceived. The young man knelt down. The count, withoutstretched neck and glaring eyes, stood in an attitude ready to pounceupon Morrel upon the first occasion. Morrel bent his head till ittouched the stone, then clutching the grating with both hands, hemurmured:
“Oh, Valentine!”
The count’s heart was pierced by the utterance of these two words; hestepped forward, and touching the young man’s shoulder, said:
“I was looking for you, my friend.” Monte Cristo expected a burst ofpassion, but he was deceived, for Morrel turning round, said calmly,—
“You see I was praying.” The scrutinizing glance of the count searchedthe young man from head to foot. He then seemed more easy.
“Shall I drive you back to Paris?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
“Do you wish anything?”
“Leave me to pray.”
The count withdrew without opposition, but it was only to place himselfin a situation where he could watch every movement of Morrel, who atlength arose, brushed the dust from his knees, and turned towards Paris,without once looking back. He walked slowly down the Rue de la Roquette.The count, dismissing his carriage, followed him about a hundred pacesbehind. Maximilian crossed the canal and entered the Rue Meslay by theboulevards.
Five minutes after the door had been closed on Morrel’s entrance, it wasagain opened for the count. Julie was at the entrance of the garden,where she was attentively watching Penelon, who, entering with zeal intohis profession of gardener, was very busy grafting some Bengal roses.“Ah, count,” she exclaimed, with the delight manifested by every memberof the family whenever he visited the Rue Meslay.
“Maximilian has just returned, has he not, madame?” asked the count.
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“Yes, I think I saw him pass; but pray, call Emmanuel.”
“Excuse me, madame, but I must go up to Maximilian’s room this instant,”replied Monte Cristo, “I have something of the greatest importance totell him.”
“Go, then,” she said with a charming smile, which accompanied him untilhe had disappeared.
Monte Cristo soon ran up the staircase conducting from the ground floorto Maximilian’s room; when he reached the landing he listenedattentively, but all was still. Like many old houses occupied by asingle family, the room door was panelled with glass; but it was locked,Maximilian was shut in, and it was impossible to see what was passing inthe room, because a red c
“What shall I do!” he uttered, and reflected for a moment; “shall Iring? No, the sound of a bell, announcing a visitor, will but acceleratethe resolution of one in Maximilian’s situation, and then the bell wouldbe followed by a louder noise.”
Monte Cristo trembled from head to foot and as if his determination hadbeen taken with the rapidity of lightning, he struck one of the panes ofglass with his elbow; the glass was shivered to atoms, then withdrawingthe curtain he saw Morrel, who had been writing at his desk, bound fromhis seat at the noise of the broken window.
“I beg a thousand pardons,” said the count, “there is nothing thematter, but I slipped down and broke one of your panes of glass with myelbow. Since it is opened, I will take advantage of it to enter yourroom; do not disturb yourself—do not disturb yourself!”
And passing his hand through the broken glass, the count opened thedoor. Morrel, evidently discomposed, came to meet Monte Cristo less withthe intention of receiving him than to exclude his entry.
“Ma foi,” said Monte Cristo, rubbing his elbow, “it’s all your servant’sfault; your stairs are so polished, it is like walking on glass.”
“Are you hurt, sir?” coldly asked Morrel.
“I believe not. But what are you about there? You were writing.”
“I?”
“Your fingers are stained with ink.”
“Ah, true, I was writing. I do sometimes, soldier though I am.”
Monte Cristo advanced into the room; Maximilian was obliged to let himpass, but he followed him.
“You were writing?” said Monte Cristo with a searching look.
“I have already had the honor of telling you I was,” said Morrel.
The count looked around him.
“Your pistols are beside your desk,” said Monte Cristo, pointing withhis finger to the pistols on the table.
“I am on the point of starting on a journey,” replied Morreldisdainfully.
“My friend,” exclaimed Monte Cristo in a tone of exquisite sweetness.
“Sir?”
“My friend, my dear Maximilian, do not make a hasty resolution, Ientreat you.”
“I make a hasty resolution?” said Morrel, shrugging his shoulders; “isthere anything extraordinary in a journey?”
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“Maximilian,” said the count, “let us both lay aside the mask we haveassumed. You no more deceive me with that false calmness than I imposeupon you with my frivolous solicitude. You can understand, can you not,that to have acted as I have done, to have broken that glass, to haveintruded on the solitude of a friend—you can understand that, to havedone all this, I must have been actuated by real uneasiness, or ratherby a terrible conviction. Morrel, you are going to destroy yourself!”
“Indeed, count,” said Morrel, shuddering; “what has put this into yourhead?”
“I tell you that you are about to destroy yourself,” continued thecount, “and here is proof of what I say;” and, approaching the desk, heremoved the sheet of paper which Morrel had placed over the letter hehad begun, and took the latter in his hands.
Morrel rushed forward to tear it from him, but Monte Cristo perceivinghis intention, seized his wrist with his iron grasp.
“You wish to destroy yourself,” said the count; “you have written it.”
“Well,” said Morrel, changing his expression of calmness for one ofviolence—“well, and if I do intend to turn this pistol against myself,who shall prevent me—who will dare prevent me? All my hopes areblighted, my heart is broken, my life a burden, everything around me issad and mournful; earth has become distasteful to me, and human voicesdistract me. It is a mercy to let me die, for if I live I shall lose myreason and become mad. When, sir, I tell you all this with tears ofheartfelt anguish, can you reply that I am wrong, can you prevent myputting an end to my miserable existence? Tell me, sir, could you havethe courage to do so?”
“Yes, Morrel,” said Monte Cristo, with a calmness which contrastedstrangely with the young man’s excitement; “yes, I would do so.”
“You?” exclaimed Morrel, with increasing anger and reproach—“you, whohave deceived me with false hopes, who have cheered and soothed me withvain promises, when I might, if not have saved her, at least have seenher die in my arms! You, who pretend to understand everything, even thehidden sources of knowledge,—and who enact the part of a guardian angelupon earth, and could not even find an antidote to a poison administeredto a young girl! Ah, sir, indeed you would inspire me with pity, wereyou not hateful in my eyes.”
“Morrel——”
“Yes; you tell me to lay aside the mask, and I will do so, be satisfied!When you spoke to me at the cemetery, I answered you—my heart wassoftened; when you arrived here, I allowed you to enter. But since youabuse my confidence, since you have devised a new torture after Ithought I had exhausted them all, then, Count of Monte Cristo mypretended benefactor—then, Count of Monte Cristo, the universalguardian, be satisfied, you shall witness the death of your friend;” andMorrel, with a maniacal laugh, again rushed towards the pistols.
“And I again repeat, you shall not commit suicide.”
“Prevent me, then!” replied Morrel, with another struggle, which, likethe first, failed in releasing him from the count’s iron grasp.
“I will prevent you.”
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“And who are you, then, that arrogate to yourself this tyrannical rightover free and rational beings?”
“Who am I?” repeated Monte Cristo. “Listen; I am the only man in theworld having the right to say to you, ‘Morrel, your father’s son shallnot die today;’” and Monte Cristo, with an expression of majesty andsublimity, advanced with arms folded toward the young man, who,involuntarily overcome by the commanding manner of this man, recoiled astep.
“Why do you mention my father?” stammered he; “why do you mingle arecollection of him with the affairs of today?”
“Because I am he who saved your father’s life when he wished to destroyhimself, as you do today—because I am the man who sent the purse to youryoung sister, and the Pharaon to old Morrel—because I am the EdmondDantès who nursed you, a child, on my knees.”
Morrel made another step back, staggering, breathless, crushed; then allhis strength give way, and he fell prostrate at the feet of MonteCristo. Then his admirable nature underwent a complete and suddenrevulsion; he arose, rushed out of the room and to the stairs,exclaiming energetically, “Julie, Julie—Emmanuel, Emmanuel!”
Monte Cristo endeavored also to leave, but Maximilian would have diedrather than relax his hold of the handle of the door, which he closedupon the count. Julie, Emmanuel, and some of the servants, ran up inalarm on hearing the cries of Maximilian. Morrel seized their hands, andopening the door exclaimed in a voice choked with sobs:
“On your knees—on your knees—he is our benefactor—the saviour of ourfather! He is——”
He would have added “Edmond Dantès,” but the count seized his arm andprevented him.
Julie threw herself into the arms of the count; Emmanuel embraced him asa guardian angel; Morrel again fell on his knees, and struck the groundwith his forehead. Then the iron-hearted man felt his heart swell in hisbreast; a flame seemed to rush from his throat to his eyes, he bent hishead and wept. For a while nothing was heard in the room but asuccession of sobs, while the incense from their grateful hearts mountedto heaven. Julie had scarcely recovered from her deep emotion when sherushed out of the room, descended to the next floor, ran into thedrawing-room with childlike joy and raised the crystal globe whichcovered the purse given by the unknown of the Allées de Meilhan.Meanwhile, Emmanuel in a broken voice said to the count:
“Oh, count, how could you, hearing us so often speak of our unknownbenefactor, seeing us pay such homage of gratitude and adoration to hismemory,—how could you continue so long without discovering
“Listen, my friends,” said the count—“I may call you so since we havereally been friends for the last eleven years—the discovery of thissecret has been occasioned by a great event which you must never know. Iwished to bury it during my whole life in my own bosom, but your brotherMaximilian wrested it from me by a violence he repents of now, I amsure.”
Then turning around, and seeing that Morrel, still on his knees, hadthrown himself into an armchair, he added in a low voice, pressingEmmanuel’s hand significantly, “Watch over him.”
“Why so?” asked the young man, surprised.
“I cannot explain myself; but watch over him.” Emmanuel looked aroundthe room and caught sight of the pistols; his eyes rested on theweapons, and he pointed to them. Monte Cristo bent his head. Emmanuelwent towards the pistols.
“Leave them,” said Monte Cristo. Then walking towards Morrel, he tookhis hand; the tumultuous agitation of the young man was succeeded by aprofound stupor. Julie returned, holding the silken purse in her hands,while tears of joy rolled down her cheeks, like dewdrops on the rose.
“Here is the relic,” she said; “do not think it will be less dear to usnow we are acquainted with our benefactor!”
“My child,” said Monte Cristo, coloring, “allow me to take back thatpurse? Since you now know my face, I wish to be remembered alone throughthe affection I hope you will grant me.
“Oh,” said Julie, pressing the purse to her heart, “no, no, I beseechyou do not take it, for some unhappy day you will leave us, will younot?”
“You have guessed rightly, madame,” replied Monte Cristo, smiling; “in aweek I shall have left this country, where so many persons who merit thevengeance of Heaven lived happily, while my father perished of hungerand grief.”
While announcing his departure, the count fixed his eyes on Morrel, andremarked that the words, “I shall have left this country,” had failed torouse him from his lethargy. He then saw that he must make anotherstruggle against the grief of his friend, and taking the hands ofEmmanuel and Julie, which he pressed within his own, he said with themild authority of a father:
“My kind friends, leave me alone with Maximilian.”
Julie saw the means offered of carrying off her precious relic, whichMonte Cristo had forgotten. She drew her husband to the door. “Let usleave them,” she said.
The count was alone with Morrel, who remained motionless as a statue.
“Come,” said Monte-Cristo, touching his shoulder with his finger, “areyou a man again, Maximilian?”
“Yes; for I begin to suffer again.”
The count frowned, apparently in gloomy hesitation.
“Maximilian, Maximilian,” he said, “the ideas you yield to are unworthyof a Christian.”
“Oh, do not fear, my friend,” said Morrel, raising his head, and smilingwith a sweet expression on the count; “I shall no longer attempt mylife.”
“Then we are to have no more pistols—no more despair?”
“No; I have found a better remedy for my grief than either a bullet or aknife.”
“Poor fellow, what is it?”
“My grief will kill me of itself.”
“My friend,” said Monte Cristo, with an expression of melancholy equalto his own, “listen to me. One day, in a moment of despair like yours,since it led to a similar resolution, I also wished to kill myself; oneday your father, equally desperate, wished to kill himself too. Ifanyone had said to your father, at the moment he raised the pistol tohis head—if anyone had told me, when in my prison I pushed back the foodI had not tasted for three days—if anyone had said to either of us then,‘Live—the day will come when you will be happy, and will bless life!’—nomatter whose voice had spoken, we should have heard him with the smileof doubt, or the anguish of incredulity,—and yet how many times has yourfather blessed life while embracing you—how often have I myself——”
“Ah,” exclaimed Morrel, interrupting the count, “you had only lost yourliberty, my father had only lost his fortune, but I have lostValentine.”
“Look at me,” said Monte Cristo, with that expression which sometimesmade him so eloquent and persuasive—“look at me. There are no tears inmy eyes, nor is there fever in my veins, yet I see you suffer—you,Maximilian, whom I love as my own son. Well, does not this tell you thatin grief, as in life, there is always something to look forward tobeyond? Now, if I entreat, if I order you to live, Morrel, it is in theconviction that one day you will thank me for having preserved yourlife.”
“Oh, heavens,” said the young man, “oh, heavens—what are you saying,count? Take care. But perhaps you have never loved!”
“Child!” replied the count.
“I mean, as I love. You see, I have been a soldier ever since I attainedmanhood. I reached the age of twenty-nine without loving, for none ofthe feelings I before then experienced merit the appellation of love.Well, at twenty-nine I saw Valentine; for two years I have loved her,for two years I have seen written in her heart, as in a book, all thevirtues of a daughter and wife. Count, to possess Valentine would havebeen a happiness too infinite, too ecstatic, too complete, too divinefor this world, since it has been denied me; but without Valentine theearth is desolate.”
“I have told you to hope,” said the count.
“Then have a care, I repeat, for you seek to persuade me, and if yousucceed I should lose my reason, for I should hope that I could againbehold Valentine.”
The count smiled.
“My friend, my father,” said Morrel with excitement, “have a care, Iagain repeat, for the power you wield over me alarms me. Weigh yourwords before you speak, for my eyes have already become brighter, and myheart beats strongly; be cautious, or you will make me believe insupernatural agencies. I must obey you, though you bade me call forththe dead or walk upon the water.”
“Hope, my friend,” repeated the count.
“Ah,” said Morrel, falling from the height of excitement to the abyss ofdespair—“ah, you are playing with me, like those good, or rather selfishmothers who soothe their children with honeyed words, because theirscreams annoy them. No, my friend, I was wrong to caution you; do notfear, I will bury my grief so deep in my heart, I will disguise it so,that you shall not even care to sympathize with me. Adieu, my friend,adieu!”
“On the contrary,” said the count, “after this time you must live withme—you must not leave me, and in a week we shall have left France behindus.”
“And you still bid me hope?”
“I tell you to hope, because I have a method of curing you.”
“Count, you render me sadder than before, if it be possible. You thinkthe result of this blow has been to produce an ordinary grief, and youwould cure it by an ordinary remedy—change of scene.” And Morrel droppedhis head with disdainful incredulity.
“What can I say more?” asked Monte Cristo. “I have confidence in theremedy I propose, and only ask you to permit me to assure you of itsefficacy.”
“Count, you prolong my agony.”
“Then,” said the count, “your feeble spirit will not even grant me thetrial I request? Come—do you know of what the Count of Monte Cristo iscapable? do you know that he holds terrestrial beings under his control?nay, that he can almost work a miracle? Well, wait for the miracle Ihope to accomplish, or——”
“Or?” repeated Morrel.
“Or, take care, Morrel, lest I call you ungrateful.”
“Have pity on me, count!”
“I feel so much pity towards you, Maximilian, that—listen to meattentively—if I do not cure you in a month, to the day, to the veryhour, mark my words, Morrel, I will place loaded pistols before you, anda cup of the deadliest Italian poison—a poison more sure and prompt thanthat which has killed Valentine.”
“Will you promise me?”
“Yes; for I am a man, and have suffered like yourself, and alsocontemplated suicide; indeed, often since misfortune has le
“But you are sure you will promise me this?” said Morrel, intoxicated.
“I not only promise, but swear it!” said Monte Cristo extending hishand.
“In a month, then, on your honor, if I am not consoled, you will let metake my life into my own hands, and whatever may happen you will notcall me ungrateful?”
“In a month, to the day, the very hour and the date is a sacred one,Maximilian. I do not know whether you remember that this is the 5th ofSeptember; it is ten years today since I saved your father’s life, whowished to die.”
Morrel seized the count’s hand and kissed it; the count allowed him topay the homage he felt due to him.
“In a month you will find on the table, at which we shall be thensitting, good pistols and a delicious draught; but, on the other hand,you must promise me not to attempt your life before that time.”
“Oh, I also swear it!”
Monte Cristo drew the young man towards him, and pressed him for sometime to his heart. “And now,” he said, “after today, you will come andlive with me; you can occupy Haydée’s apartment, and my daughter will atleast be replaced by my son.”
“Haydée?” said Morrel, “what has become of her?”
“She departed last night.”
“To leave you?”
“To wait for me. Hold yourself ready then to join me at the Champs-Élysées, and lead me out of this house without anyone seeing mydeparture.”
Maximilian hung his head, and obeyed with childlike reverence.