The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (167 page)

‘So did I,’ said Debray.

‘So did I,’ said Franz.

‘And so did we,’ said Château-Renaud and Beauchamp.

‘He wanted you to be present at the provocation,’ said Morrel. ‘Now he wants you to be present at the duel.’

‘Yes,’ the young men said. ‘That must be it, Monsieur Maximilien. You are quite probably right.’

‘But, in spite of all that,’ Château-Renaud muttered, ‘Albert hasn’t arrived. He is ten minutes late.’

‘Here he is!’ said Beauchamp. ‘On horseback. Look: he’s galloping along, with his servant behind him.’

‘How rash and foolish of him,’ Château-Renaud said. ‘To come on horseback when he is going to fire a pistol. I thought I had trained him better than that!’

‘Just look,’ said Beauchamp. ‘He’s wearing a collar, his coat open, a white waistcoat… Why didn’t he draw a target on his stomach? It would have been quicker and easier altogether!’

While they were talking, Albert had come within ten yards of the
group. He pulled up his horse, jumped down and threw the reins to his servant. Then he began to walk over to them.

He was pale, his eyes red and swollen. It was clear that he had not slept a wink the whole night. His whole face was imprinted with an air of grave sadness that was uncommon in him.

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘for being so kind as to accept my invitation. Believe me, I am most grateful for this mark of friendship.’

As Morcerf approached, Morrel had stepped back some ten yards and was standing apart from the rest.

‘And also to you, Monsieur Morrel,’ said Albert. ‘I owe you my thanks. Please come over, you are welcome here.’

‘Monsieur,’ said Maximilien, ‘perhaps you are not aware that I am here as a second to the Count of Monte Cristo?’

‘I was not sure of it, but I suspected as much. So much the better. The more honourable men there are here, the happier I shall be.’

‘Monsieur Morrel,’ said Château-Renaud, ‘you can tell Monsieur de Monte Cristo that Monsieur de Morcerf has arrived and that we are at his disposal.’

Morrel was on the point of fulfilling his mission, while Beauchamp fetched the box of pistols from the carriage.

‘Wait, gentlemen,’ said Albert. ‘I have something to say to the Count of Monte Cristo.’

‘In private?’ asked Morrel.

‘No, Monsieur. In front of everyone.’

Albert’s seconds looked at one another in surprise. Franz and Debray whispered a few words to one another; and Morrel, delighted by this unexpected occurrence, went to find the count, who was walking along a side-path with Emmanuel.

‘What does he want with me?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, but he wishes to speak to you.’

‘I hope to heaven that he will not tempt Fate with some new insult!’

‘I don’t believe that is his intention.’

The count came over, with Maximilien and Emmanuel. His face, entirely calm and serene, contrasted strangely with the shattered features of Albert, who also advanced from his side, with the other four young men following. When they were three yards from one another, Albert and the count stopped.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Albert, ‘please come closer. I should not like you to miss a word of what I am about to have the honour to say to Monsieur le Comte de Monte Cristo, because I want you, who will hear it, to repeat what I shall say, however odd my speech may sound to you.’

‘I am waiting, Monsieur,’ said the count.

‘Monsieur,’ said Albert, in a voice that was unsteady at first, but which became more confident as he went on, ‘I reproached you for having divulged the conduct of Monsieur de Morcerf in Epirus because, however guilty the Count of Morcerf might have been, I did not think you had the right to punish him. Now, Monsieur, I realize that you do have that right. It is not Fernand Mondego’s treachery towards Ali Pasha that makes me so willing to forgive you, it is the treachery of the fisherman Fernand towards you and the unimaginable misfortunes that followed on that treachery. So I say, and I proclaim it aloud: yes, Monsieur, you were right to take your revenge on my father; and I, his son, thank you for not having done more!’

If a thunderbolt had fallen among the witnesses to this unexpected scene, it could not have left them more astonished than they were by Albert’s statement.

As for Monte Cristo, his eyes had slowly been raised to the heavens with an expression of infinite gratitude; and he was full of admiration for the way in which Albert’s fiery temperament – and he had had ample opportunity to observe his courage when faced by the Roman bandits – had immediately bowed to this sudden humiliation. In this, he saw the influence of Mercédès and understood now why her noble heart had not tried to prevent him from making a sacrifice which she knew in advance would be unnecessary.

‘Now, Monsieur,’ said Albert, ‘if you consider that the excuses I have just made are sufficient, I beg you to give me your hand. After the most rare virtue of infallibility, which you seem to possess, the greatest virtue of all in my opinion is to be able to admit when one is wrong. But this confession only concerns me. I acted properly in the eyes of men, but you did so in the eyes of God. Only an angel could save one of us from death, and that angel came down from heaven, if not to make us friends (alas! fate has made that impossible), at least two men who respect one another.’

Monte Cristo, with damp eyes, his chest heaving and his mouth
half open, offered Albert a hand which the latter grasped and pressed with a feeling that was akin to awestruck terror.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘Monsieur de Monte Cristo has been good enough to forgive me. I acted hastily towards him. Haste is a poor counsellor: I acted wrongly. Now my fault is repaired. I hope that the world will not consider me a coward because I have done what my conscience ordered me to do. But, in any case, if people were to be mistaken about me,’ the young man said, raising his head proudly, and as if throwing down the gauntlet to his friends and enemies, ‘I should try to correct their opinions.’

‘What can have happened last night?’ Beauchamp asked Château-Renaud. ‘It seems to me that we have had a sorry part to play here.’

‘Indeed. What Albert has just done is either quite wretched or very noble,’ the baron answered.

‘Come now, tell me,’ Debray asked Franz, ‘what does all this mean? What! The Count of Monte Cristo dishonours Monsieur de Morcerf, and the man’s son thinks he is in the right! Well, if I had ten Janinas in my family, I should consider myself under only one obligation, and that would be to fight ten duels.’

As for Monte Cristo, with his head bent and his arms hanging by his side, weighed down under twenty-four years of memory, he was not thinking of Albert, or Beauchamp, or Château-Renaud, or any of those around him. He was thinking about that courageous woman who had come to beg him for her son’s life, and to whom he had offered his own, and who had just saved him by the awful confession of a family secret which might have killed for ever in this young man the feeling of filial piety. ‘Once more, Providence!’ he muttered. ‘Ah, only now, from this day onwards, am I really certain of being the emissary of God!’

With a smile full of melancholy and dignity, the Count of Monte Cristo bowed in farewell to the five young men, then got back into his carriage with Maximilien and Emmanuel. Albert, Beauchamp
and Château-Renaud remained alone on the field of battle. The young man gave his two seconds a look that, without being timid, seemed to be asking for their opinion on what had just taken place.

Either because he was the more sensitive or less hypocritical, Beauchamp was the first to speak. ‘Well, well, my dear friend,’ he said, ‘let me congratulate you. This is an unexpected conclusion to a very unpleasant affair.’

Albert remained deep in thought and said nothing. Château-Renaud just tapped his boot with his cane.

‘Are we going, then?’ he asked, after an embarrassing silence.

‘Whenever you wish,’ Beauchamp replied. ‘Just give me time to congratulate Monsieur de Morcerf. He has today demonstrated such chivalrous… and such rare generosity.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Château-Renaud.

‘It is quite splendid,’ Beauchamp went on, ‘to be able to keep such mastery over oneself!’

‘Yes, indeed it is,’ Château-Renaud said, with a highly significant chill in his voice. ‘I, for my part, would never have managed it.’

‘Gentlemen,’ Albert interrupted, ‘I don’t think you have understood that something very serious happened between Monsieur de Monte Cristo and myself…’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ Beauchamp said at once, ‘but not every idle young blade will be capable of understanding your heroism and, sooner or later, you will find yourself having to explain it to them more forcefully than may be good for the health of your body or the length of your life. Can I give you some advice, as a friend? Set off for Naples, the Hague or Saint Petersburg: these are tranquil spots whose inhabitants are more sensible about a point of honour than our hotheaded Parisians. Once you are there, get in plenty of target practice and train yourself with an endless number of quarte parries and tierce parries. Either be well enough forgotten to come quietly back to France in a few years, or command enough respect by your gymnastic exercises to ensure your peace of mind. Aren’t I right, Monsieur de Château-Renaud?’

‘My opinion entirely,’ the nobleman said. ‘Nothing attracts a serious duel like an inconclusive one.’

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Albert answered, with a cold smile. ‘I shall take your advice, not because you are giving it to me, but because it was already my intention to leave France. I thank you too for the service you have done me by acting as my seconds. It is
deeply engraved on my heart because, after the words that I have just heard, I can still only remember that service.’

Château-Renaud and Beauchamp looked at one another. The impression on both of them was the same and the tone of voice in which Morcerf had expressed his thanks was so resolute that the position would have become awkward for all of them if the conversation had been prolonged.

‘Adieu, Albert,’ Beauchamp suddenly said, casually offering the young man his hand, though it did not seem to stir the other from his lethargy. Indeed, he made no response to the proffered hand.

‘Adieu,’ Château-Renaud said in turn, keeping his little cane in his left hand while giving a wave with the right.

Albert’s lips barely muttered, ‘Adieu!’ His face was more explicit: it expressed a whole symphony of repressed anger, proud disdain and generous indignation.

When his two seconds had left in their carriage, he remained for a while in the same motionless and melancholy pose. Then suddenly, untying the reins of his horse from the little tree around which his servant had knotted them, he leapt lightly into the saddle and galloped back towards Paris. A quarter of an hour later, he was going back into the house in the Rue du Helder.

As he dismounted, he thought he saw his father’s pale face looking out from behind the bedroom curtains. Albert turned his head away with a sigh and went into his little pavilion.

Once inside, he cast a final glance at all the luxury that had made his life so pleasant and happy since childhood. He took one final look at the paintings whose faces seemed to smile at him and whose landscapes seemed alive with bright colours. Then he took down the portrait of his mother, removed the canvas from its oak stretcher and rolled it up, leaving the gold frame that had surrounded it black and empty.

After that he put his fine Turkish swords in order, and his fine English guns, his Japanese porcelain, his mounted dishes, his artistic bronzes, signed by Feuchères or Barye,
¹
went to the cupboards and put the keys in each one. He threw all the loose change that he had on him into a drawer of his bureau, leaving it open, and followed it by all the ornamental jewels which he had in goblets and boxes or on shelves. He made a precise inventory of everything, putting it at the most visible spot on a table, after removing the books and papers that were cluttering it up.

As he was just starting to do this, despite Albert’s order that he wanted to be left alone, his servant came into the room.

‘What do you want?’ Morcerf asked him, in a voice more of sorrow than of anger.

‘I beg your pardon, Monsieur,’ said the valet. ‘I do know that Monsieur told me not to disturb him, but Monsieur le Comte de Morcerf has just called for me.’

‘Well?’ Albert asked.

‘I did not want to go to the count’s without getting my instructions from Monsieur.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the count no doubt knows that I went with Monsieur to the field.’

‘I would imagine so,’ said Albert.

‘And if he has called for me, it is most probably to question me on what happened. What should I tell him?’

‘The truth.’

‘So I shall say that the encounter did not take place?’

‘Tell him that I made my excuses to the Count of Monte Cristo. Now go!’

The valet bowed and left. Albert returned to his inventory.

Just as he was completing it, his attention was attracted by the noise of horses’ hoofs in the courtyard and the wheels of a carriage rattling the windows. He went over to the window and saw his father get into his barouche and drive away.