English
Notwithstandingthedensityofthecrowd,M.deVillefortsawitopenbeforehim.
Thereissomethingsoawe–inspiringingreatafflictionsthatevenintheworsttimesthefirstemotionofacrowdhasgenerallybeentosympathizewiththesuffererinagreatcatastrophe.
Manypeoplehavebeenassassinatedinatumult,butevencriminalshaverarelybeeninsultedduringtrial.
ThusVillefortpassedthroughthemassofspectatorsandofficersofthePalais,andwithdrew.
Thoughhehadacknowledgedhisguilt,hewasprotectedbyhisgrief.
Therearesomesituationswhichmenunderstandbyinstinct,butwhichreasonispowerlesstoexplain;insuchcasesthegreatestpoetishewhogivesutterancetothemostnaturalandvehementoutburstofsorrow.
Thosewhohearthebittercryareasmuchimpressedasiftheylistenedtoanentirepoem,andwhenthesuffererissinceretheyarerightinregardinghisoutburstassublime.
ItwouldbedifficulttodescribethestateofstuporinwhichVillefortleftthePalais.
Everypulsebeatwithfeverishexcitement,everynervewasstrained,everyveinswollen,andeverypartofhisbodyseemedtosufferdistinctlyfromtherest,thusmultiplyinghisagonyathousand–fold.
Hemadehiswayalongthecorridorsthroughforceofhabit;hethrewasidehismagisterialrobe,notoutofdeferencetoetiquette,butbecauseitwasanunbearableburden,averitablegarbofNessus,insatiateintorture.
HavingstaggeredasfarastheRueDauphine,heperceivedhiscarriage,awokehissleepingcoachmanbyopeningthedoorhimself,threwhimselfonthecushions,andpointedtowardstheFaubourgSaint–Honore;thecarriagedroveon.
Theweightofhisfallenfortunesseemedsuddenlytocrushhim;hecouldnotforeseetheconsequences;hecouldnotcontemplatethefuturewiththeindifferenceofthehardenedcriminalwhomerelyfacesacontingencyalreadyfamiliar.Godwasstillinhisheart.
“God,”hemurmured,notknowingwhathesaid,—”God—God!”
BehindtheeventthathadoverwhelmedhimhesawthehandofGod.Thecarriagerolledrapidlyonward.
Villefort,whileturningrestlesslyonthecushions,feltsomethingpressagainsthim.
Heputouthishandtoremovetheobject;itwasafanwhichMadamedeVilleforthadleftinthecarriage;thisfanawakenedarecollectionwhichdartedthroughhismindlikelightning.Hethoughtofhiswife.
“Oh!”heexclaimed,asthougharedhotironwerepiercinghisheart.
Duringthelasthourhisowncrimehadalonebeenpresentedtohismind;nowanotherobject,notlessterrible,suddenlypresenteditself.Hiswife!
Hehadjustactedtheinexorablejudgewithher,hehadcondemnedhertodeath,andshe,crushedbyremorse,struckwithterror,coveredwiththeshameinspiredbytheeloquenceofhisirreproachablevirtue,—she,apoor,weakwoman,withouthelporthepowerofdefendingherselfagainsthisabsoluteandsupremewill,—shemightatthatverymoment,perhaps,bepreparingtodie!
Anhourhadelapsedsincehercondemnation;atthatmoment,doubtless,shewasrecallingallhercrimestohermemory;shewasaskingpardonforhersins;perhapsshewasevenwritingaletterimploringforgivenessfromhervirtuoushusband—aforgivenessshewaspurchasingwithherdeath!
Villefortagaingroanedwithanguishanddespair.
“Ah,”heexclaimed,“thatwomanbecamecriminalonlyfromassociatingwithme!
Icarriedtheinfectionofcrimewithme,andshehascaughtitasshewouldthetyphusfever,thecholera,theplague!
AndyetIhavepunishedher—Ihavedaredtotellher—Ihave—’Repentanddie!’
Butno,shemustnotdie;sheshalllive,andwithme.
WewillfleefromParisandgoasfarastheearthreaches.
Itoldherofthescaffold;oh,heavens,Iforgotthatitawaitsmealso!HowcouldIpronouncethatword?
Yes,wewillfly;Iwillconfessalltoher,—IwilltellherdailythatIalsohavecommittedacrime!
—Oh,whatanalliance—thetigerandtheserpent;worthywifeofsuchasIam!
Shemustlivethatmyinfamymaydiminishhers.”
AndVillefortdashedopenthewindowinfrontofthecarriage.
“Faster,faster!”hecried,inatonewhichelectrifiedthecoachman.Thehorses,impelledbyfear,flewtowardsthehouse.
“Yes,yes,”repeatedVillefort,asheapproachedhishome—”yes,thatwomanmustlive;shemustrepent,andeducatemyson,thesolesurvivor,withtheexceptionoftheindestructibleoldman,ofthewreckofmyhouse.
Sheloveshim;itwasforhissakeshehascommittedthesecrimes.
Weoughtnevertodespairofsofteningtheheartofamotherwholovesherchild.
Shewillrepent,andnoonewillknowthatshehasbeenguilty.
Theeventswhichhavetakenplaceinmyhouse,thoughtheynowoccupythepublicmind,willbeforgottenintime,orif,indeed,afewenemiesshouldpersistinrememberingthem,whythenIwilladdthemtomylistofcrimes.
Whatwillitsignifyifone,two,orthreemoreareadded?
Mywifeandchildshallescapefromthisgulf,carryingtreasureswiththem;shewillliveandmayyetbehappy,sinceherchild,inwhomallherloveiscentred,willbewithher.
Ishallhaveperformedagoodaction,andmyheartwillbelighter.”
Andtheprocureurbreathedmorefreelythanhehaddoneforsometime.
Thecarriagestoppedatthedoorofthehouse.
Villefortleapedoutofthecarriage,andsawthathisservantsweresurprisedathisearlyreturn;hecouldreadnootherexpressionontheirfeatures.
Neitherofthemspoketohim;theymerelystoodasidetolethimpassby,asusual,nothingmore.
AshepassedbyM.Noirtier’sroom,heperceivedtwofiguresthroughthehalf–opendoor;butheexperiencednocuriositytoknowwhowasvisitinghisfather:anxietycarriedhimonfurther.
“Come,”hesaid,asheascendedthestairsleadingtohiswife’sroom,“nothingischangedhere.”Hethenclosedthedoorofthelanding.
“Noonemustdisturbus,”hesaid;“Imustspeakfreelytoher,accusemyself,andsay”—heapproachedthedoor,touchedthecrystalhandle,whichyieldedtohishand.“Notlocked,”hecried;“thatiswell.”
AndheenteredthelittleroominwhichEdwardslept;forthoughthechildwenttoschoolduringtheday,hismothercouldnotallowhimtobeseparatedfromheratnight.
WithasingleglanceVillefort’seyeranthroughtheroom.
“Nothere,”hesaid;“doubtlesssheisinherbedroom.”
Herushedtowardsthedoor,founditbolted,andstopped,shuddering.“Heloise!”hecried.
Hefanciedheheardthesoundofapieceoffurniturebeingremoved.“Heloise!”herepeated.
“Whoisthere?”answeredthevoiceofherhesought.Hethoughtthatvoicemorefeeblethanusual.
“Openthedoor!”criedVillefort.
“Open;itisI.”Butnotwithstandingthisrequest,notwithstandingthetoneofanguishinwhichitwasuttered,thedoorremainedclosed.
Villefortburstitopenwithaviolentblow.
Attheentranceoftheroomwhichledtoherboudoir,MadamedeVillefortwasstandingerect,pale,herfeaturescontracted,andhereyesglaringhorribly.“Heloise,Heloise!”hesaid,“whatisthematter?Speak!”
Theyoungwomanextendedherstiffwhitehandstowardshim.
“Itisdone,monsieur,”shesaidwitharattlingnoisewhichseemedtotearherthroat.“Whatmoredoyouwant?”andshefellfulllengthonthefloor.
Villefortrantoherandseizedherhand,whichconvulsivelyclaspedacrystalbottlewithagoldenstopper.MadamedeVillefortwasdead.
Villefort,maddenedwithhorror,steppedbacktothethreshholdofthedoor,fixinghiseyesonthecorpse:“Myson!”
heexclaimedsuddenly,“whereismyson?—Edward,Edward!”
andherushedoutoftheroom,stillcrying,“Edward,Edward!”
Thenamewaspronouncedinsuchatoneofanguishthattheservantsranup.
“Whereismyson?”askedVillefort;“lethimberemovedfromthehouse,thathemaynotsee”—
“MasterEdwardisnotdown–stairs,sir,”repliedthevalet.
“Thenhemustbeplayinginthegarden;goandsee.”
“No,sir;MadamedeVillefortsentforhimhalfanhourago;hewentintoherroom,andhasnotbeendown–stairssince.”
AcoldperspirationburstoutonVillefort’sbrow;hislegstrembled,andhisthoughtsflewaboutmadlyinhisbrainlikethewheelsofadisorderedwatch.“InMadamedeVillefort’sroom?”
hemurmuredandslowlyreturned,withonehandwipinghisforehead,andwiththeothersupportinghimselfagainstthewall.
Toentertheroomhemustagainseethebodyofhisunfortunatewife.
TocallEdwardhemustreawakentheechoofthatroomwhichnowappearedlikeasepulchre;tospeakseemedlikeviolatingthesilenceofthetomb.Histonguewasparalyzedinhismouth.
“Edward!”hestammered—”Edward!”Thechilddidnotanswer.
Where,then,couldhebe,ifhehadenteredhismother’sroomandnotsincereturned?Hesteppedforward.
ThecorpseofMadamedeVillefortwasstretchedacrossthedoorwayleadingtotheroominwhichEdwardmustbe;thoseglaringeyesseemedtowatchoverthethreshold,andthelipsborethestampofaterribleandmysteriousirony.
Throughtheopendoorwasvisibleaportionoftheboudoir,containinganuprightpianoandabluesatincouch.
Villefortsteppedforwardtwoorthreepaces,andbeheldhischildlying—nodoubtasleep—onthesofa.
Theunhappymanutteredanexclamationofjoy;arayoflightseemedtopenetratetheabyssofdespairanddarkness.
Hehadonlytostepoverthecorpse,entertheboudoir,takethechildinhisarms,andfleefar,faraway.
Villefortwasnolongerthecivilizedman;hewasatigerhurtuntodeath,gnashinghisteethinhiswound.
Henolongerfearedrealities,butphantoms.
Heleapedoverthecorpseasifithadbeenaburningbrazier.
Hetookthechildinhisarms,embracedhim,shookhim,calledhim,butthechildmadenoresponse.
Hepressedhisburninglipstothecheeks,buttheywereicycoldandpale;hefeltthestiffenedlimbs;hepressedhishandupontheheart,butitnolongerbeat,—thechildwasdead.
AfoldedpaperfellfromEdward’sbreast.
Villefort,thunderstruck,felluponhisknees;thechilddroppedfromhisarms,androlledonthefloorbythesideofitsmother.
Hepickedupthepaper,and,recognizinghiswife’swriting,ranhiseyesrapidlyoveritscontents;itranasfollows:—
“YouknowthatIwasagoodmother,sinceitwasformyson’ssakeIbecamecriminal.Agoodmothercannotdepartwithoutherson.”
Villefortcouldnotbelievehiseyes,—hecouldnotbelievehisreason;hedraggedhimselftowardsthechild’sbody,andexamineditasalionesscontemplatesitsdeadcub.
Thenapiercingcryescapedfromhisbreast,andhecried,“StillthehandofGod.”
Thepresenceofthetwovictimsalarmedhim;hecouldnotbearsolitudesharedonlybytwocorpses.
Untilthenhehadbeensustainedbyrage,byhisstrengthofmind,bydespair,bythesupremeagonywhichledtheTitanstoscaletheheavens,andAjaxtodefythegods.
Henowarose,hisheadbowedbeneaththeweightofgrief,and,shakinghisdamp,dishevelledhair,hewhohadneverfeltcompassionforanyonedeterminedtoseekhisfather,thathemighthavesomeonetowhomhecouldrelatehismisfortunes,—someonebywhosesidehemightweep.
Hedescendedthelittlestaircasewithwhichweareacquainted,andenteredNoirtier’sroom.
TheoldmanappearedtobelisteningattentivelyandasaffectionatelyashisinfirmitieswouldallowtotheAbbeBusoni,wholookedcoldandcalm,asusual.
Villefort,perceivingtheabbe,passedhishandacrosshisbrow.
HerecollectedthecallhehadmadeuponhimafterthedinneratAuteuil,andthenthevisittheabbehadhimselfpaidtohishouseonthedayofValentine’sdeath.“Youhere,sir!”
heexclaimed;“doyou,then,neverappearbuttoactasanescorttodeath?”
Busoniturnedaround,and,perceivingtheexcitementdepictedonthemagistrate’sface,thesavagelustreofhiseyes,heunderstoodthattherevelationhadbeenmadeattheassizes;butbeyondthishewasignorant.
“Icametoprayoverthebodyofyourdaughter.”
“Andnowwhyareyouhere?”
“Icometotellyouthatyouhavesufficientlyrepaidyourdebt,andthatfromthismomentIwillpraytoGodtoforgiveyou,asIdo.”
“Goodheavens!”exclaimedVillefort,steppingbackfearfully,“surelythatisnotthevoiceoftheAbbeBusoni!”
“No!”Theabbethrewoffhiswig,shookhishead,andhishair,nolongerconfined,fellinblackmassesaroundhismanlyface.
“ItisthefaceoftheCountofMonteCristo!”exclaimedtheprocureur,withahaggardexpression.
“Youarenotexactlyright,M.Procureur;youmustgofartherback.”
“Thatvoice,thatvoice!—wheredidIfirsthearit?”
“YouhearditforthefirsttimeatMarseilles,twenty–threeyearsago,thedayofyourmarriagewithMademoiselledeSaint–Meran.Refertoyourpapers.”
“YouarenotBusoni?—youarenotMonteCristo?Oh,heavens—youare,then,somesecret,implacable,andmortalenemy!ImusthavewrongedyouinsomewayatMarseilles.Oh,woetome!”
“Yes;youarenowontherightpath,”saidthecount,crossinghisarmsoverhisbroadchest;“search—search!”
“ButwhathaveIdonetoyou?”exclaimedVillefort,whosemindwasbalancingbetweenreasonandinsanity,inthatcloudwhichisneitheradreamnorreality;“whathaveIdonetoyou?Tellme,then!Speak!”
“Youcondemnedmetoahorrible,tediousdeath;youkilledmyfather;youdeprivedmeofliberty,oflove,andhappiness.”
“Whoareyou,then?Whoareyou?”
“IamthespectreofawretchyouburiedinthedungeonsoftheChateaud’If.
GodgavethatspectretheformoftheCountofMonteCristowhenheatlengthissuedfromhistomb,enrichedhimwithgoldanddiamonds,andledhimtoyou!”
“Ah,Irecognizeyou—Irecognizeyou!”exclaimedtheking’sattorney;“youare”—
“IamEdmondDantes!”
“YouareEdmondDantes,”criedVillefort,seizingthecountbythewrist;“thencomehere!”
AndupthestairshedraggedMonteCristo;who,ignorantofwhathadhappened,followedhiminastonishment,foreseeingsomenewcatastrophe.“There,EdmondDantes!”
hesaid,pointingtothebodiesofhiswifeandchild,“see,areyouwellavenged?”
MonteCristobecamepaleatthishorriblesight;hefeltthathehadpassedbeyondtheboundsofvengeance,andthathecouldnolongersay,“Godisforandwithme.”
Withanexpressionofindescribableanguishhethrewhimselfuponthebodyofthechild,reopeneditseyes,feltitspulse,andthenrushedwithhimintoValentine’sroom,ofwhichhedouble–lockedthedoor.
“Mychild,”criedVillefort,“hecarriesawaythebodyofmychild!Oh,curses,woe,deathtoyou!”
andhetriedtofollowMonteCristo;butasthoughinadreamhewastransfixedtothespot,—hiseyesglaredasthoughtheywerestartingthroughthesockets;hegripedthefleshonhischestuntilhisnailswerestainedwithblood;theveinsofhistemplesswelledandboiledasthoughtheywouldbursttheirnarrowboundary,anddelugehisbrainwithlivingfire.
Thislastedseveralminutes,untilthefrightfuloverturnofreasonwasaccomplished;thenutteringaloudcryfollowedbyaburstoflaughter,herusheddownthestairs.
AquarterofanhourafterwardsthedoorofValentine’sroomopened,andMonteCristoreappeared.
Pale,withadulleyeandheavyheart,allthenoblefeaturesofthatface,usuallysocalmandserene,wereovercastbygrief.
Inhisarmsheheldthechild,whomnoskillhadbeenabletorecalltolife.
Bendingononeknee,heplaceditreverentlybythesideofitsmother,withitsheaduponherbreast.
Then,rising,hewentout,andmeetingaservantonthestairs,heasked,“WhereisM.deVillefort?”
Theservant,insteadofanswering,pointedtothegarden.
MonteCristorandownthesteps,andadvancingtowardsthespotdesignatedbeheldVillefort,encircledbyhisservants,withaspadeinhishand,anddiggingtheearthwithfury.“Itisnothere!”hecried.“Itisnothere!”
Andthenhemovedfartheron,andbeganagaintodig.
MonteCristoapproachedhim,andsaidinalowvoice,withanexpressionalmosthumble,“Sir,youhaveindeedlostason;but”—
Villefortinterruptedhim;hehadneitherlistenednorheard.
“Oh,Iwillfindit,”hecried;“youmaypretendheisnothere,butIwillfindhim,thoughIdigforever!”MonteCristodrewbackinhorror.“Oh,”hesaid,“heismad!”
Andasthoughhefearedthatthewallsoftheaccursedhousewouldcrumblearoundhim,herushedintothestreet,forthefirsttimedoubtingwhetherhehadtherighttodoashehaddone.
“Oh,enoughofthis,—enoughofthis,”hecried;“letmesavethelast.”
Onenteringhishouse,hemetMorrel,whowanderedaboutlikeaghostawaitingtheheavenlymandateforreturntothetomb.
“Prepareyourself,Maximilian,”hesaidwithasmile;“weleaveParisto–morrow.”
“Haveyounothingmoretodothere?”askedMorrel.
“No,”repliedMonteCristo;“GodgrantImaynothavedonetoomuchalready.”
Thenextdaytheyindeedleft,accompaniedonlybyBaptistin.HaideehadtakenawayAli,andBertuccioremainedwithNoirtier.
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