English
Itwasaboutsixo’clockintheevening;anopal–coloredlight,throughwhichanautumnalsunsheditsgoldenrays,descendedontheblueocean.
Theheatofthedayhadgraduallydecreased,andalightbreezearose,seemingliketherespirationofnatureonawakeningfromtheburningsiestaofthesouth.
AdeliciouszephyrplayedalongthecoastsoftheMediterranean,andwaftedfromshoretoshorethesweetperfumeofplants,mingledwiththefreshsmellofthesea.
Alightyacht,chasteandelegantinitsform,wasglidingamidstthefirstdewsofnightovertheimmenselake,extendingfromGibraltartotheDardanelles,andfromTunistoVenice.
Thevesselresembledaswanwithitswingsopenedtowardsthewind,glidingonthewater.
Itadvancedswiftlyandgracefully,leavingbehinditaglitteringstretchoffoam.
Bydegreesthesundisappearedbehindthewesternhorizon;butasthoughtoprovethetruthofthefancifulideasinheathenmythology,itsindiscreetraysreappearedonthesummitofeverywave,asifthegodoffirehadjustsunkuponthebosomofAmphitrite,whoinvainendeavoredtohideherloverbeneathherazuremantle.
Theyachtmovedrapidlyon,thoughtheredidnotappeartobesufficientwindtorufflethecurlsontheheadofayounggirl.
Standingontheprowwasatallman,ofadarkcomplexion,whosawwithdilatingeyesthattheywereapproachingadarkmassoflandintheshapeofacone,whichrosefromthemidstofthewaveslikethehatofaCatalan.“IsthatMonteCristo?”
askedthetraveller,towhoseorderstheyachtwasforthetimesubmitted,inamelancholyvoice.
“Yes,yourexcellency,”saidthecaptain,“wehavereachedit.”
“Wehavereachedit!”repeatedthetravellerinanaccentofindescribablesadness.
Thenheadded,inalowtone,“Yes;thatisthehaven.”
Andthenheagainplungedintoatrainofthought,thecharacterofwhichwasbetterrevealedbyasadsmile,thanitwouldhavebeenbytears.
Afewminutesafterwardsaflashoflight,whichwasextinguishedinstantly,wasseenontheland,andthesoundoffirearmsreachedtheyacht.
“Yourexcellency,”saidthecaptain,“thatwasthelandsignal,willyouansweryourself?”
“Whatsignal?”Thecaptainpointedtowardstheisland,upthesideofwhichascendedavolumeofsmoke,increasingasitrose.“Ah,yes,”hesaid,asifawakingfromadream.“Giveittome.”
Thecaptaingavehimaloadedcarbine;thetravellerslowlyraisedit,andfiredintheair.
Tenminutesafterwards,thesailswerefurled,andtheycastanchoraboutahundredfathomsfromthelittleharbor.
Thegigwasalreadylowered,andinitwerefouroarsmenandacoxswain.
Thetravellerdescended,andinsteadofsittingdownatthesternoftheboat,whichhadbeendecoratedwithabluecarpetforhisaccommodation,stoodupwithhisarmscrossed.
Therowerswaited,theiroarshalfliftedoutofthewater,likebirdsdryingtheirwings.
“Giveway,”saidthetraveller.Theeightoarsfellintotheseasimultaneouslywithoutsplashingadropofwater,andtheboat,yieldingtotheimpulsion,glidedforward.
Inaninstanttheyfoundthemselvesinalittleharbor,formedinanaturalcreek;theboatgroundedonthefinesand.
“Willyourexcellencybesogoodastomounttheshouldersoftwoofourmen,theywillcarryyouashore?”
Theyoungmanansweredthisinvitationwithagestureofindifference,andsteppedoutoftheboat;theseaimmediatelyrosetohiswaist.
“Ah,yourexcellency,”murmuredthepilot,“youshouldnothavedoneso;ourmasterwillscoldusforit.”
Theyoungmancontinuedtoadvance,followingthesailors,whochoseafirmfooting.
Thirtystridesbroughtthemtodryland;theyoungmanstampedonthegroundtoshakeoffthewet,andlookedaroundforsomeonetoshowhimhisroad,foritwasquitedark.
Justasheturned,ahandrestedonhisshoulder,andavoicewhichmadehimshudderexclaimed,—”Good–evening,Maximilian;youarepunctual,thankyou!”
“Ah,isityou,count?”saidtheyoungman,inanalmostjoyfulaccent,pressingMonteCristo’shandwithbothhisown.
“Yes;youseeIamasexactasyouare.Butyouaredripping,mydearfellow;youmustchangeyourclothes,asCalypsosaidtoTelemachus.
Come,Ihaveahabitationpreparedforyouinwhichyouwillsoonforgetfatigueandcold.”
MonteCristoperceivedthattheyoungmanhadturnedaround;indeed,Morrelsawwithsurprisethatthemenwhohadbroughthimhadleftwithoutbeingpaid,orutteringaword.
Alreadythesoundoftheiroarsmightbeheardastheyreturnedtotheyacht.
“Oh,yes,”saidthecount,“youarelookingforthesailors.”
“Yes,Ipaidthemnothing,andyettheyaregone.”
“Nevermindthat,Maximilian,”saidMonteCristo,smiling.
“Ihavemadeanagreementwiththenavy,thattheaccesstomyislandshallbefreeofallcharge.Ihavemadeabargain.”
Morrellookedatthecountwithsurprise.
“Count,”hesaid,“youarenotthesamehereasinParis.”
“Howso?”
“Hereyoulaugh.”Thecount’sbrowbecameclouded.
“Youarerighttorecallmetomyself,Maximilian,”hesaid;“Iwasdelightedtoseeyouagain,andforgotforthemomentthatallhappinessisfleeting.”
“Oh,no,no,count,”criedMaximilian,seizingthecount’shands,“praylaugh;behappy,andprovetome,byyourindifference,thatlifeisendurabletosufferers.
Oh,howcharitable,kind,andgoodyouare;youaffectthisgayetytoinspiremewithcourage.”
“Youarewrong,Morrel;Iwasreallyhappy.”
“Thenyouforgetme,somuchthebetter.”
“Howso?”
“Yes;forasthegladiatorsaidtotheemperor,whenheenteredthearena,‘Hewhoisabouttodiesalutesyou.’”
“Thenyouarenotconsoled?”askedthecount,surprised.
“Oh,”exclaimedMorrel,withaglancefullofbitterreproach,“doyouthinkitpossiblethatIcouldbe?”
“Listen,”saidthecount.“Doyouunderstandthemeaningofmywords?
Youcannottakemeforacommonplaceman,amererattle,emittingavagueandsenselessnoise.
WhenIaskyouifyouareconsoled,Ispeaktoyouasamanforwhomthehumanhearthasnosecrets.
Well,Morrel,letusbothexaminethedepthsofyourheart.
Doyoustillfeelthesamefeverishimpatienceofgriefwhichmadeyoustartlikeawoundedlion?
Haveyoustillthatdevouringthirstwhichcanonlybeappeasedinthegrave?
Areyoustillactuatedbytheregretwhichdragsthelivingtothepursuitofdeath;orareyouonlysufferingfromtheprostrationoffatigueandthewearinessofhopedeferred?
Hasthelossofmemoryrendereditimpossibleforyoutoweep?
Oh,mydearfriend,ifthisbethecase,—ifyoucannolongerweep,ifyourfrozenheartbedead,ifyouputallyourtrustinGod,then,Maximilian,youareconsoled—donotcomplain.”
“Count,”saidMorrel,inafirmandatthesametimesoftvoice,“listentome,astoamanwhosethoughtsareraisedtoheaven,thoughheremainsonearth;Icometodieinthearmsofafriend.
Certainly,therearepeoplewhomIlove.
IlovemysisterJulie,—IloveherhusbandEmmanuel;butIrequireastrongmindtosmileonmylastmoments.
Mysisterwouldbebathedintearsandfainting;Icouldnotbeartoseehersuffer.
Emmanuelwouldteartheweaponfrommyhand,andalarmthehousewithhiscries.
You,count,whoaremorethanmortal,will,Iamsure,leadmetodeathbyapleasantpath,willyounot?”
“Myfriend,”saidthecount,“Ihavestillonedoubt,—areyouweakenoughtoprideyourselfuponyoursufferings?”
“No,indeed,—Iamcalm,”saidMorrel,givinghishandtothecount;“mypulsedoesnotbeatslowerorfasterthanusual.
No,IfeelthatIhavereachedthegoal,andIwillgonofarther.
Youtoldmetowaitandhope;doyouknowwhatyoudid,unfortunateadviser?
Iwaitedamonth,orratherIsufferedforamonth!
Ididhope(manisapoorwretchedcreature),Ididhope.
WhatIcannottell,—somethingwonderful,anabsurdity,amiracle,—ofwhatnaturehealonecantellwhohasmingledwithourreasonthatfollywecallhope.
Yes,Ididwait—yes,Ididhope,count,andduringthisquarterofanhourwehavebeentalkingtogether,youhaveunconsciouslywounded,torturedmyheart,foreverywordyouhaveutteredprovedthattherewasnohopeforme.
Oh,count,Ishallsleepcalmly,deliciouslyinthearmsofdeath.”
Morrelutteredthesewordswithanenergywhichmadethecountshudder.
“Myfriend,”continuedMorrel,“younamedthefifthofOctoberastheendoftheperiodofwaiting,—to–dayisthefifthofOctober,”hetookouthiswatch,“itisnownineo’clock,—Ihaveyetthreehourstolive.”
“Beitso,”saidthecount,“come.”Morrelmechanicallyfollowedthecount,andtheyhadenteredthegrottobeforeheperceivedit.
Hefeltacarpetunderhisfeet,adooropened,perfumessurroundedhim,andabrilliantlightdazzledhiseyes.
Morrelhesitatedtoadvance;hedreadedtheenervatingeffectofallthathesaw.MonteCristodrewhimingently.
“Whyshouldwenotspendthelastthreehoursremainingtousoflife,likethoseancientRomans,whowhencondemnedbyNero,theiremperorandheir,satdownatatablecoveredwithflowers,andgentlyglidedintodeath,amidtheperfumeofheliotropesandroses?”Morrelsmiled.
“Asyouplease,”hesaid;“deathisalwaysdeath,—thatisforgetfulness,repose,exclusionfromlife,andthereforefromgrief.”
Hesatdown,andMonteCristoplacedhimselfoppositetohim.
Theywereinthemarvellousdining–roombeforedescribed,wherethestatueshadbasketsontheirheadsalwaysfilledwithfruitsandflowers.
Morrelhadlookedcarelesslyaround,andhadprobablynoticednothing.
“Letustalklikemen,”hesaid,lookingatthecount.
“Goon!”
“Count,”saidMorrel,“youaretheepitomeofallhumanknowledge,andyouseemlikeabeingdescendedfromawiserandmoreadvancedworldthanours.”
“Thereissomethingtrueinwhatyousay,”saidthecount,withthatsmilewhichmadehimsohandsome;“Ihavedescendedfromaplanetcalledgrief.”
“Ibelieveallyoutellmewithoutquestioningitsmeaning;forinstance,youtoldmetolive,andIdidlive;youtoldmetohope,andIalmostdidso.
Iamalmostinclinedtoaskyou,asthoughyouhadexperienceddeath,‘isitpainfultodie?’”
MonteCristolookeduponMorrelwithindescribabletenderness.
“Yes,”hesaid,“yes,doubtlessitispainful,ifyouviolentlybreaktheoutercoveringwhichobstinatelybegsforlife.
Ifyouplungeadaggerintoyourflesh,ifyouinsinuateabulletintoyourbrain,whichtheleastshockdisorders,—thencertainly,youwillsufferpain,andyouwillrepentquittingalifeforareposeyouhaveboughtatsodearaprice.”
“Yes;Iknowthatthereisasecretofluxuryandpainindeath,aswellasinlife;theonlythingistounderstandit.”
“Youhavespokentruly,Maximilian;accordingtothecarewebestowuponit,deathiseitherafriendwhorocksusgentlyasanurse,oranenemywhoviolentlydragsthesoulfromthebody.
Someday,whentheworldismucholder,andwhenmankindwillbemastersofallthedestructivepowersinnature,toserveforthegeneralgoodofhumanity;whenmankind,asyouwerejustsaying,havediscoveredthesecretsofdeath,thenthatdeathwillbecomeassweetandvoluptuousasaslumberinthearmsofyourbeloved.”
“Andifyouwishedtodie,youwouldchoosethisdeath,count?”
“Yes.”
Morrelextendedhishand.“NowIunderstand,”hesaid,“whyyouhadmebroughtheretothisdesolatespot,inthemidstoftheocean,tothissubterraneanpalace;itwasbecauseyoulovedme,wasitnot,count?
Itwasbecauseyoulovedmewellenoughtogivemeoneofthosesweetmeansofdeathofwhichwewerespeaking;adeathwithoutagony,adeathwhichallowsmetofadeawaywhilepronouncingValentine’snameandpressingyourhand.”
“Yes,youhaveguessedrightly,Morrel,”saidthecount,“thatiswhatIintended.”
“Thanks;theideathattomorrowIshallnolongersuffer,issweettomyheart.”
“Doyouthenregretnothing?”
“No,”repliedMorrel.
“Notevenme?”askedthecountwithdeepemotion.Morrel’scleareyewasforthemomentclouded,thenitshonewithunusuallustre,andalargetearrolleddownhischeek.
“What,”saidthecount,“doyoustillregretanythingintheworld,andyetdie?”
“Oh,Ientreatyou,”exclaimedMorrelinalowvoice,“donotspeakanotherword,count;donotprolongmypunishment.”
Thecountfanciedthathewasyielding,andthisbeliefrevivedthehorribledoubtthathadoverwhelmedhimattheChateaud’If.
“Iamendeavoring,”hethought,“tomakethismanhappy;IlookuponthisrestitutionasaweightthrownintothescaletobalancetheevilIhavewrought.
Now,supposingIamdeceived,supposingthismanhasnotbeenunhappyenoughtomerithappiness.
Alas,whatwouldbecomeofmewhocanonlyatoneforevilbydoinggood?”
Thenhesaidaloud:“Listen,Morrel,Iseeyourgriefisgreat,butstillyoudonotliketoriskyoursoul.”Morrelsmiledsadly.
“Count,”hesaid,“Isweartoyoumysoulisnolongermyown.”
“Maximilian,youknowIhavenorelationintheworld.Ihaveaccustomedmyselftoregardyouasmyson:well,then,tosavemyson,Iwillsacrificemylife,nay,evenmyfortune.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean,thatyouwishtoquitlifebecauseyoudonotunderstandalltheenjoymentswhicharethefruitsofalargefortune.
Morrel,IpossessnearlyahundredmillionsandIgivethemtoyou;withsuchafortuneyoucanattaineverywish.Areyouambitious?Everycareerisopentoyou.
Overturntheworld,changeitscharacter,yieldtomadideas,beevencriminal—butlive.”
“Count,Ihaveyourword,”saidMorrelcoldly;thentakingouthiswatch,headded,“Itishalf–pasteleven.”
“Morrel,canyouintenditinmyhouse,undermyveryeyes?”
“Thenletmego,”saidMaximilian,“orIshallthinkyoudidnotlovemeformyownsake,butforyours;”andhearose.
“Itiswell,”saidMonteCristowhosecountenancebrightenedatthesewords;“youwish—youareinflexible.
Yes,asyousaid,youareindeedwretchedandamiraclealonecancureyou.Sitdown,Morrel,andwait.”
Morrelobeyed;thecountarose,andunlockingaclosetwithakeysuspendedfromhisgoldchain,tookfromitalittlesilvercasket,beautifullycarvedandchased,thecornersofwhichrepresentedfourbendingfigures,similartotheCaryatides,theformsofwomen,symbolsoftheangelsaspiringtoheaven.
Heplacedthecasketonthetable;thenopeningittookoutalittlegoldenbox,thetopofwhichflewopenwhentouchedbyasecretspring.
Thisboxcontainedanunctuoussubstancepartlysolid,ofwhichitwasimpossibletodiscoverthecolor,owingtothereflectionofthepolishedgold,sapphires,rubies,emeralds,whichornamentedthebox.
Itwasamixedmassofblue,red,andgold.
Thecounttookoutasmallquantityofthiswithagiltspoon,andofferedittoMorrel,fixingalongsteadfastglanceuponhim.
Itwasthenobservablethatthesubstancewasgreenish.
“Thisiswhatyouaskedfor,”hesaid,“andwhatIpromisedtogiveyou.”
“Ithankyoufromthedepthsofmyheart,”saidtheyoungman,takingthespoonfromthehandsofMonteCristo.
Thecounttookanotherspoon,andagaindippeditintothegoldenbox.“Whatareyougoingtodo,myfriend?”askedMorrel,arrestinghishand.
“Well,thefactis,Morrel,IwasthinkingthatItooamwearyoflife,andsinceanopportunitypresentsitself”—
“Stay!”saidtheyoungman.
“Youwholove,andarebeloved;you,whohavefaithandhope,—oh,donotfollowmyexample.Inyourcaseitwouldbeacrime.
Adieu,mynobleandgenerousfriend,adieu;IwillgoandtellValentinewhatyouhavedoneforme.”
Andslowly,thoughwithoutanyhesitation,onlywaitingtopressthecount’shandfervently,heswallowedthemysterioussubstanceofferedbyMonteCristo.Thentheywerebothsilent.
Ali,muteandattentive,broughtthepipesandcoffee,anddisappeared.
Bydegrees,thelightofthelampsgraduallyfadedinthehandsofthemarblestatueswhichheldthem,andtheperfumesappearedlesspowerfultoMorrel.
Seatedoppositetohim,MonteCristowatchedhimintheshadow,andMorrelsawnothingbutthebrighteyesofthecount.
Anoverpoweringsadnesstookpossessionoftheyoungman,hishandsrelaxedtheirhold,theobjectsintheroomgraduallylosttheirformandcolor,andhisdisturbedvisionseemedtoperceivedoorsandcurtainsopeninthewalls.
“Friend,”hecried,“IfeelthatIamdying;thanks!”
Hemadealastefforttoextendhishand,butitfellpowerlessbesidehim.
ThenitappearedtohimthatMonteCristosmiled,notwiththestrangeandfearfulexpressionwhichhadsometimesrevealedtohimthesecretsofhisheart,butwiththebenevolentkindnessofafatherforachild.
Atthesametimethecountappearedtoincreaseinstature,hisform,nearlydoubleitsusualheight,stoodoutinreliefagainsttheredtapestry,hisblackhairwasthrownback,andhestoodintheattitudeofanavengingangel.
Morrel,overpowered,turnedaroundinthearm–chair;adelicioustorporpermeatedeveryvein.
Achangeofideaspresentedthemselvestohisbrain,likeanewdesignonthekaleidoscope.
Enervated,prostrate,andbreathless,hebecameunconsciousofoutwardobjects;heseemedtobeenteringthatvaguedeliriumprecedingdeath.
Hewishedonceagaintopressthecount’shand,buthisownwasimmovable.
Hewishedtoarticulatealastfarewell,buthistonguelaymotionlessandheavyinhisthroat,likeastoneatthemouthofasepulchre.
Involuntarilyhislanguideyesclosed,andstillthroughhiseyelashesawell–knownformseemedtomoveamidtheobscuritywithwhichhethoughthimselfenveloped.
Thecounthadjustopenedadoor.Immediatelyabrilliantlightfromthenextroom,orratherfromthepalaceadjoining,shoneupontheroominwhichhewasgentlyglidingintohislastsleep.
Thenhesawawomanofmarvellousbeautyappearonthethresholdofthedoorseparatingthetworooms.
Pale,andsweetlysmiling,shelookedlikeanangelofmercyconjuringtheangelofvengeance.“Isitheaventhatopensbeforeme?”
thoughtthedyingman;“thatangelresemblestheoneIhavelost.”
MonteCristopointedoutMorreltotheyoungwoman,whoadvancedtowardshimwithclaspedhandsandasmileuponherlips.
“Valentine,Valentine!”hementallyejaculated;buthislipsutterednosound,andasthoughallhisstrengthwerecentredinthatinternalemotion,hesighedandclosedhiseyes.
Valentinerushedtowardshim;hislipsagainmoved.
“Heiscallingyou,”saidthecount;“hetowhomyouhaveconfidedyourdestiny—hefromwhomdeathwouldhaveseparatedyou,callsyoutohim.Happily,Ivanquisheddeath.
Henceforth,Valentine,youwillneveragainbeseparatedonearth,sincehehasrushedintodeathtofindyou.Withoutme,youwouldbothhavedied.
MayGodacceptmyatonementinthepreservationofthesetwoexistences!”
Valentineseizedthecount’shand,andinherirresistibleimpulseofjoycarriedittoherlips.
“Oh,thankmeagain!”saidthecount;“tellmetillyouareweary,thatIhaverestoredyoutohappiness;youdonotknowhowmuchIrequirethisassurance.”
“Oh,yes,yes,Ithankyouwithallmyheart,”saidValentine;“andifyoudoubtthesincerityofmygratitude,oh,then,askHaidee!
askmybelovedsisterHaidee,whoeversinceourdeparturefromFrance,hascausedmetowaitpatientlyforthishappyday,whiletalkingtomeofyou.”
“YouthenloveHaidee?”askedMonteCristowithanemotionheinvainendeavoredtodissimulate.
“Oh,yes,withallmysoul.”
“Well,then,listen,Valentine,”saidthecount;“Ihaveafavortoaskofyou.”
“Ofme?Oh,amIhappyenoughforthat?”
“Yes;youhavecalledHaideeyoursister,—letherbecomesoindeed,Valentine;renderherallthegratitudeyoufancythatyouowetome;protecther,for”(thecount’svoicewasthickwithemotion)“henceforthshewillbealoneintheworld.”
“Aloneintheworld!”repeatedavoicebehindthecount,“andwhy?”
MonteCristoturnedaround;Haideewasstandingpale,motionless,lookingatthecountwithanexpressionoffearfulamazement.
“Becauseto–morrow,Haidee,youwillbefree;youwillthenassumeyourproperpositioninsociety,forIwillnotallowmydestinytoovershadowyours.
Daughterofaprince,Irestoretoyoutherichesandnameofyourfather.”
Haideebecamepale,andliftinghertransparenthandstoheaven,exclaimedinavoicestifledwithtears,“Thenyouleaveme,mylord?”
“Haidee,Haidee,youareyoungandbeautiful;forgetevenmyname,andbehappy.”
“Itiswell,”saidHaidee;“yourordershallbeexecuted,mylord;Iwillforgetevenyourname,andbehappy.”Andshesteppedbacktoretire.
“Oh,heavens,”exclaimedValentine,whowassupportingtheheadofMorrelonhershoulder,“doyounotseehowpalesheis?Doyounotseehowshesuffers?”
Haideeansweredwithaheartrendingexpression,“Whyshouldheunderstandthis,mysister?Heismymaster,andIamhisslave;hehastherighttonoticenothing.”
Thecountshudderedatthetonesofavoicewhichpenetratedtheinmostrecessesofhisheart;hiseyesmetthoseoftheyounggirlandhecouldnotbeartheirbrilliancy.
“Oh,heavens,”exclaimedMonteCristo,“canmysuspicionsbecorrect?
Haidee,woulditpleaseyounottoleaveme?”
“Iamyoung,”gentlyrepliedHaidee;“Ilovethelifeyouhavemadesosweettome,andIshouldbesorrytodie.”
“Youmean,then,thatifIleaveyou,Haidee”—
“Ishoulddie;yes,mylord.”
“Doyouthenloveme?”
“Oh,Valentine,heasksifIlovehim.Valentine,tellhimifyouloveMaximilian.”
Thecountfelthisheartdilateandthrob;heopenedhisarms,andHaidee,utteringacry,sprangintothem.“Oh,yes,”shecried,“Idoloveyou!
Iloveyouasonelovesafather,brother,husband!
Iloveyouasmylife,foryouarethebest,thenoblestofcreatedbeings!”
“Letitbe,then,asyouwish,sweetangel;Godhassustainedmeinmystrugglewithmyenemies,andhasgivenmethisreward;hewillnotletmeendmytriumphinsuffering;Iwishedtopunishmyself,buthehaspardonedme.Lovemethen,Haidee!Whoknows?
perhapsyourlovewillmakemeforgetallthatIdonotwishtoremember.”
“Whatdoyoumean,mylord?”
“Imeanthatonewordfromyouhasenlightenedmemorethantwentyyearsofslowexperience;Ihavebutyouintheworld,Haidee;throughyouIagaintakeholdonlife,throughyouIshallsuffer,throughyourejoice.”
“Doyouhearhim,Valentine?”exclaimedHaidee;“hesaysthatthroughmehewillsuffer—throughme,whowouldyieldmylifeforhis.”Thecountwithdrewforamoment.“HaveIdiscoveredthetruth?”
hesaid;“butwhetheritbeforrecompenseorpunishment,Iacceptmyfate.Come,Haidee,come!”
andthrowinghisarmaroundtheyounggirl’swaist,hepressedthehandofValentine,anddisappeared.
Anhourhadnearlypassed,duringwhichValentine,breathlessandmotionless,watchedsteadfastlyoverMorrel.
Atlengthshefelthisheartbeat,afaintbreathplayeduponhislips,aslightshudder,announcingthereturnoflife,passedthroughtheyoungman’sframe.
Atlengthhiseyesopened,buttheywereatfirstfixedandexpressionless;thensightreturned,andwithitfeelingandgrief.
“Oh,”hecried,inanaccentofdespair,“thecounthasdeceivedme;Iamyetliving;”andextendinghishandtowardsthetable,heseizedaknife.
“Dearest,”exclaimedValentine,withheradorablesmile,“awake,andlookatme!”
Morrelutteredaloudexclamation,andfrantic,doubtful,dazzled,asthoughbyacelestialvision,hefelluponhisknees.
Thenextmorningatdaybreak,ValentineandMorrelwerewalkingarm–in–armonthesea–shore,ValentinerelatinghowMonteCristohadappearedinherroom,explainedeverything,revealedthecrime,and,finally,howhehadsavedherlifebyenablinghertosimulatedeath.
Theyhadfoundthedoorofthegrottoopened,andgoneforth;ontheazuredomeofheavenstillglitteredafewremainingstars.
Morrelsoonperceivedamanstandingamongtherocks,apparentlyawaitingasignfromthemtoadvance,andpointedhimouttoValentine.
“Ah,itisJacopo,”shesaid,“thecaptainoftheyacht;”andshebeckonedhimtowardsthem.
“Doyouwishtospeaktous?”askedMorrel.
“Ihavealettertogiveyoufromthecount.”
“Fromthecount!”murmuredthetwoyoungpeople.
“Yes;readit.”Morrelopenedtheletter,andread:—
“MyDearMaximilian,—
“Thereisafeluccaforyouatanchor.JacopowillcarryyoutoLeghorn,whereMonsieurNoirtierawaitshisgranddaughter,whomhewishestoblessbeforeyouleadhertothealtar.
Allthatisinthisgrotto,myfriend,myhouseintheChampsElysees,andmychateauatTreport,arethemarriagegiftsbestowedbyEdmondDantesuponthesonofhisoldmaster,Morrel.
MademoiselledeVillefortwillsharethemwithyou;forIentreathertogivetothepoortheimmensefortunerevertingtoherfromherfather,nowamadman,andherbrotherwhodiedlastSeptemberwithhismother.
Telltheangelwhowillwatchoveryourfuturedestiny,Morrel,topraysometimesforaman,wholikeSatanthoughthimselfforaninstantequaltoGod,butwhonowacknowledgeswithChristianhumilitythatGodalonepossessessupremepowerandinfinitewisdom.
Perhapsthoseprayersmaysoftentheremorsehefeelsinhisheart.
Asforyou,Morrel,thisisthesecretofmyconducttowardsyou.
Thereisneitherhappinessnormiseryintheworld;thereisonlythecomparisonofonestatewithanother,nothingmore.
Hewhohasfeltthedeepestgriefisbestabletoexperiencesupremehappiness.
Wemusthavefeltwhatitistodie,Morrel,thatwemayappreciatetheenjoymentsofliving.
“Live,then,andbehappy,belovedchildrenofmyheart,andneverforgetthatuntilthedaywhenGodshalldeigntorevealthefuturetoman,allhumanwisdomissummedupinthesetwowords,—’Waitandhope.’Yourfriend,
“EdmondDantes,CountofMonteCristo.”
Duringtheperusalofthisletter,whichinformedValentineforthefirsttimeofthemadnessofherfatherandthedeathofherbrother,shebecamepale,aheavysighescapedfromherbosom,andtears,notthelesspainfulbecausetheyweresilent,randownhercheeks;herhappinesscostherverydear.Morrellookedarounduneasily.
“But,”hesaid,“thecount’sgenerosityistoooverwhelming;Valentinewillbesatisfiedwithmyhumblefortune.Whereisthecount,friend?Leadmetohim.”Jacopopointedtowardsthehorizon.“Whatdoyoumean?”askedValentine.“Whereisthecount?—whereisHaidee?”
“Look!”saidJacopo.
Theeyesofbothwerefixeduponthespotindicatedbythesailor,andonthebluelineseparatingtheskyfromtheMediterraneanSea,theyperceivedalargewhitesail.“Gone,”saidMorrel;“gone!—adieu,myfriend—adieu,myfather!”
“Gone,”murmuredValentine;“adieu,mysweetHaidee—adieu,mysister!”
“Whocansaywhetherweshalleverseethemagain?”saidMorrelwithtearfuleyes.
“Darling,”repliedValentine,“hasnotthecountjusttoldusthatallhumanwisdomissummedupintwowords?—’Waitandhope.’”
Share this article to
FINISH