The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (books to read to improve english txt) đ
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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It was one of the magnificent autumn days which make amends for a short summer; the clouds which M. de Villefort had perceived at sunrise had all disappeared as if by magic, and one of the softest and most brilliant days of September shone forth in all its splendor.
Beauchamp, one of the kings of the press, and therefore claiming the right of a throne everywhere, was eying everybody through his monocle. He perceived ChĂąteau-Renaud and Debray, who had just gained the good graces of a sergeant-at-arms, and who had persuaded the latter to let them stand before, instead of behind him, as they ought to have done. The worthy sergeant had recognized the ministerâs secretary and the millionnaire, and, by way of paying extra attention to his noble neighbors, promised to keep their places while they paid a visit to Beauchamp.
âWell,â said Beauchamp, âwe shall see our friend!â
âYes, indeed!â replied Debray. âThat worthy prince. Deuce take those Italian princes!â
âA man, too, who could boast of Dante for a genealogist, and could reckon back to the Divina Comedia.â
âA nobility of the rope!â said ChĂąteau-Renaud phlegmatically.
âHe will be condemned, will he not?â asked Debray of Beauchamp.
âMy dear fellow, I think we should ask you that question; you know such news much better than we do. Did you see the president at the ministerâs last night?â
âYes.â
âWhat did he say?â
âSomething which will surprise you.â
âOh, make haste and tell me, then; it is a long time since that has happened.â
âWell, he told me that Benedetto, who is considered a serpent of subtlety and a giant of cunning, is really but a very commonplace, silly rascal, and altogether unworthy of the experiments that will be made on his phrenological organs after his death.â
âBah,â said Beauchamp, âhe played the prince very well.â
âYes, for you who detest those unhappy princes, Beauchamp, and are always delighted to find fault with them; but not for me, who discover a gentleman by instinct, and who scent out an aristocratic family like a very bloodhound of heraldry.â
âThen you never believed in the principality?â
âYes.âin the principality, but not in the prince.â
âNot so bad,â said Beauchamp; âstill, I assure you, he passed very well with many people; I saw him at the ministersâ houses.â
âAh, yes,â said ChĂąteau-Renaud. âThe idea of thinking ministers understand anything about princes!â
âThere is something in what you have just said,â said Beauchamp, laughing.
âBut,â said Debray to Beauchamp, âif I spoke to the president, you must have been with the procureur.â
âIt was an impossibility; for the last week M. de Villefort has secluded himself. It is natural enough; this strange chain of domestic afflictions, followed by the no less strange death of his daughterâââ
âStrange? What do you mean, Beauchamp?â
âOh, yes; do you pretend that all this has been unobserved at the ministerâs?â said Beauchamp, placing his eye-glass in his eye, where he tried to make it remain.
âMy dear sir,â said ChĂąteau-Renaud, âallow me to tell you that you do not understand that manĆuvre with the eye-glass half so well as Debray. Give him a lesson, Debray.â
âStay,â said Beauchamp, âsurely I am not deceived.â
âWhat is it?â
âIt is she!â
âWhom do you mean?â
âThey said she had left.â
âMademoiselle EugĂ©nie?â said ChĂąteau-Renaud; âhas she returned?â
âNo, but her mother.â
âMadame Danglars? Nonsense! Impossible!â said ChĂąteau-Renaud; âonly ten days after the flight of her daughter, and three days from the bankruptcy of her husband?â
Debray colored slightly, and followed with his eyes the direction of Beauchampâs glance.
âCome,â he said, âit is only a veiled lady, some foreign princess, perhaps the mother of Cavalcanti. But you were just speaking on a very interesting topic, Beauchamp.â
âI?â
âYes; you were telling us about the extraordinary death of Valentine.â
âAh, yes, so I was. But how is it that Madame de Villefort is not here?â
âPoor, dear woman,â said Debray, âshe is no doubt occupied in distilling balm for the hospitals, or in making cosmetics for herself or friends. Do you know she spends two or three thousand crowns a year in this amusement? But I wonder she is not here. I should have been pleased to see her, for I like her very much.â
âAnd I hate her,â said ChĂąteau-Renaud.
âWhy?â
âI do not know. Why do we love? Why do we hate? I detest her, from antipathy.â
âOr, rather, by instinct.â
âPerhaps so. But to return to what you were saying, Beauchamp.â
âWell, do you know why they die so multitudinously at M. de Villefortâs?â
ââMultitudinouslyâ is good,â said ChĂąteau-Renaud.
âMy good fellow, youâll find the word in Saint-Simon.â
âBut the thing itself is at M. de Villefortâs; but letâs get back to the subject.â
âTalking of that,â said Debray, âMadame was making inquiries about that house, which for the last three months has been hung with black.â
âWho is Madame?â asked ChĂąteau-Renaud.
âThe ministerâs wife, pardieu!â
âOh, your pardon! I never visit ministers; I leave that to the princes.â
âReally, you were only before sparkling, but now you are brilliant; take compassion on us, or, like Jupiter, you will wither us up.â
âI will not speak again,â said ChĂąteau-Renaud; âpray have compassion upon me, and do not take up every word I say.â
âCome, let us endeavor to get to the end of our story, Beauchamp; I told you that yesterday Madame made inquiries of me upon the subject; enlighten me, and I will then communicate my information to her.â
âWell, gentlemen, the reason people die so multitudinously (I like the word) at M. de Villefortâs is that there is an assassin in the house!â
The two young men shuddered, for the same idea had more than once occurred to them.
âAnd who is the assassin;â they asked together.
âYoung Edward!â A burst of laughter from the auditors did not in the least disconcert the speaker, who continued,ââYes, gentlemen; Edward, the infant phenomenon, who is quite an adept in the art of killing.â
âYou are jesting.â
âNot at all. I yesterday engaged a servant, who had just left M. de VillefortâI intend sending him away tomorrow, for he eats so enormously, to make up for the fast imposed upon him by his terror in that house. Well, now listen.â
âWe are listening.â
âIt appears the dear child has obtained possession of a bottle containing some drug, which he every now and then uses against those who have displeased him. First, M. and Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran incurred his displeasure, so he poured out three drops of his elixirâthree drops were sufficient; then followed Barrois, the old servant of M. Noirtier, who sometimes rebuffed this little wretchâhe therefore received the same quantity of the elixir; the same happened to Valentine, of whom he was jealous; he gave her the same dose as the others, and all was over for her as well as the rest.â
âWhy, what nonsense are you telling us?â said ChĂąteau-Renaud.
âYes, it is an extraordinary story,â said Beauchamp; âis it not?â
âIt is absurd,â said Debray.
âAh,â said Beauchamp, âyou doubt me? Well, you can ask my servant, or rather him who will no longer be my servant tomorrow, it was the talk of the house.â
âAnd this elixir, where is it? what is it?â
âThe child conceals it.â
âBut where did he find it?â
âIn his motherâs laboratory.â
âDoes his mother then, keep poisons in her laboratory?â
âHow can I tell? You are questioning me like a kingâs attorney. I only repeat what I have been told, and like my informant I can do no more. The poor devil would eat nothing, from fear.â
âIt is incredible!â
âNo, my dear fellow, it is not at all incredible. You saw the child pass through the Rue Richelieu last year, who amused himself with killing his brothers and sisters by sticking pins in their ears while they slept. The generation who follow us are very precocious.â
âCome, Beauchamp,â said ChĂąteau-Renaud, âI will bet anything you do not believe a word of all you have been telling us. But I do not see the Count of Monte Cristo here.â
âHe is worn out,â said Debray; âbesides, he could not well appear in public, since he has been the dupe of the Cavalcanti, who, it appears, presented themselves to him with false letters of credit, and cheated him out of 100,000 francs upon the hypothesis of this principality.â
âBy the way, M. de ChĂąteau-Renaud,â asked Beauchamp, âhow is Morrel?â
âMa foi, I have called three times without once seeing him. Still, his sister did not seem uneasy, and told me that though she had not seen him for two or three days, she was sure he was well.â
âAh, now I think of it, the Count of Monte Cristo cannot appear in the hall,â said Beauchamp.
âWhy not?â
âBecause he is an actor in the drama.â
âHas he assassinated anyone, then?â
âNo, on the contrary, they wished to assassinate him. You know that it was in leaving his house that M. de Caderousse was murdered by his friend Benedetto. You know that the famous waistcoat was found in his house, containing the letter which stopped the signature of the marriage-contract. Do you see the waistcoat? There it is, all blood-stained, on the desk, as a testimony of the crime.â
âAh, very good.â
âHush, gentlemen, here is the court; let us go back to our places.â
A noise was heard in the hall; the sergeant called his two patrons with an energetic âhem!â and the door-keeper appearing, called out with that shrill voice peculiar to his order, ever since the days of Beaumarchais:
âThe court, gentlemen!â
Chapter 110. The Indictment
The judges took their places in the midst of the most profound silence; the jury took their seats; M. de Villefort, the object of unusual attention, and we had almost said of general admiration, sat in the armchair and cast a tranquil glance around him. Everyone looked with astonishment on that grave and severe face, whose calm expression personal griefs had been unable to disturb, and the aspect of a man who was a stranger to all human emotions excited something very like terror.
âGendarmes,â said the president, âlead in the accused.â
At these words the public attention became more intense, and all eyes were turned towards the door through which Benedetto was to enter. The door soon opened and the accused appeared.
The same impression was experienced by all present, and no one was deceived by the expression of his countenance. His features bore no sign of that deep emotion which stops the beating of the heart and blanches the cheek. His hands, gracefully placed, one upon his hat, the other in the opening of his white waistcoat, were not at all tremulous; his eye was calm and even brilliant. Scarcely had he entered the hall when he glanced at the whole body of magistrates and assistants; his eye rested longer on the president, and still more so on the kingâs attorney.
By the side of Andrea was stationed the lawyer who was to conduct his defence, and who had been appointed by the court, for Andrea disdained to pay any attention to those details, to which he appeared to attach no importance. The lawyer was a young man with light hair whose face expressed a hundred times more emotion than that which characterized the prisoner.
The president called for the indictment, revised as we know, by the clever and implacable pen of Villefort. During the reading of this, which was long, the public attention was continually drawn towards Andrea, who bore the inspection with Spartan unconcern. Villefort had never been so concise and eloquent. The crime was depicted in the most vivid colors; the former life of the prisoner, his transformation, a review of his life from the earliest period, were set forth with all the talent that a knowledge of human life could furnish to a mind like that of the procureur. Benedetto was thus forever condemned in public opinion before the sentence of the law could be pronounced.
Andrea paid no attention to the successive charges which were brought against him. M. de Villefort, who examined him attentively, and who no doubt practiced upon him all the psychological studies he was accustomed to use, in vain endeavored to make him lower his
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