The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (books to read to improve english txt) đ
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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âRemember,â answered the abbĂ© calmly, as he replaced the jewel and its case in the pocket of his cassock, âit is your fault, not mine, that I do so. You will have the goodness to furnish me with the address of both Fernand and Danglars, in order that I may execute Edmondâs last wishes.â
The agitation of Caderousse became extreme, and large drops of perspiration rolled from his heated brow. As he saw the abbé rise from his seat and go towards the door, as though to ascertain if his horse were sufficiently refreshed to continue his journey, Caderousse and his wife exchanged looks of deep meaning.
âThere, you see, wife,â said the former, âthis splendid diamond might all be ours, if we chose!â
âDo you believe it?â
âWhy, surely a man of his holy profession would not deceive us!â
âWell,â replied La Carconte, âdo as you like. For my part, I wash my hands of the affair.â
So saying, she once more climbed the staircase leading to her chamber, her body convulsed with chills, and her teeth rattling in her head, in spite of the intense heat of the weather. Arrived at the top stair, she turned round, and called out, in a warning tone, to her husband, âGaspard, consider well what you are about to do!â
âI have both reflected and decided,â answered he.
La Carconte then entered her chamber, the flooring of which creaked beneath her heavy, uncertain tread, as she proceeded towards her armchair, into which she fell as though exhausted.
âWell,â asked the abbĂ©, as he returned to the apartment below, âwhat have you made up your mind to do?â
âTo tell you all I know,â was the reply.
âI certainly think you act wisely in so doing,â said the priest. âNot because I have the least desire to learn anything you may please to conceal from me, but simply that if, through your assistance, I could distribute the legacy according to the wishes of the testator, why, so much the better, that is all.â
âI hope it may be so,â replied Caderousse, his face flushed with cupidity.
âI am all attention,â said the abbĂ©.
âStop a minute,â answered Caderousse; âwe might be interrupted in the most interesting part of my story, which would be a pity; and it is as well that your visit hither should be made known only to ourselves.â
With these words he went stealthily to the door, which he closed, and, by way of still greater precaution, bolted and barred it, as he was accustomed to do at night.
During this time the abbé had chosen his place for listening at his ease. He removed his seat into a corner of the room, where he himself would be in deep shadow, while the light would be fully thrown on the narrator; then, with head bent down and hands clasped, or rather clenched together, he prepared to give his whole attention to Caderousse, who seated himself on the little stool, exactly opposite to him.
âRemember, this is no affair of mine,â said the trembling voice of La Carconte, as though through the flooring of her chamber she viewed the scene that was enacting below.
âEnough, enough!â replied Caderousse; âsay no more about it; I will take all the consequences upon myself.â
And he began his story.
Chapter 27. The Story
First, sir,â said Caderousse, âyou must make me a promise.â
âWhat is that?â inquired the abbĂ©.
âWhy, if you ever make use of the details I am about to give you, that you will never let anyone know that it was I who supplied them; for the persons of whom I am about to talk are rich and powerful, and if they only laid the tips of their fingers on me, I should break to pieces like glass.â
âMake yourself easy, my friend,â replied the abbĂ©. âI am a priest, and confessions die in my breast. Recollect, our only desire is to carry out, in a fitting manner, the last wishes of our friend. Speak, then, without reserve, as without hatred; tell the truth, the whole truth; I do not know, never may know, the persons of whom you are about to speak; besides, I am an Italian, and not a Frenchman, and belong to God, and not to man, and I shall shortly retire to my convent, which I have only quitted to fulfil the last wishes of a dying man.â
This positive assurance seemed to give Caderousse a little courage.
âWell, then, under these circumstances,â said Caderousse, âI will, I even believe I ought to undeceive you as to the friendship which poor Edmond thought so sincere and unquestionable.â
âBegin with his father, if you please.â said the abbĂ©; âEdmond talked to me a great deal about the old man for whom he had the deepest love.â
âThe history is a sad one, sir,â said Caderousse, shaking his head; âperhaps you know all the earlier part of it?â
âYes.â answered the abbĂ©; âEdmond related to me everything until the moment when he was arrested in a small cabaret close to Marseilles.â
âAt La RĂ©serve! Oh, yes; I can see it all before me this moment.â
âWas it not his betrothal feast?â
âIt was and the feast that began so gayly had a very sorrowful ending; a police commissary, followed by four soldiers, entered, and DantĂšs was arrested.â
âYes, and up to this point I know all,â said the priest. âDantĂšs himself only knew that which personally concerned him, for he never beheld again the five persons I have named to you, or heard mention of anyone of them.â
âWell, when DantĂšs was arrested, Monsieur Morrel hastened to obtain the particulars, and they were very sad. The old man returned alone to his home, folded up his wedding suit with tears in his eyes, and paced up and down his chamber the whole day, and would not go to bed at all, for I was underneath him and heard him walking the whole night; and for myself, I assure you I could not sleep either, for the grief of the poor father gave me great uneasiness, and every step he took went to my heart as really as if his foot had pressed against my breast.
âThe next day MercĂ©dĂšs came to implore the protection of M. de Villefort; she did not obtain it, however, and went to visit the old man; when she saw him so miserable and heart-broken, having passed a sleepless night, and not touched food since the previous day, she wished him to go with her that she might take care of him; but the old man would not consent. âNo,â was the old manâs reply, âI will not leave this house, for my poor dear boy loves me better than anything in the world; and if he gets out of prison he will come and see me the first thing, and what would he think if I did not wait here for him?â I heard all this from the window, for I was anxious that MercĂ©dĂšs should persuade the old man to accompany her, for his footsteps over my head night and day did not leave me a momentâs repose.â
âBut did you not go upstairs and try to console the poor old man?â asked the abbĂ©.
âAh, sir,â replied Caderousse, âwe cannot console those who will not be consoled, and he was one of these; besides, I know not why, but he seemed to dislike seeing me. One night, however, I heard his sobs, and I could not resist my desire to go up to him, but when I reached his door he was no longer weeping but praying. I cannot now repeat to you, sir, all the eloquent words and imploring language he made use of; it was more than piety, it was more than grief, and I, who am no canter, and hate the Jesuits, said then to myself, âIt is really well, and I am very glad that I have not any children; for if I were a father and felt such excessive grief as the old man does, and did not find in my memory or heart all he is now saying, I should throw myself into the sea at once, for I could not bear it.ââ
âPoor father!â murmured the priest.
âFrom day to day he lived on alone, and more and more solitary. M. Morrel and MercĂ©dĂšs came to see him, but his door was closed; and, although I was certain he was at home, he would not make any answer. One day, when, contrary to his custom, he had admitted MercĂ©dĂšs, and the poor girl, in spite of her own grief and despair, endeavored to console him, he said to her,ââBe assured, my dear daughter, he is dead; and instead of expecting him, it is he who is awaiting us; I am quite happy, for I am the oldest, and of course shall see him first.â
âHowever well disposed a person may be, why, you see we leave off after a time seeing persons who are in sorrow, they make one melancholy; and so at last old DantĂšs was left all to himself, and I only saw from time to time strangers go up to him and come down again with some bundle they tried to hide; but I guessed what these bundles were, and that he sold by degrees what he had to pay for his subsistence. At length the poor old fellow reached the end of all he had; he owed three quartersâ rent, and they threatened to turn him out; he begged for another week, which was granted to him. I know this, because the landlord came into my apartment when he left his.
âFor the first three days I heard him walking about as usual, but, on the fourth I heard nothing. I then resolved to go up to him at all risks. The door was closed, but I looked through the keyhole, and saw him so pale and haggard, that believing him very ill, I went and told M. Morrel and then ran on to MercĂ©dĂšs. They both came immediately, M. Morrel bringing a doctor, and the doctor said it was inflammation of the bowels, and ordered him a limited diet. I was there, too, and I never shall forget the old manâs smile at this prescription.
âFrom that time he received all who came; he had an excuse for not eating any more; the doctor had put him on a diet.â
The abbé uttered a kind of groan.
âThe story interests you, does it not, sir?â inquired Caderousse.
âYes,â replied the abbĂ©, âit is very affecting.â
âMercĂ©dĂšs came again, and she found him so altered that she was even more anxious than before to have him taken to her own home. This was M. Morrelâs wish also, who would fain have conveyed the old man against his consent; but the old man resisted, and cried so that they were actually frightened. MercĂ©dĂšs remained, therefore, by his bedside, and M. Morrel went away, making a sign to the Catalan that he had left his purse on the chimney-piece; but, availing himself of the doctorâs order, the old man would not take any sustenance; at length (after nine days of despair and fasting), the old man died, cursing those who had caused his misery, and saying to MercĂ©dĂšs, âIf you ever see my Edmond again, tell him I die blessing him.ââ
The abbé rose from his chair, made two turns round the chamber, and pressed his trembling hand against his parched throat.
âAnd you believe he diedâââ
âOf hunger, sir, of hunger,â said Caderousse. âI am as certain of it as that we two are Christians.â
The abbé, with a shaking hand, seized a glass of water that was standing by him half-full, swallowed it at one gulp, and then resumed his seat, with red eyes and pale cheeks.
âThis was, indeed, a horrid event,â said he in a hoarse voice.
âThe more so, sir, as it was menâs and not Godâs doing.â
âTell me of those men,â said the abbĂ©,
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