Chapter 52 Toxicology
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IT
WAS really the Count of Monte Cristo who had just arrived at Madame de
Villefort's for the purpose of returning the procureur's visit, and at his
name, as may be easily imagined, the whole house was in confusion. Madame
de Villefort, who was alone in her drawing-room when the count was
announced, desired that her son might be brought thither instantly to
renew his thanks to the count; and Edward, who heard this great personage
talked of for two whole days, made all possible haste to come to him, not
from obedience to his mother, or out of any feeling of gratitude to the
count, but from sheer curiosity, and that some chance remark might give
him the opportunity for making one of the impertinent speeches which made
his mother say,--"Oh, that naughty child! But I can't be severe with
him, he is really so bright." After
the usual civilities, the count inquired after M. de Villefort. "My
husband dines with the chancellor," replied the young lady; "he
has just gone, and I am sure he'll be exceedingly sorry not to have had
the pleasure of seeing you before he went." Two visitors who were
there when the count arrived, having gazed at him with all their eyes,
retired after that reasonable delay which politeness admits and curiosity
requires. "What is your sister Valentine doing?" inquired Madame
de Villefort of Edward; "tell some one to bid her come here, that I
may have the honor of introducing her to the count." "You
have a daughter, then, madame?" inquired the count; "very young,
I presume?" "The
daughter of M. de Villefort by his first marriage," replied the young
wife, "a fine well-grown girl." "But
melancholy," interrupted Master Edward, snatching the feathers out of
the tail of a splendid parroquet that was screaming on its gilded perch,
in order to make a plume for his hat. Madame de Villefort merely
cried,--"Be still, Edward!" She then added,--"This young
madcap is, however, very nearly right, and merely re-echoes what he has
heard me say with pain a hundred times; for Mademoiselle de Villefort is,
in spite of all we can do to rouse her, of a melancholy disposition and
taciturn habit, which frequently injure the effect of her beauty. But what
detains her? Go, Edward, and see." "Because
they are looking for her where she is not to be found." "And
where are they looking for her?" "With
grandpapa Noirtier." "And
do you think she is not there?" "No,
no, no, no, no, she is not there," replied Edward, singing his words.
"And
where is she, then? If you know, why don't you tell?" "She
is under the big chestnut-tree," replied the spoiled brat, as he
gave, in spite of his mother's commands, live flies to the parrot, which
seemed keenly to relish such fare. Madame de Villefort stretched out her
hand to ring, intending to direct her waiting-maid to the spot where she
would find Valentine, when the young lady herself entered the apartment.
She appeared much dejected; and any person who considered her attentively
might have observed the traces of recent tears in her eyes. Valentine,
whom we have in the rapid march of our narrative presented to our readers
without formally introducing her, was a tall and graceful girl of
nineteen, with bright chestnut hair, deep blue eyes, and that reposeful
air of quiet distinction which characterized her mother. Her white and
slender fingers, her pearly neck, her cheeks tinted with varying hues
reminded one of the lovely Englishwomen who have been so poetically
compared in their manner to the gracefulness of a swan. She entered the
apartment, and seeing near her stepmother the stranger of whom she had
already heard so much, saluted him without any girlish awkwardness, or
even lowering her eyes, and with an elegance that redoubled the count's
attention. He rose to return the salutation. "Mademoiselle de
Villefort, my daughter-in-law," said Madame de Villefort to Monte
Cristo, leaning back on her sofa and motioning towards Valentine with her
hand. "And M. de Monte Cristo, King of China, Emperor of
Cochin-China," said the young imp, looking slyly towards his sister. Madame
de Villefort at this really did turn pale, and was very nearly angry with
this household plague, who answered to the name of Edward; but the count,
on the contrary, smiled, and appeared to look at the boy complacently,
which caused the maternal heart to bound again with joy and enthusiasm. "But,
madame," replied the count, continuing the conversation, and looking
by turns at Madame de Villefort and Valentine, "have I not already
had the honor of meeting yourself and mademoiselle before? I could not
help thinking so just now; the idea came over my mind, and as mademoiselle
entered the sight of her was an additional ray of light thrown on a
confused remembrance; excuse the remark." "I
do not think it likely, sir; Mademoiselle de Villefort is not very fond of
society, and we very seldom go out," said the young lady. "Then
it was not in society that I met with mademoiselle or yourself, madame, or
this charming little merry boy. Besides, the Parisian world is entirely
unknown to me, for, as I believe I told you, I have been in Paris but very
few days. No,--but, perhaps, you will permit me to call to
mind--stay!" The Count placed his hand on his brow as if to collect
his thoughts. "No--it was somewhere--away from here--it was--I do not
know--but it appears that this recollection is connected with a lovely sky
and some religious f¨ºte; mademoiselle was holding
flowers in her hand, the interesting boy was chasing a beautiful peacock
in a garden, and you, madame, were under the trellis of some arbor. Pray
come to my aid, madame; do not these circumstances appeal to your
memory?" "No,
indeed," replied Madame de Villefort; "and yet it appears to me,
sir, that if I had met you anywhere, the recollection of you must have
been imprinted on my memory." "Perhaps
the count saw us in Italy," said Valentine timidly. "Yes,
in Italy; it was in Italy most probably," replied Monte Cristo;
"you have travelled then in Italy, mademoiselle?" "Yes;
madame and I were there two years ago. The doctors, anxious for my lungs,
had prescribed the air of Naples. We went by Bologna, Perugia, and
Rome." "Ah,
yes--true, mademoiselle," exclaimed Monte Cristo as if this simple
explanation was sufficient to revive the recollection he sought. "It
was at Perugia on Corpus Christi Day, in the garden of the H?tel des
Postes, when chance brought us together; you, Madame de Villefort, and her
son; I now remember having had the honor of meeting you." "I
perfectly well remember Perugia, sir, and the H?tel des Postes, and the
festival of which you speak," said Madame de Villefort, "but in
vain do I tax my memory, of whose treachery I am ashamed, for I really do
not recall to mind that I ever had the pleasure of seeing you
before." "It
is strange, but neither do I recollect meeting with you," observed
Valentine, raising her beautiful eyes to the count. "But
I remember it perfectly," interposed the darling Edward. "I
will assist your memory, madame," continued the count; "the day
had been burning hot; you were waiting for horses, which were delayed in
consequence of the festival. Mademoiselle was walking in the shade of the
garden, and your son disappeared in pursuit of the peacock." "And
I caught it, mamma, don't you remember?" interposed Edward, "and
I pulled three such beautiful feathers out of his tail." "You,
madame, remained under the arbor; do you not remember, that while you were
seated on a stone bench, and while, as I told you, Mademoiselle de
Villefort and your young son were absent, you conversed for a considerable
time with somebody?" "Yes,
in truth, yes," answered the young lady, turning very red, "I do
remember conversing with a person wrapped in a long woollen mantle; he was
a medical man, I think." "Precisely
so, madame; this man was myself; for a fortnight I had been at that hotel,
during which period I had cured my valet de chambre of a fever, and my
landlord of the jaundice, so that I really acquired a reputation as a
skilful physician. We discoursed a long time, madame, on different
subjects; of Perugino, of Raffaelle, of manners, customs, of the famous
aquatofana, of which they had told you, I think you said, that certain
individuals in Perugia had preserved the secret." "Yes,
true," replied Madame de Villefort, somewhat uneasily, "I
remember now." "I
do not recollect now all the various subjects of which we discoursed,
madame," continued the count with perfect calmness; "but I
perfectly remember that, falling into the error which others had
entertained respecting me, you consulted me as to the health of
Mademoiselle de Villefort." "Yes,
really, sir, you were in fact a medical man," said Madame de
Villefort, "since you had cured the sick." "Moli¨¨re or Beaumarchais would reply to
you, madame, that it was precisely because I was not, that I had cured my
patients; for myself, I am content to say to you that I have studied
chemistry and the natural sciences somewhat deeply, but still only as an
amateur, you understand."--At this moment the clock struck six.
"It is six o'clock," said Madame de Villefort, evidently
agitated. "Valentine, will you not go and see if your grandpapa will
have his dinner?" Valentine rose, and saluting the count, left the
apartment without speaking. "Oh,
madame," said the count, when Valentine had left the room, "was
it on my account that you sent Mademoiselle de Villefort away?" "By
no means," replied the young lady quickly; "but this is the hour
when we usually give M. Noirtier the unwelcome meal that sustains his
pitiful existence. You are aware, sir, of the deplorable condition of my
husband's father?" "Yes,
madame, M. de Villefort spoke of it to me--a paralysis, I think." "Alas,
yes; the poor old gentleman is entirely helpless; the mind alone is still
active in this human machine, and that is faint and flickering, like the
light of a lamp about to expire. But excuse me, sir, for talking of our
domestic misfortunes; I interrupted you at the moment when you were
telling me that you were a skilful chemist." "No,
madame, I did not say as much as that," replied the count with a
smile; "quite the contrary. I have studied chemistry because, having
determined to live in eastern climates I have been desirous of following
the example of King Mithridates." "Mithridates,
rex Ponticus," said the young scamp, as he tore some beautiful
portraits out of a splendid album, "the individual who took cream in
his cup of poison every morning at breakfast." "Edward,
you naughty boy," exclaimed Madame de Villefort, snatching the
mutilated book from the urchin's grasp, "you are positively past
bearing; you really disturb the conversation; go, leave us, and join your
sister Valentine in dear grandpapa Noirtier's room." "The
album," said Edward sulkily. "What
do you mean?--the album!" "I
want the album." "How
dare you tear out the drawings?" "Oh,
it amuses me." "Go--go
at once." "I
won't go unless you give me the album," said the boy, seating himself
doggedly in an arm-chair, according to his habit of never giving way. "Take
it, then, and pray disturb us no longer," said Madame de Villefort,
giving the album to Edward, who then went towards the door, led by his
mother. The count followed her with his eyes. "Let
us see if she shuts the door after him," he muttered. Madame de
Villefort closed the door carefully after the child, the count appearing
not to notice her; then casting a scrutinizing glance around the chamber,
the young wife returned to her chair, in which she seated herself.
"Allow me to observe, madame," said the count, with that kind
tone he could assume so well, "you are really very severe with that
dear clever child." "Oh,
sometimes severity is quite necessary," replied Madame de Villefort,
with all a mother's real firmness. "It
was his Cornelius Nepos that Master Edward was repeating when he referred
to King Mithridates," continued the count, "and you interrupted
him in a quotation which proves that his tutor has by no means neglected
him, for your son is really advanced for his years." "The
fact is, count," answered the mother, agreeably flattered, "he
has great aptitude, and learns all that is set before him. He has but one
fault, he is somewhat wilful; but really, on referring for the moment to
what he said, do you truly believe that Mithridates used these
precautions, and that these precautions were efficacious?" "I
think so, madame, because I myself have made use of them, that I might not
be poisoned at Naples, at Palermo, and at Smyrna--that is to say, on three
several occasions when, but for these precautions, I must have lost my
life." "And
your precautions were successful?" "Completely
so." "Yes,
I remember now your mentioning to me at Perugia something of this
sort." "Indeed?"
said the count with an air of surprise, remarkably well counterfeited;
"I really did not remember." "I
inquired of you if poisons acted equally, and with the same effect, on men
of the North as on men of the South; and you answered me that the cold and
sluggish habits of the North did not present the same aptitude as the rich
and energetic temperaments of the natives of the South." "And
that is the case," observed Monte Cristo. "I have seen Russians
devour, without being visibly inconvenienced, vegetable substances which
would infallibly have killed a Neapolitan or an Arab." "And
you really believe the result would be still more sure with us than in the
East, and in the midst of our fogs and rains a man would habituate himself
more easily than in a warm latitude to this progressive absorption of
poison?" "Certainly;
it being at the same time perfectly understood that he should have been
duly fortified against the poison to which he had not been
accustomed." "Yes,
I understand that; and how would you habituate yourself, for instance, or
rather, how did you habituate yourself to it?" "Oh,
very easily. Suppose you knew beforehand the poison that would be made use
of against you; suppose the poison was, for instance, brucine"-- "Brucine
is extracted from the false angostura [1] is it not?" inquired Madame
de Villefort. "Precisely,
madame," replied Monte Cristo; "but I perceive I have not much
to teach you. Allow me to compliment you on your knowledge; such learning
is very rare among ladies." "Oh,
I am aware of that," said Madame de Villefort; "but I have a
passion for the occult sciences, which speak to the imagination like
poetry, and are reducible to figures, like an algebraic equation; but go
on, I beg of you; what you say interests me to the greatest degree." "Well,"
replied Monte Cristo "suppose, then, that this poison was brucine,
and you were to take a milligramme the first day, two milligrammes the
second day, and so on. Well, at the end of ten days you would have taken a
centigramme, at the end of twenty days, increasing another milligramme,
you would have taken three hundred centigrammes; that is to say, a dose
which you would support without inconvenience, and which would be very
dangerous for any other person who had not taken the same precautions as
yourself. Well, then, at the end of a month, when drinking water from the
same carafe, you would kill the person who drank with you, without your
perceiving, otherwise than from slight inconvenience, that there was any
poisonous substance mingled with this water." "Do
you know any other counter-poisons?" "I
do not." "I
have often read, and read again, the history of Mithridates," said
Madame de Villefort in a tone of reflection, "and had always
considered it a fable." "No,
madame, contrary to most history, it is true; but what you tell me, madame,
what you inquire of me, is not the result of a chance query, for two years
ago you asked me the same questions, and said then, that for a very long
time this history of Mithridates had occupied your mind." "True,
sir. The two favorite studies of my youth were botany and mineralogy, and
subsequently, when I learned that the use of simples frequently explained
the whole history of a people, and the entire life of individuals in the
East, as flowers betoken and symbolize a love affair, I have regretted
that I was not a man, that I might have been a Flamel, a Fontana, or a
Cabanis." "And
the more, madame," said Monte Cristo, "as the Orientals do not
confine themselves, as did Mithridates, to make a cuirass of his poisons,
but they also made them a dagger. Science becomes, in their hands, not
only a defensive weapon, but still more frequently an offensive one; the
one serves against all their physical sufferings, the other against all
their enemies. With opium, belladonna, brucaea, snake-wood, and the
cherry-laurel, they put to sleep all who stand in their way. There is not
one of those women, Egyptian, Turkish, or Greek, whom here you call 'good
women,' who do not know how, by means of chemistry, to stupefy a doctor,
and in psychology to amaze a confessor." "Really,"
said Madame de Villefort, whose eyes sparkled with strange fire at this
conversation. "Oh,
yes, indeed, madame," continued Monte Cristo, "the secret dramas
of the East begin with a love philtre and end with a death potion--begin
with paradise and end with--hell. There are as many elixirs of every kind
as there are caprices and peculiarities in the physical and moral nature
of humanity; and I will say further--the art of these chemists is capable
with the utmost precision to accommodate and proportion the remedy and the
bane to yearnings for love or desires for vengeance." "But,
sir," remarked the young woman, "these Eastern societies, in the
midst of which you have passed a portion of your existence, are as
fantastic as the tales that come from their strange land. A man can easily
be put out of the way there, then; it is, indeed, the Bagdad and Bassora
of the 'Thousand and One Nights.' The sultans and viziers who rule over
society there, and who constitute what in France we call the government,
are really Haroun-al-Raschids and Giaffars, who not only pardon a poisoner,
but even make him a prime minister, if his crime has been an ingenious
one, and who, under such circumstances, have the whole story written in
letters of gold, to divert their hours of idleness and ennui." "By
no means, madame; the fanciful exists no longer in the East. There,
disguised under other names, and concealed under other costumes, are
police agents, magistrates, attorneys-general, and bailiffs. They hang,
behead, and impale their criminals in the most agreeable possible manner;
but some of these, like clever rogues, have contrived to escape human
justice, and succeed in their fraudulent enterprises by cunning
stratagems. Amongst us a simpleton, possessed by the demon of hate or
cupidity, who has an enemy to destroy, or some near relation to dispose
of, goes straight to the grocer's or druggist's, gives a false name, which
leads more easily to his detection than his real one, and under the
pretext that the rats prevent him from sleeping, purchases five or six
grammes of arsenic--if he is really a cunning fellow, he goes to five or
six different druggists or grocers, and thereby becomes only five or six
times more easily traced;--then, when he has acquired his specific, he
administers duly to his enemy, or near kinsman, a dose of arsenic which
would make a mammoth or mastodon burst, and which, without rhyme or
reason, makes his victim utter groans which alarm the entire neighborhood.
Then arrive a crowd of policemen and constables. They fetch a doctor, who
opens the dead body, and collects from the entrails and stomach a quantity
of arsenic in a spoon. Next day a hundred newspapers relate the fact, with
the names of the victim and the murderer. The same evening the grocer or
grocers, druggist or druggists, come and say, 'It was I who sold the
arsenic to the gentleman;' and rather than not recognize the guilty
purchaser, they will recognize twenty. Then the foolish criminal is taken,
imprisoned, interrogated, confronted, confounded, condemned, and cut off
by hemp or steel; or if she be a woman of any consideration, they lock her
up for life. This is the way in which you Northerns understand chemistry,
madame. Desrues was, however, I must confess, more skilful." "What
would you have, sir?" said the lady, laughing; "we do what we
can. All the world has not the secret of the Medicis or the Borgias."
"Now,"
replied the count, shrugging his shoulders, "shall I tell you the
cause of all these stupidities? It is because, at your theatres, by what
at least I could judge by reading the pieces they play, they see persons
swallow the contents of a phial, or suck the button of a ring, and fall
dead instantly. Five minutes afterwards the curtain falls, and the
spectators depart. They are ignorant of the consequences of the murder;
they see neither the police commissary with his badge of office, nor the
corporal with his four men; and so the poor fools believe that the whole
thing is as easy as lying. But go a little way from France--go either to
Aleppo or Cairo, or only to Naples or Rome, and you will see people
passing by you in the streets--people erect, smiling, and fresh-colored,
of whom Asmodeus, if you were holding on by the skirt of his mantle, would
say, 'That man was poisoned three weeks ago; he will be a dead man in a
month.'" "Then,"
remarked Madame de Villefort, "they have again discovered the secret
of the famous aquatofana that they said was lost at Perugia." "Ah,
but madame, does mankind ever lose anything? The arts change about and
make a tour of the world; things take a different name, and the vulgar do
not follow them--that is all; but there is always the same result. Poisons
act particularly on some organ or another--one on the stomach, another on
the brain, another on the intestines. Well, the poison brings on a cough,
the cough an inflammation of the lungs, or some other complaint catalogued
in the book of science, which, however, by no means precludes it from
being decidedly mortal; and if it were not, would be sure to become so,
thanks to the remedies applied by foolish doctors, who are generally bad
chemists, and which will act in favor of or against the malady, as you
please; and then there is a human being killed according to all the rules
of art and skill, and of whom justice learns nothing, as was said by a
terrible chemist of my acquaintance, the worthy Abb¨¦ Adelmonte of Taormina, in
Sicily, who has studied these national phenomena very profoundly." "It
is quite frightful, but deeply interesting," said the young lady,
motionless with attention. "I thought, I must confess, that these
tales, were inventions of the Middle Ages." "Yes,
no doubt, but improved upon by ours. What is the use of time, rewards of
merit, medals, crosses, Monthyon prizes, if they do not lead society
towards more complete perfection? Yet man will never be perfect until he
learns to create and destroy; he does know how to destroy, and that is
half the battle." "So,"
added Madame de Villefort, constantly returning to her object, "the
poisons of the Borgias, the Medicis, the Renes, the Ruggieris, and later,
probably, that of Baron de Trenck, whose story has been so misused by
modern drama and romance"-- "Were
objects of art, madame, and nothing more," replied the count.
"Do you suppose that the real savant addresses himself stupidly to
the mere individual? By no means. Science loves eccentricities, leaps and
bounds, trials of strength, fancies, if I may be allowed so to term them.
Thus, for instance, the excellent Abb¨¦
Adelmonte, of whom I spoke just now, made in this way some marvellous
experiments." "Really?"
"Yes;
I will mention one to you. He had a remarkably fine garden, full of
vegetables, flowers, and fruit. From amongst these vegetables he selected
the most simple--a cabbage, for instance. For three days he watered this
cabbage with a distillation of arsenic; on the third, the cabbage began to
droop and turn yellow. At that moment he cut it. In the eyes of everybody
it seemed fit for table, and preserved its wholesome appearance. It was
only poisoned to the Abb¨¦ Adelmonte. He then took the
cabbage to the room where he had rabbits--for the Abb¨¦ Adelmonte had a collection of
rabbits, cats, and guinea-pigs, fully as fine as his collection of
vegetables, flowers, and fruit. Well, the Abb¨¦ Adelmonte took a rabbit, and made it eat a leaf of
the cabbage. The rabbit died. What magistrate would find, or even venture
to insinuate, anything against this? What procureur has ever ventured to
draw up an accusation against M. Magendie or M. Flourens, in consequence
of the rabbits, cats, and guinea-pigs they have killed?--not one. So,
then, the rabbit dies, and justice takes no notice. This rabbit dead, the
Abb¨¦ Adelmonte has its entrails taken
out by his cook and thrown on the dunghill; on this dunghill is a hen,
who, pecking these intestines, is in her turn taken ill, and dies next
day. At the moment when she is struggling in the convulsions of death, a
vulture is flying by (there are a good many vultures in Adelmonte's
country); this bird darts on the dead fowl, and carries it away to a rock,
where it dines off its prey. Three days afterwards, this poor vulture,
which has been very much indisposed since that dinner, suddenly feels very
giddy while flying aloft in the clouds, and falls heavily into a
fish-pond. The pike, eels, and carp eat greedily always, as everybody
knows--well, they feast on the vulture. Now suppose that next day, one of
these eels, or pike, or carp, poisoned at the fourth remove, is served up
at your table. Well, then, your guest will be poisoned at the fifth
remove, and die, at the end of eight or ten days, of pains in the
intestines, sickness, or abscess of the pylorus. The doctors open the body
and say with an air of profound learning, 'The subject his died of a tumor
on the liver, or of typhoid fever!'" "But,"
remarked Madame de Villefort, "all these circumstances which you link
thus to one another may be broken by the least accident; the vulture may
not see the fowl, or may fall a hundred yards from the fish-pond." "Ah,
that is where the art comes in. To be a great chemist in the East, one
must direct chance; and this is to be achieved."--Madame de Villefort
was in deep thought, yet listened attentively. "But," she
exclaimed, suddenly, "arsenic is indelible, indestructible; in
whatsoever way it is absorbed, it will be found again in the body of the
victim from the moment when it has been taken in sufficient quantity to
cause death." "Precisely
so," cried Monte Cristo--"precisely so; and this is what I said
to my worthy Adelmonte. He reflected, smiled, and replied to me by a
Sicilian proverb, which I believe is also a French proverb, 'My son, the
world was not made in a day--but in seven. Return on Sunday.' On the
Sunday following I did return to him. Instead of having watered his
cabbage with arsenic, he had watered it this time with a solution of
salts, having their basis in strychnine, strychnos colubrina, as the
learned term it. Now, the cabbage had not the slightest appearance of
disease in the world, and the rabbit had not the smallest distrust; yet,
five minutes afterwards, the rabbit was dead. The fowl pecked at the
rabbit, and the next day was a dead hen. This time we were the vultures;
so we opened the bird, and this time all special symptoms had disappeared,
there were only general symptoms. There was no peculiar indication in any
organ--an excitement of the nervous system--that was it; a case of
cerebral congestion--nothing more. The fowl had not been poisoned--she had
died of apoplexy. Apoplexy is a rare disease among fowls, I believe, but
very common among men." Madame de Villefort appeared more and more
thoughtful. "It
is very fortunate," she observed, "that such substances could
only be prepared by chemists; otherwise, all the world would be poisoning
each other." "By
chemists and persons who have a taste for chemistry," said Monte
Cristo carelessly. "And
then," said Madame de Villefort, endeavoring by a struggle, and with
effort, to get away from her thoughts, "however skilfully it is
prepared, crime is always crime, and if it avoid human scrutiny, it does
not escape the eye of God. The Orientals are stronger than we are in cases
of conscience, and, very prudently, have no hell--that is the point."
"Really,
madame, this is a scruple which naturally must occur to a pure mind like
yours, but which would easily yield before sound reasoning. The bad side
of human thought will always be defined by the paradox of Jean Jacques
Rousseau,--you remember,--the mandarin who is killed five hundred leagues
off by raising the tip of the finger. Man's whole life passes in doing
these things, and his intellect is exhausted by reflecting on them. You
will find very few persons who will go and brutally thrust a knife in the
heart of a fellow-creature, or will administer to him, in order to remove
him from the surface of the globe on which we move with life and
animation, that quantity of arsenic of which we just now talked. Such a
thing is really out of rule--eccentric or stupid. To attain such a point,
the blood must be heated to thirty-six degrees, the pulse be, at least, at
ninety, and the feelings excited beyond the ordinary limit. But suppose
one pass, as is permissible in philology, from the word itself to its
softened synonym, then, instead of committing an ignoble assassination you
make an 'elimination;' you merely and simply remove from your path the
individual who is in your way, and that without shock or violence, without
the display of the sufferings which, in the case of becoming a punishment,
make a martyr of the victim, and a butcher, in every sense of the word, of
him who inflicts them. Then there will be no blood, no groans, no
convulsions, and above all, no consciousness of that horrid and
compromising moment of accomplishing the act,--then one escapes the clutch
of the human law, which says, 'Do not disturb society!' This is the mode
in which they manage these things, and succeed in Eastern climes, where
there are grave and phlegmatic persons who care very little for the
questions of time in conjunctures of importance." "Yet
conscience remains," remarked Madame de Villefort in an agitated
voice, and with a stifled sigh. "Yes,"
answered Monte Cristo "happily, yes, conscience does remain; and if
it did not, how wretched we should be! After every action requiring
exertion, it is conscience that saves us, for it supplies us with a
thousand good excuses, of which we alone are judges; and these reasons,
howsoever excellent in producing sleep, would avail us but very little
before a tribunal, when we were tried for our lives. Thus Richard III, for
instance, was marvellously served by his conscience after the putting away
of the two children of Edward IV; in fact, he could say, 'These two
children of a cruel and persecuting king, who have inherited the vices of
their father, which I alone could perceive in their juvenile
propensities--these two children are impediments in my way of promoting
the happiness of the English people, whose unhappiness they (the children)
would infallibly have caused.' Thus was Lady Macbeth served by her
conscience, when she sought to give her son, and not her husband (whatever
Shakspeare may say), a throne. Ah, maternal love is a great virtue, a
powerful motive--so powerful that it excuses a multitude of things, even
if, after Duncan's death, Lady Macbeth had been at all pricked by her
conscience." Madame
de Villefort listened with avidity to these appalling maxims and horrible
paradoxes, delivered by the count with that ironical simplicity which was
peculiar to him. After a moment's silence, the lady inquired, "Do you
know, my dear count," she said, "that you are a very terrible
reasoner, and that you look at the world through a somewhat distempered
medium? Have you really measured the world by scrutinies, or through
alembics and crucibles? For you must indeed be a great chemist, and the
elixir you administered to my son, which recalled him to life almost
instantaneously"-- "Oh,
do not place any reliance on that, madame; one drop of that elixir
sufficed to recall life to a dying child, but three drops would have
impelled the blood into his lungs in such a way as to have produced most
violent palpitations; six would have suspended his respiration, and caused
syncope more serious than that in which he was; ten would have destroyed
him. You know, madame, how suddenly I snatched him from those phials which
he so imprudently touched?" "Is
it then so terrible a poison?" "Oh,
no. In the first place, let us agree that the word poison does not exist,
because in medicine use is made of the most violent poisons, which become,
according as they are employed, most salutary remedies." "What,
then, is it?" "A
skilful preparation of my friend's the worthy Abb¨¦ Adelmonte, who taught me the use of it." "Oh,"
observed Madame de Villefort, "it must be an admirable
anti-spasmodic." "Perfect,
madame, as you have seen," replied the count; "and I frequently
make use of it--with all possible prudence though, be it observed,"
he added with a smile of intelligence. "Most
assuredly," responded Madame de Villefort in the same tone. "As
for me, so nervous, and so subject to fainting fits, I should require a
Doctor Adelmonte to invent for me some means of breathing freely and
tranquillizing my mind, in the fear I have of dying some fine day of
suffocation. In the meanwhile, as the thing is difficult to find in
France, and your abb¨¦ is not probably disposed to make
a journey to Paris on my account, I must continue to use Monsieur Planch¨¦'s anti-spasmodics; and mint and
Hoffman's drops are among my favorite remedies. Here are some lozenges
which I have made up on purpose; they are compounded doubly strong."
Monte Cristo opened the tortoise-shell box, which the lady presented to
him, and inhaled the odor of the lozenges with the air of an amateur who
thoroughly appreciated their composition. "They are indeed
exquisite," he said; "but as they are necessarily submitted to
the process of deglutition--a function which it is frequently impossible
for a fainting person to accomplish--I prefer my own specific." "Undoubtedly,
and so should I prefer it, after the effects I have seen produced; but of
course it is a secret, and I am not so indiscreet as to ask it of
you." "But
I," said Monte Cristo, rising as he spoke--"I am gallant enough
to offer it you." "How
kind you are." "Only
remember one thing--a small dose is a remedy, a large one is poison. One
drop will restore life, as you have seen; five or six will inevitably
kill, and in a way the more terrible inasmuch as, poured into a glass of
wine, it would not in the slightest degree affect its flavor. But I say no
more, madame; it is really as if I were prescribing for you." The
clock struck half-past six, and a lady was announced, a friend of Madame
de Villefort, who came to dine with her. "If
I had had the honor of seeing you for the third or fourth time, count,
instead of only for the second," said Madame de Villefort; "if I
had had the honor of being your friend, instead of only having the
happiness of being under an obligation to you, I should insist on
detaining you to dinner, and not allow myself to be daunted by a first
refusal." "A
thousand thanks, madame," replied Monte Cristo "but I have an
engagement which I cannot break. I have promised to escort to the Acad¨¦mie a Greek princess of my
acquaintance who has never seen your grand opera, and who relies on me to
conduct her thither." "Adieu,
then, sir, and do not forget the prescription." "Ah,
in truth, madame, to do that I must forget the hour's conversation I have
had with you, which is indeed impossible." Monte Cristo bowed, and
left the house. Madame de Villefort remained immersed in thought. "He
is a very strange man," she said, "and in my opinion is himself
the Adelmonte he talks about." As to Monte Cristo the result had
surpassed his utmost expectations. "Good," said he, as he went
away; "this is a fruitful soil, and I feel certain that the seed sown
will not be cast on barren ground." Next morning, faithful to his
promise, he sent the prescription requested. |
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