Chapter 84 Beauchamp
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THE
DARING attempt to rob the count was the topic of conversation throughout
Paris for the next fortnight. The dying man had signed a deposition
declaring Benedetto to be the assassin. The police had orders to make the
strictest search for the murderer. Caderousse's knife, dark lantern, bunch
of keys, and clothing, excepting the waistcoat, which could not be found,
were deposited at the registry; the corpse was conveyed to the morgue. The
count told every one that this adventure had happened during his absence
at Auteuil, and that he only knew what was related by the Abbиж Busoni, who that evening, by mere chance, had
requested to pass the night in his house, to examine some valuable books
in his library. Bertuccio alone turned pale whenever Benedetto's name was
mentioned in his presence, but there was no reason why any one should
notice his doing so. Villefort, being called on to prove the crime, was
preparing his brief with the same ardor that he was accustomed to exercise
when required to speak in criminal cases. But
three weeks had already passed, and the most diligent search had been
unsuccessful; the attempted robbery and the murder of the robber by his
comrade were almost forgotten in anticipation of the approaching marriage
of Mademoiselle Danglars to the Count Andrea Cavalcanti. It was expected
that this wedding would shortly take place, as the young man was received
at the banker's as the betrothed. Letters had been despatched to M.
Cavalcanti, as the count's father, who highly approved of the union,
regretted his inability to leave Parma at that time, and promised a
wedding gift of a hundred and fifty thousand livres. It was agreed that
the three millions should be intrusted to Danglars to invest; some persons
had warned the young man of the circumstances of his future father-in-law,
who had of late sustained repeated losses; but with sublime
disinterestedness and confidence the young man refused to listen, or to
express a single doubt to the baron. The baron adored Count Andrea
Cavalcanti: not so Mademoiselle Eugижnie
Danglars. With an instinctive hatred of matrimony, she suffered Andrea's
attentions in order to get rid of Morcerf; but when Andrea urged his suit,
she betrayed an entire dislike to him. The baron might possibly have
perceived it, but, attributing it to a caprice, feigned ignorance. The
delay demanded by Beauchamp had nearly expired. Morcerf appreciated the
advice of Monte Cristo to let things die away of their own accord. No one
had taken up the remark about the general, and no one had recognized in
the officer who betrayed the castle of Yanina the noble count in the House
of Peers. Albert, however felt no less insulted; the few lines which had
irritated him were certainly intended as an insult. Besides, the manner in
which Beauchamp had closed the conference left a bitter recollection in
his heart. He cherished the thought of the duel, hoping to conceal its
true cause even from his seconds. Beauchamp had not been seen since the
day he visited Albert, and those of whom the latter inquired always told
him he was out on a journey which would detain him some days. Where he was
no one knew. One
morning Albert was awakened by his valet de chambre, who announced
Beauchamp. Albert rubbed his eyes, ordered his servant to introduce him
into the small smoking-room on the ground-floor, dressed himself quickly,
and went down. He found Beauchamp pacing the room; on perceiving him
Beauchamp stopped. "Your arrival here, without waiting my visit at
your house to-day, looks well, sir," said Albert. "Tell me, may
I shake hands with you, saying, 'Beauchamp, acknowledge you have injured
me, and retain my friendship,' or must I simply propose to you a choice of
arms?" "Albert,"
said Beauchamp, with a look of sorrow which stupefied the young man,
"let us first sit down and talk." "Rather,
sir, before we sit down, I must demand your answer." "Albert,"
said the journalist, "these are questions which it is difficult to
answer." "I
will facilitate it by repeating the question, 'Will you, or will you not,
retract?'" "Morcerf,
it is not enough to answer 'yes' or 'no' to questions which concern the
honor, the social interest, and the life of such a man as
Lieutenant-general the Count of Morcerf, peer of France." "What
must then be done?" "What
I have done, Albert. I reasoned thus--money, time, and fatigue are nothing
compared with the reputation and interests of a whole family;
probabilities will not suffice, only facts will justify a deadly combat
with a friend. If I strike with the sword, or discharge the contents of a
pistol at man with whom, for three years, I have been on terms of
intimacy, I must, at least, know why I do so; I must meet him with a heart
at ease, and that quiet conscience which a man needs when his own arm must
save his life." "Well,"
said Morcerf, impatiently, "what does all this mean?" "It
means that I have just returned from Yanina." "From
Yanina?" "Yes."
"Impossible!"
"Here
is my passport; examine the visa--Geneva, Milan, Venice, Trieste, Delvino,
Yanina. Will you believe the government of a republic, a kingdom, and an
empire?" Albert cast his eyes on the passport, then raised them in
astonishment to Beauchamp. "You have been to Yanina?" said he. "Albert,
had you been a stranger, a foreigner, a simple lord, like that Englishman
who came to demand satisfaction three or four months since, and whom I
killed to get rid of, I should not have taken this trouble; but I thought
this mark of consideration due to you. I took a week to go, another to
return, four days of quarantine, and forty-eight hours to stay there; that
makes three weeks. I returned last night, and here I am." "What
circumlocution! How long you are before you tell me what I most wish to
know?" "Because,
in truth, Albert"-- "You
hesitate?" "Yes,--I
fear." "You
fear to acknowledge that your correspondent his deceived you? Oh, no
self-love, Beauchamp. Acknowledge it, Beauchamp; your courage cannot be
doubted." "Not
so," murmured the journalist; "on the contrary"-- Albert
turned frightfully pale; he endeavored to speak, but the words died on his
lips. "My friend," said Beauchamp, in the most affectionate
tone, "I should gladly make an apology; but, alas,"-- "But
what?" "The
paragraph was correct, my friend." "What?
That French officer"-- "Yes."
"Fernand?"
"Yes."
"The
traitor who surrendered the castle of the man in whose service he
was--" "Pardon
me, my friend, that man was your father!" Albert advanced furiously
towards Beauchamp, but the latter restrained him more by a mild look than
by his extended hand. "My
friend," said he, "here is a proof of it." Albert
opened the paper, it was an attestation of four notable inhabitants of
Yanina, proving that Colonel Fernand Mondego, in the service of Ali
Tepelini, had surrendered the castle for two million crowns. The
signatures were perfectly legal. Albert tottered and fell overpowered in a
chair. It could no longer be doubted; the family name was fully given.
After a moment's mournful silence, his heart overflowed, and he gave way
to a flood of tears. Beauchamp, who had watched with sincere pity the
young man's paroxysm of grief, approached him. "Now, Albert,"
said he, "you understand me--do you not? I wished to see all, and to
judge of everything for myself, hoping the explanation would be in your
father's favor, and that I might do him justice. But, on the contrary, the
particulars which are given prove that Fernand Mondego, raised by Ali
Pasha to the rank of governor-general, is no other than Count Fernand of
Morcerf; then, recollecting the honor you had done me, in admitting me to
your friendship, I hastened to you." Albert,
still extended on the chair, covered his face with both hands, as if to
prevent the light from reaching him. "I hastened to you,"
continued Beauchamp, "to tell you, Albert, that in this changing age,
the faults of a father cannot revert upon his children. Few have passed
through this revolutionary period, in the midst of which we were born,
without some stain of infamy or blood to soil the uniform of the soldier,
or the gown of the magistrate. Now I have these proofs, Albert, and I am
in your confidence, no human power can force me to a duel which your own
conscience would reproach you with as criminal, but I come to offer you
what you can no longer demand of me. Do you wish these proofs, these
attestations, which I alone possess, to be destroyed? Do you wish this
frightful secret to remain with us? Confided to me, it shall never escape
my lips; say, Albert, my friend, do you wish it?" Albert
threw himself on Beauchamp's neck. "Ah, noble fellow!" cried he.
"Take
these," said Beauchamp, presenting the papers to Albert. Albert
seized them with a convulsive hand, tore them in pieces, and trembling
lest the least vestige should escape and one day appear to confront him,
he approached the wax-light, always kept burning for cigars, and burned
every fragment. "Dear, excellent friend," murmured Albert, still
burning the papers. "Let
all be forgotten as a sorrowful dream," said Beauchamp; "let it
vanish as the last sparks from the blackened paper, and disappear as the
smoke from those silent ashes." "Yes,
yes," said Albert, "and may there remain only the eternal
friendship which I promised to my deliverer, which shall be transmitted to
our children's children, and shall always remind me that I owe my life and
the honor of my name to you,--for had this been known, oh, Beauchamp, I
should have destroyed myself; or,--no, my poor mother! I could not have
killed her by the same blow,--I should have fled from my country." "Dear
Albert," said Beauchamp. But this sudden and factitious joy soon
forsook the young man, and was succeeded by a still greater grief. "Well,"
said Beauchamp, "what still oppresses you, my friend?" "I
am broken-hearted," said Albert. "Listen, Beauchamp! I cannot
thus, in a moment relinquish the respect, the confidence, and pride with
which a father's untarnished name inspires a son. Oh, Beauchamp,
Beauchamp, how shall I now approach mine? Shall I draw back my forehead
from his embrace, or withhold my hand from his? I am the most wretched of
men. Ah, my mother, my poor mother!" said Albert, gazing through his
tears at his mother's portrait; "if you know this, how much must you
suffer!" "Come,"
said Beauchamp, taking both his hands, "take courage, my
friend." "But
how came that first note to be inserted in your journal? Some unknown
enemy--an invisible foe--has done this." "The
more must you fortify yourself, Albert. Let no trace of emotion be visible
on your countenance, bear your grief as the cloud bears within it ruin and
death--a fatal secret, known only when the storm bursts. Go, my friend,
reserve your strength for the moment when the crash shall come." "You
think, then, all is not over yet?" said Albert, horror-stricken. "I
think nothing, my friend; but all things are possible. By the way--" "What?"
said Albert, seeing that Beauchamp hesitated. "Are
you going to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?" "Why
do you ask me now?" "Because
the rupture or fulfilment of this engagement is connected with the person
of whom we were speaking." "How?"
said Albert, whose brow reddened; "you think M. Danglars"-- "I
ask you only how your engagement stands? Pray put no construction on my
words I do not mean they should convey, and give them no undue
weight." "No."
said Albert, "the engagement is broken off." "Well,"
said Beauchamp. Then, seeing the young man was about to relapse into
melancholy, "Let us go out, Albert," said he; "a ride in
the wood in the phaeton, or on horseback, will refresh you; we will then
return to breakfast, and you shall attend to your affairs, and I to
mine." "Willingly,"
said Albert; "but let us walk. I think a little exertion would do me
good." The two friends walked out on the fortress. When arrived at
the Madeleine,-- "Since
we are out," said Beauchamp, "let us call on M. de Monte Cristo;
he is admirably adapted to revive one's spirits, because he never
interrogates, and in my opinion those who ask no questions are the best
comforters." "Gladly,"
said Albert; "I love him--let us call." |
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