The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 75. A Signed Statement

Noirtier waited in black in his armchair. When the three expected entered, he signaled Barrois to close the door. He beckoned Valentine and, through their practiced signs, asked for a key. She found it in a drawer between the windows, then turned to an old secretaire. Following Noirtier’s eyes, Barrois opened a secret compartment and drew out a bundle of papers bound with black cord. Noirtier indicated these were to be given to Franz.

An inscription read: to be delivered, after Noirtier’s death, to General Durand, preserved until his son inherited it. “An important document,” it warned. Franz untied the cord and read aloud.

It was the extract of a Bonapartist Club report from 5 February 1815—the day General d’Épinay, Franz’s father, had disappeared. The report described how a letter from Elba recommended General de Quesnel; how he was escorted blindfolded to the meeting; how, pressed to declare for the emperor, he refused and was threatened with death unless he swore secrecy. He took the oath, was conveyed blindfolded to the river bank, his sword challenged, and forced into a duel by the president.

The president, shorter by five inches and armed only with a sword concealed in his cane, fought in the dark by lantern-light. Three times he threw the general down; the third killed him. The body was thrown into the river. The three undersigned witnesses—Beaurepaire, Duchampy, Lecharpal—declared that General d’Épinay died in fair duel, not ambush.

Franz asked for the name of the president. Noirtier indicated the dictionary. At letter M, the old man signified “Yes.” Franz’s trembling finger stopped at a single word: MYSELF. The paralytic fixed a majestic look upon the young man. Franz fell back, powerless. Villefort opened the door and escaped, the mad thought of silencing the old man crossing his mind.

Chapter 76. Progress of Cavalcanti the Younger

Meanwhile, the elder Cavalcanti had returned to Lucca’s gaming-tables, squandering his traveling allowance. His son Andrea, armed with papers confirming his lineage, had launched into Parisian society. What Paris required of a young foreigner was modest enough: tolerable French, a good appearance, skill at cards, and ready cash. They were certainly less particular with a foreigner than with a Frenchman, and Andrea possessed all four. A learned man had even corroborated the story of the Cavalcanti fortune supposedly buried in the quarries of Saravezza.

The Count of Monte Cristo, calling one evening at the Danglars house, found Andrea already installed in the boudoir with Eugénie. Dressed in black with varnished shoes and silk stockings, Andrea displayed a diamond ring and directed languishing glances at the cold, satirical young woman. Eugénie escaped to her piano with her singing instructor Louise d’Armilly. With Madame Danglars, Monte Cristo discussed the Saint-Méran deaths and her husband’s composure despite heavy losses at Milan.

When Albert arrived, it was clear Andrea, the bank’s preferred suitor, was indifferent to the match. Danglars, his temper souring, drew Monte Cristo aside: a courier from Greece had revealed a damning connection between the name Fernand and Yanina’s fall. Could Monte Cristo remove Andrea while he thought? Monte Cristo took Albert’s arm and departed, leaving Andrea master of the field.

Chapter 77. Haydée

In the count’s carriage, Albert laughed too loudly and asked how he’d played his part. Cavalcanti was courting Eugénie; Albert was politely shut out. Monte Cristo, Albert confessed, had been charged by Danglars to urge Morcerf to formally offer for Eugénie. When Monte Cristo asked after Debray, Albert admitted the journalist had not been seen at the banker’s house for some days. “There has been a misunderstanding,” he said; “no, with the baron.” He laughed off Monte Cristo’s look of surprise. “Husbands are pretty much the same everywhere, my dear count; an individual husband of any country is a fair specimen of the whole race.” As to the cause of the quarrel between Danglars and his secretary, Albert professed ignorance—“when M. Andrea Cavalcanti has become one of the family, you can ask him that question.”

At Monte Cristo’s Champs-Élysées residence, staff anticipated every need unspoken. When Albert heard a guzla through an adjoining door, he cried that Haydée was an adorable name and asked whether any women bore it outside Byron’s poems. “Certainly there are,” Monte Cristo answered. “Haydée is a very uncommon name in France, but common enough in Albania and Epirus; it is as if you said, for example, Chastity, Modesty, Innocence—a kind of baptismal name, as you Parisians call it.” Albert laughed at the thought of Parisian ladies so christened, then begged to be presented. Monte Cristo, after solemn vows of secrecy, introduced him to Haydée—daughter of Ali Tepelini, Pasha of Yanina, now his slave.

Turning to Haydée in Romaic, Monte Cristo said, “Tell us the fate of your father; but neither the name of the traitor nor the treason.” Haydée sighed deeply, and a shade of sadness clouded her beautiful brow. “What are you saying to her?” Albert whispered. “I again reminded her that you are a friend, and that she need not conceal anything from you,” Monte Cristo answered—she might share her father’s fate, but she could not name the traitor or the act of treason that had destroyed her family.

Haydée, dark-eyed and exquisite in Indian silks, took up her tale. She was four when her mother snatched her from sleep and bore her down a great palace staircase. Servants fled with treasures. Behind them came the Pasha, face dark, his favorite Selim at his shoulder. They were flying—not a king, but the all-powerful Ali Tepelini, betrayed by his own garrison.

By torchlight they crossed the lake to a kiosk floating on the water. Below the kiosk lay a cavern: sixty thousand pouches, two hundred barrels—twenty-five millions in gold, thirty thousand pounds of gunpowder. Selim stood guard over the fuse. Her mother, a Christian, prayed; Haydée trembled. When the French officer returned from Constantinople with the Sultan’s pardon and Ali’s ring, Selim lowered the match—but Kourchid’s soldiers sprang upon him. Five blows; the brave young man fell.

Her mother carried her through secret passages; from a crack they watched the pasha laugh as he fired into the bodyguard. The floor gave way; Selim’s fuse exploded; Ali Tepelini fell in a whirlwind of fire and smoke. Their heads were exposed on Constantinople’s gates; Haydée’s mother died of grief at the sight. An Armenian bought her, taught her, sold her to the Sultan; Monte Cristo had purchased her at market. Albert sat transfixed.