Edmond Dantès
"What kind of men are they?"
"Bold, bad wretches, whose hands have been more than once stained with
innocent blood."
"What is their strength?"
"They number about fifty."
"Do any women dwell among them?"
"Yes, Excellency, their wives and sweethearts."
"Who is the leader of the band?"
"A strange, morose man, who has not been long in their midst."
"Is he a Greek?"
"No, Excellency, he is a foreigner."
"A Frenchman?"
"Quite likely, though I am not sure."
"What is his name?"
"He calls himself Demetrius."
"Did he ever question you about me?"
"Yes, Excellency."
"And what did you reply?"
"I told him you were the Count of Monte-Cristo."
"Ah! What did he say then?"
"He said he had heard of you before."
"That will do, Alexis; I have all the information I require."
The fisherman again touched his cap, and, making a low bow, took his
departure.
Under ordinary circumstances Monte-Cristo would not have been disturbed
by the presence of bandits so near the Island of Salmis, but it became
an altogether different thing when those bandits were led by Benedetto.
A month passed, but in it nothing occurred calculated to break the
tranquillity of the Count and his family. The bandits had not reappeared
and Benedetto had given no sign of life. The faithful Ali no longer
deemed it necessary to maintain his precautions against surprise, and
the strict watch that had been kept up day and night ever since the
conflict in the almond grove was abandoned. Haydee, Zuleika and
Esperance resumed their usual mode of life, having apparently dismissed
the robbers from their minds, while even Monte-Cristo seemed free from
all uneasiness.
One night, while the Count was writing at a late hour in the library, he
yielded to fatigue and fell asleep over his papers. His slumber was
troubled with a strange and vivid dream.
A man in the picturesque garb of a Greek peasant, and wearing a mask on
his face, suddenly stood before him, with his arms folded upon his
breast. Monte-Cristo saw him distinctly, though unable to stir either
hand or foot. The singular visitant surveyed the Count long and
steadily. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but as to his
identity the sleeper could form no idea. At last he slowly removed the
mask, and recognition was instantaneous. The man was Danglars. He raised
his right hand, and, pointing with his forefinger at the Count, said
deliberately, with a hiss like some venomous serpent:
"Edmond Dantes, there is a bitter account open between us, and I am here
to force you to a bitter settlement!"
The light of the huge lamp, suspended from the ceiling, fell full upon
Danglars' countenance; it was as bloodless as that of a corpse, and the
eyes shone with a remorseless, vindictive glare. The banker continued in
the same hissing tone, his words penetrating to the very marrow of the
slumberer's bones:
"Count of Monte-Cristo, for by that name it still pleases you to be
called, listen to me. By the most ingenious and fiendish combinations
possible for a human being to contrive, you wrecked my fortune and with
it my hopes. You drove me ignominiously from Paris; in Rome you caused
me to be starved and robbed by Luigi Vampa and his brigands; then with
the malevolent magnanimity of an arch-demon you sent me forth into the
world a fugitive and an outcast. Count of Monte-Cristo, Edmond Dantes,
low-born sailor of Marseilles, modern Mephistopheles as you are, I will
be even with you! You have had your vengeance; now you shall feel mine!
Here in the Grecian Archipelago, on the Island of Salmis, I will torture
you through your dearest affections, and grind you to dust beneath my
heel!"
As Danglars finished, his features changed and became those of
Villefort, while his Greek peasant's garb was transformed into the
sombre habiliments of the Procureur du Roi. Villefort's face wore the
look of madness, but there was a freezing calmness in his voice as he
said:
"Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte-Cristo, gaze upon the ruin you have made.
Through you I was dragged down from my high position, exposed,
humiliated and deprived of reason. But although the mere wreck of my
former self, I am not utterly powerless, as you shall learn to your
cost. You raised up my infamous son, Benedetto, to be the instrument of
my destruction. Now, he shall work yours, and avenge his unhappy
father!"
The apparition paused, sighed deeply, and then resumed in a tone of
still greater menace:
"Count of Monte-Cristo, look well to your beloved wife, Haydee, look
well to your heroic son, Esperance, look well to your darling daughter,
Zuleika, for this night they are in frightful danger! Look well to your
fabulous riches, for they are threatened; look well to your stately and
magnificent palace, for already the element that shall devour it is
noiselessly and stealthily at work! Count of Monte-Cristo, farewell!"
A heart-rending shriek rang in the sleeper's ears, a mighty flash
dazzled his eyes, and, with a grim smile upon his pallid countenance,
Villefort vanished.
Monte-Cristo awoke with a quick start and passed his hand across his
forehead, as if dazed; then he leaped to his feet and glanced
breathlessly about him. Danglars and Villefort had been only the idle
coinage of his brain, but the heart-rending shriek, the mighty flash,
they were, indeed, stern realities--the shriek was Haydee's, and the
flash was fire!
"My God!" cried Monte-Cristo, standing for an instant rooted to the
spot, "can it be possible that this dream is the truth after all, and
that I am even now to feel the vengeance of those two men?"
He sprang into the spacious hall that was as light as day, and, as he
did so, the figure of a man rushed by him--it was Benedetto, and in his
hand he held a long knife dripping with blood. The Count turned and
pursued him, snatching a dagger from a table as he ran. At the door
leading to the lawn, he grasped him firmly by the shoulder and held him.
"Murderer!" he shouted, "whose blood is that upon your knife?"
"The blood of Haydee, the Greek slave!" hissed Benedetto, with a glare
of ferocious triumph, "the blood of Haydee, your wife! Edmond Dantes, I
am even with you!"
Monte-Cristo struck at the assassin with his dagger, but Benedetto
eluded the blow, and raising his own weapon inflicted a frightful gash
upon the Count's cheek.
A terrible struggle ensued. Monte-Cristo was possessed of wonderful
strength and activity, but in both these respects the two desperate
antagonists seemed fairly matched. Three times did the Count bury his
dagger in Benedetto's body, but, though the assassin's blood gushed
copiously from his wounds, he continued to fight with the utmost
determination. At length the men grappled in a supreme, deadly effort,
but Monte-Cristo, making a false step, slipped on the blood-spattered
marble floor, and Benedetto, with the quickness of thought, hurling him
backward, freed himself and bounding through the open doorway vanished
in the darkness beyond.
The Count uttered a groan of despair as he saw Haydee's self-confessed
murderer escape him, and staggered to his feet; the fierce conflict with
Benedetto had exhausted him, and he stood for an instant panting and
breathless. The shrieks had now grown fainter and the hall was full of
smoke. During all this time neither Ali nor any of the servants under
him had appeared, a circumstance that, to Monte-Cristo, seemed
inexplicable. He, however, did not pause to give it thought, but dashed
up the stairway and strove to reach his wife's apartment; blinding,
stifling clouds of smoke, through which penetrated the glare of the
conflagration, drove him back again and again, but he renewed his
attempts to force a passage with undaunted energy and courage. Finally,
compressing his lips and holding his nostrils with the thumb and
forefinger of his right hand, he gave a headlong plunge, and succeeded
in reaching Haydee's door; it was open, displaying a scene that caused
the Count's heart to sink within him; the whole chamber was one sea of
flame; fiery tongues, like so many writhing and hissing serpents, were
licking and consuming the costly tapestry, the richly carved furniture
and the magnificent objects of art; the curtains of the bed were
blazing, and upon the couch lay the senseless form of the wife of
Monte-Cristo, the pallor of her faultless countenance contrasting
painfully with the ruddy glow of the devouring element. In Haydee's
breast was a gaping wound, from which her life blood was slowly oozing
in ruby drops.
Rendered utterly reckless by the terrible sight, the Count madly rushed
to the couch, tore his beloved Haydee from it, and, clasping her tightly
against his bosom, staggered into the corridor with his precious
burden. There the smoke had increased in volume and density, but,
summoning all his resolution and endurance to his aid, he plunged
through it, and finally was successful in reaching the library.
Then, with the swiftness of a flash of lightning, the husband was
replaced by the father, and Monte-Cristo, for the first time since
Haydee's shrieks had awakened him from his dream, thought of his
children. Where were they and what had happened to them? The Count felt
a cold perspiration break out upon his forehead, and a feeling of
unspeakable dread took entire possession of him. Haydee demanded
immediate attention, but Esperance and Zuleika must instantly be found
and rescued. At the top of his voice Monte-Cristo shouted for Ali, but
no reply was returned. Fearing to leave Haydee for even a moment, the
Count strode about the library like a caged wild animal, still holding
her in his arms. He shouted again and again until he was hoarse, calling
distractedly upon Esperance, Zuleika and all the servants in turn.
At last an answering shout came suddenly from the lawn, and old Alexis,
followed by several fishermen, leaped into the library through an open
window.
Resigning Haydee to Alexis, the Count, accompanied by the fishermen,
fairly flew to the apartment of his children, situated on a corridor in
another portion of the palace. There Esperance and Zuleika were
discovered gagged and bound; they lay upon the floor of their chamber,
while Ali, who had been treated in like manner, was extended near them.
To release the prisoners was but the work of a moment, and then it was
learned that all the servants under Ali were confined in their
dormitory. They, as well as Monte-Cristo's children and the Nubian, had
been suddenly seized by a party of rough-looking Greeks, evidently a
portion of Benedetto's band.
Meanwhile the flames had spread from Haydee's chamber to the adjoining
quarters of the edifice, and the entire palace seemed doomed, for to
check the conflagration appeared impossible, but so happy had the Count
been made by the recovery of his son and daughter, unharmed, that he
gave himself no concern about the probable destruction of his
magnificent property.
Seizing his children, he directed Ali and the fishermen to release the
captive servants, and hastily returned to the library. As he entered the
room Haydee uttered a low groan and opened her eyes; she was lying on a
divan, where old Alexis had placed her. Esperance and Zuleika sprang to
her side; she took each by the hand, and as she did so they saw the
wound in her breast. Zuleika burst into tears. Esperance compressed his
lips and grew deadly pale.
"My loved ones," said Haydee, faintly, "I feel that I am about to leave
you forever, perhaps in a few moments. Be good children and obey your
father in all things. Esperance, Zuleika, stoop and kiss me."
They did as she desired; her lips were already purple and cold; the
stamp of death was upon her features. Suddenly her frame was convulsed
and her eyes assumed a glassy look.