‘Huh!’ he said. ‘Were you playing piquet?’
‘No,’ said the count. ‘I was making a pack of cards.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Those are aces and twos that you see; my bullets made them into threes, fives, sevens, eights, nines and tens.’
Albert went over to look and saw that, indeed, the bullets had replaced the absent symbols with perfectly precise holes at perfectly equal distances, passing through each card at the points where it should have been painted. As he was walking across to the board, Morcerf also picked up two or three swallows that the count had shot when they were rash enough to fly within range of his pistol.
‘I’ll be damned!’ said Albert.
‘What do you expect, my dear Viscount?’ Monte Cristo said, wiping his hands on a towel that Ali brought. ‘I must fill in my idle moments. Come, now, let’s go.’
They both got into Monte Cristo’s coupé and a few minutes later it put them down at the door of No. 30. Monte Cristo showed Morcerf into his study and offered him a seat. They sat down.
‘Now, let’s discuss this calmly,’ the count said.
‘As you see, I am perfectly calm.’
‘Who are you going to fight?’
‘Beauchamp.’
‘But he’s a friend of yours!’
‘It’s always one’s friends that one fights.’
‘But you must at least have a reason.’
‘I do.’
‘What has he done to you?’
‘In last night’s newspaper, there was… But read it for yourself.’ And Albert handed Monte Cristo a paper in which he read the following:
A correspondent writes from Janina:
We have learned a fact which has remained unknown, or at least unpublished up to now. The castles defending the town were betrayed to the Turks by a French officer in whom the vizier, Ali Tebelin, had placed all his trust. His name was Fernand.
‘Well?’ said Monte Cristo. ‘What have you found in that to shock you?’
‘What have I found!’
‘Yes. What does it matter to you that the castles of Janina were betrayed to the Turks by an officer called Fernand?’
‘It matters because my father, the Comte de Morcerf, was christened Fernand.’
‘And your father served under Ali Pasha?’
‘He fought for the independence of Greece; that is the slander.’
‘Come now, my dear Viscount, be reasonable.’
‘I ask nothing better.’
‘So tell me: who the devil in France knows that this officer Fernand is the same as the Comte de Morcerf, and who today cares at all about Janina, which was captured in 1822 or 1823, I believe?’
‘This is precisely what is so perfidious: they have let time pass, and only now do they dig up these forgotten events to turn them into a scandal that might tarnish a man in a prominent position. Well, as the heir to my father’s name, I should not like even the shadow of a doubt to hang over it. I shall send two seconds to Beauchamp, whose paper published this article, and he will retract it.’
‘Beauchamp will retract nothing.’
‘Then we must fight.’
‘No, you will not, because he will retort that there were perhaps fifty officers with the name Fernand in the Greek army.’
‘We shall fight for all that. Oh, how I wish all this could go away! My father… such a noble soldier, such an illustrious career…’
‘Or else he can write: “We have every reason to believe that the Fernand in question has nothing to do with Monsieur le Comte de Morcerf, whose given name is also Fernand.” ’
‘I must have a full and total retraction; that would not be enough.’
‘So you are going to send him your seconds?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are wrong.’
‘That is to say, you refuse me the service I asked you?’
‘Oh, you know what I think about duels. I explained my ideas to you in Rome, don’t you remember?’
‘Despite which, my dear Count, I found you just now, this very morning, engaged in a pastime that seems to accord ill with those ideas.’
‘Because, you must understand, my dear friend, one should never be exclusive. When one lives among madmen, one should train as a maniac. From one minute to the next, some hothead, with no greater reason to seek a quarrel with me than you have to seek one with Beauchamp, will come and hunt me out on the first flimsy pretext he can find, or send me his seconds, or insult me in a public place. Well, I shall be obliged to kill him.’
‘So you admit that you would fight?’
‘Heavens, yes!’
‘So why do you want to prevent me from doing the same?’
‘I’m not saying that you should not fight, I’m just saying that a duel is a serious matter which demands reflection.’
‘Did he reflect, do you think, before insulting my father?’
‘If he didn’t, and he admits as much, you should not hold it against him.’
‘My dear Count, you are too indulgent by half.’
‘And you are too stringent by half. Come now, just imagine… Listen: just imagine… Now don’t be angry with what I am about to say…’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Just suppose the fact he published was true.’
‘No son should admit such a supposition touching his father’s honour.’
‘Good Lord! But we live in times when so many things are allowed.’
‘Which is precisely the vice of the times.’
‘Are you attempting to reform them?’
‘Yes, when it affects me.’
‘What a moralist you are, dear boy!’
‘That’s the way I am made.’
‘Are you beyond the reach of good advice?’
‘No, not when it comes from a friend.’
‘Do you count me as one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then before sending your seconds to Beauchamp, discover the facts.’
‘From whom?’
‘Well, for example, from Haydée.’
‘Involve a woman in this! What could she do?’
‘Tell you that your father had nothing to do with the overthrow or death of her father, for example, or enlighten you on the subject, if by chance your father did have the misfortune…’
‘I have already told you, my dear Count, that I cannot admit such a possibility.’
‘So you refuse to adopt this solution.’
‘I do.’
‘Absolutely?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then, one last piece of advice.’
‘Yes, but let it be the last.’
‘Don’t you want it?’
‘On the contrary, I ask you to give it to me.’
‘Don’t send your seconds to Beauchamp.’
‘Why?’
‘Go and see him yourself.’
‘That’s not done. It would be most unconventional.’
‘Your affair is not a conventional one.’
‘So why must I go myself then?’
‘Because in that way the matter will remain between you and Beauchamp.’
‘Explain.’
‘Of course. If Beauchamp is inclined to retract, you must leave him with the merit of his goodwill. The retraction will be made just as surely. If he refuses, on the contrary, it will be time to confide your secret to two strangers.’
‘They will not be strangers, but friends.’
‘Today’s friends are tomorrow’s enemies.’
‘What a thing to say!’
‘Look at Beauchamp.’
‘So…’
‘So, I advise caution.’
‘So you think I should go and see Beauchamp myself.’
‘Yes.’
‘Alone?’
‘Alone. When you want to obtain something touching a man’s self-respect, you must spare his pride even the appearance of suffering.’
‘I think you are right.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’
‘I shall go alone.’
‘Good; but you would do better not to go at all.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘So do as you say. It is still preferable to what you intended.’
‘In that case, tell me: if, despite all my efforts and all my approaches, I still have a duel, will you serve as my second?’
‘My dear Viscount,’ Monte Cristo said, with the utmost gravity, ‘you must have seen that I am devoted to you at any time or place, but the service you ask of me falls outside the range of those that I can perform for you.’
‘Why is that?’
‘You may perhaps find out one day.’
‘And meanwhile?’
‘I beg your indulgence for my secret.’
‘Very well, I shall take Franz and Château-Renaud.’
‘Do so: they will suit perfectly.’
‘But at least, if I do have to fight, you will at least give me a little training with the épée or the pistol?’
‘No, that too is impossible.’
‘What an odd fellow you are, indeed! So you don’t want anything to do with it.’
‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘Very well, we’ll say no more. Farewell, Count.’
‘Farewell, Viscount.’
Morcerf took his hat and went out. At the door, he picked up his cab and, repressing his anger as best he could, asked to be driven to Beauchamp’s. Beauchamp was at his newspaper, so Albert had the driver proceed there.
Beauchamp was in an office which was dark and dusty, as newspaper offices are from the day they open for business. Albert de Morcerf was announced. He had the name repeated twice; then, still incredulous, called out: ‘Enter!’
Albert appeared. Beauchamp gave a cry as he saw his friend struggling over bundles of paper and stubbing his unpractised toes against the newspapers of every size that littered, not the wooden, but the red-tiled floor of his office.
‘This way, this way, my dear Albert,’ he said, offering the young man his hand. ‘What the devil brings you? Are you lost like Tom Thumb? Or have you just come to invite me to lunch? Try to find a chair. Look, there’s one, over there by the geranium: the plant alone persuades me that there are leaves in the world that are not leaves of paper.’
‘It’s about your paper, Beauchamp, that I have come to talk to you,’ Albert said.
‘You, Morcerf? What do you want?’
‘A retraction.’
‘You? A retraction? About what, Albert? Do sit down.’
‘Thank you,’ Albert said for the second time, with a slight nod.
‘Now, explain.’
‘A retraction on a matter that sullies the honour of a member of my family.’
‘Come, come!’ Beauchamp said in surprise. ‘What matter? It’s not possible.’
‘The matter that your correspondent writes from Janina.’
‘Janina?’
‘Yes, Janina. You really do seem not to know why I am here.’
‘I swear I do not… Baptiste! Yesterday’s paper!’ Beauchamp shouted.
‘No need, I’ve brought my own copy.’
Beauchamp read the passage, muttering: ‘A correspondent writes from Janina…’
‘You see that it is a serious matter,’ Morcerf said, when Beauchamp had finished.
‘This officer is a relation of yours?’ the journalist asked.
‘Yes,’ Albert replied, blushing.
‘So what would you like me to do for you?’ Beauchamp asked gently.
‘What I want, my dear Beauchamp, is for you to print a retraction.’
Beauchamp looked at Albert attentively and visibly with a great deal of goodwill. ‘Let’s see, now,’ he said. ‘This is going to be a long discussion, because a retraction is always a serious matter. Sit down and I shall read the three or four lines again.’
Albert sat down and Beauchamp re-read the offending words more attentively than the first time.
‘There,’ said Albert, firmly, and even roughly. ‘You see: someone of my family has been insulted in your newspaper and I want a retraction…’
‘You… want…’
‘Yes, I want!’
‘May I point out, my dear Viscount, that you are not addressing the House.’
‘I have no wish to do so,’ the young man retorted, standing up. ‘I am seeking retraction of an item that you published yesterday, and I shall obtain it. You are enough of a friend,’ Albert went on through clenched teeth, seeing that Beauchamp was also beginning to adopt an air of injured pride, ‘you are enough of a friend, and consequently know me well enough, I hope, to understand my tenacity in such circumstances.’
‘I may be your friend, Morcerf, but eventually you will make me forget it, with words such as those you have just used. Come now, let’s not get angry with one another – at least, not yet. You are upset, annoyed, irritated… So tell me, who is this relation called Fernand?’
‘My father, no less,’ Albert said. ‘Fernand Mondego, Count of Morcerf, an old soldier who fought on twenty battlefields, whose noble scars are now being spattered with filthy mud from the roadside.’
‘Your father?’ Beauchamp said. ‘That’s another matter. I can understand your indignation, my dear Albert… So, let’s have another look at this…’ And he re-read the note, this time weighing each word.
‘But how do you know that this Fernand in the paper is your father?’ Beauchamp asked.
‘I don’t, of course, but others will. That is why I want the item to be denied.’
At those words ‘I want’, Beauchamp looked at Morcerf, then almost at once looked down again and thought for a moment.
‘You will retract it, won’t you, Beauchamp?’ Morcerf went on, with still-contained but increasing anger.
‘Yes,’ said Beauchamp.
‘At last!’ Albert exclaimed.
‘But only when I am certain that the allegation is false.’
‘What!’
‘The matter is worth clarifying, and I shall do so.’
‘But what is there to clarify in all this, Monsieur?’ said Albert, beside himself. ‘If you do not believe it is my father, say so at once. If you do believe it was him, then prepare to answer to me for that belief!’
Beauchamp looked at Albert with his own particular smile, that could accommodate itself to every emotion.
‘Monsieur,’ he continued, ‘– since we are on such terms – if you came here to challenge me, then you should have done so straight away and not started talking about friendship and other tiresome matters of that kind which I have been patiently listening to for the past half-hour. If this is how things are to be between us from now on, tell me.’
‘They will, unless you retract that infamous slander!’
‘One moment! No threats, please, Monsieur Albert Mondego, Vicomte de Morcerf. I won’t stand for them from my enemies, still less from my friends. So you want me to deny the report about Colonel Fernand, a report in which, on my honour, I had no part?’
‘Yes, that is what I want!’ said Albert, his head starting to spin.
‘Otherwise, we fight?’ Beauchamp went on as calmly as before.
‘Yes!’ Albert repeated, his voice rising to a crescendo.
‘Very well,’ said Beauchamp. ‘Here is my reply, my dear sir. This report was not published by me and I had no knowledge of it; but you yourself have brought it to my attention and now I am interested. So the report will stand until it is either confirmed or denied by the proper authorities.’
‘In that case, Monsieur,’ Albert said, ‘I shall have the honour to send you my seconds. You may discuss the place and weapons with them.’
‘Precisely, my dear sir.’
‘And we shall meet this evening, if you wish, or at the latest tomorrow.’
‘No, no, not so fast! I shall be here when the time comes, and in my opinion – which I have the right to give, since I am the one who has been provoked – i
n my opinion, as I say, the time is not yet. I know that you are a good swordsman, and I am a fair one. I know that you can hit three bull’s-eyes out of six, which is roughly my own score. I know that a duel between us will be a serious matter, because you are a brave fellow and… well, I am too. Consequently I do not want to risk killing you or being killed by you for no reason. Now, I shall in turn ask you the question, and quite cat-eg-or-ic-al-ly: are you so set on this retraction that you will kill me if I do not make it, even though I have told you, and repeat to you, and swear on my honour, that I was not aware of this report; and even though it would be impossible for anyone except a Don Japhet like yourself to guess that Monsieur le Comte de Morcerf might be referred to under that name, Fernand?’
‘I am absolutely set on it.’
‘Very well, my good sir, I agree to cut my throat with you, but I want three weeks. In three weeks, come back and I shall either tell you: yes, the report is false, I shall annul it; or else, yes, the report is true, and I get the swords out of their scabbards, or the pistols from their cases, as you wish.’
‘Three weeks!’ Albert cried. ‘But three weeks are three centuries in which I shall be dishonoured!’
‘If you had remained my friend, I should say to you: Patience, friend. You have made yourself my enemy and I say to you: What do I care, Monsieur!’
‘Very well, in three weeks, agreed,’ said Morcerf. ‘But consider this: in three weeks, there will be no more delays and no subterfuge that you can use to avoid…’
‘Monsieur Albert de Morcerf,’ Beauchamp said, getting up in his turn, ‘I cannot throw you out of the window for another three weeks, that is to say, twenty-four days, and you will only have the right to assault me at that time. It is now August the twenty-ninth, so on the twenty-first of September… Until then – and this is a piece of advice from a gentleman – please let us spare one another the barking of bulldogs who cannot reach each other because they are chained.’ And, bowing to the young man, he turned his back on him and went through into the printing works.
Albert took out his feelings on a pile of newspapers which he spread across the room with sweeping blows from his stick. After that he left, but not without two or three backward glances towards the door of the printing works.
After crossing the boulevard, Albert began whipping the front of his carriage, just as he had whipped the innocent papers, black with ink, which could do nothing to ease his frustration. At that moment he noticed Morrel who, head held high, with sparkling eyes and freely swinging arms, was walking along in front of the Chinese Baths from the direction of the Porte Saint-Martin and going towards the Madeleine.
The Count of Monte Cristo (Penguin Classics eBook) Page 109
