CHAPTER XXVI.
DANTES AND MERCEDES.
It was a tempestuous night. The wind howled dismally through the streetsof Paris, and the rain and sleet dashed fiercely against the casements.At intervals a wild shout might be caught as the blast paused in itsfurious career, and then a distant shot might be heard. But they passedaway, and nothing save the wail of the storm-wind or the rushing sleetof the winter tempest was distinguished.
But, while all was thus wild, dark and tempestuous without, light,warmth, comfort and elegance, rendered yet more delightful by theelemental war, reigned triumphant within a large and splendidlyfurnished apartment in the noble mansion of M. Dantes, the Deputy fromMarseilles, in the Rue du Helder. Every embellishment which art couldinvent, luxury court, wealth invoke, or even imagination conceive,seemed there lavished with a most prodigal hand. The soft atmosphere ofsummer, perfumed by the exotics of a neighboring conservatory, delightedthe senses, the mild effulgence of gaslight transmitted through opaqueglobes of glass melted upon the sight, while sofas, divans and ottomansin luxurious profusion invited repose. To describe the rare paintings,the rich gems of statuary and the other miracles of art which were thereto be seen would be as impossible as it would be to portray theexquisite taste which enhanced the value of each and constituted morethan half its charm.
Upon one of the elegant sofas reclined Edmond Dantes, his tall andgraceful figure draped in a dressing robe, while beside him on a lowottoman sat his beautiful wife, her arm resting on his knee, and herdark, glorious eyes gazing with confiding fondness into his face.
Mercedes was no longer the young, light-hearted and thoughtless beingwho graced the village of the Catalans. Many years had flown since thenand many sorrows passed over her. Each of these years and each of thesesorrows, like retiring waves of the sea, upon the smooth and sandybeach, had left behind its trace. No, Mercedes was not now the young,light-hearted and thoughtless girl she once was; but she was a being farmore perfect, far more winning, far more to be loved--she was a matured,impassioned, accomplished, and still, despite the flight of years, mostlovely woman. She was one who could feel passion as well as inspire it,and having once felt or inspired it, that passion, it was plain, couldnever pass lightly away. Her face could not now boast, perhaps, thatfull and perfect oval which it formerly had, but the lines of care andof reflection, which here and there almost imperceptibly appeared,rendered it all the more charming. In the bold yet beautiful contour ofthose features, in the full red lips, in the high pale forehead and,above all, in those dark and haunting eyes lay a depth of feeling andprofundity and nobleness of thought, which to a reflective mind have acharm infinitely more irresistible than that which belongs to mereyouthful perfection. There was a bland beauty in the smile which sleptupon her lips, a delicacy of sentiment in the faint flush that tingedher soft cheek, and a deep meaning in her dark and eloquent eye whichtold a whole history of experience even to a stranger; while the fulland rounded outline of the figure, garbed in a loose robe of crimson,which contrasted beautifully with her luxuriant dark tresses, had thatvoluptuous development and grace which only maturity and maternity canimpart to the female form. In short, never had Mercedes, in the days ofher primal bloom, presented a person so fascinating as now. She was awoman to sigh for, perchance to die for, and one whom a man wouldwillingly wish to live for, if he might but hope she would live for him,or, peradventure, he might even be willing not only to risk, butultimately to resign his life, would that fair being not only live forhim, but love him with that entire and passionate devotedness whichbeamed from her dark eyes up into his who now gazed upon her as she satat his feet. As for him, as for Edmond Dantes, his figure had now thesame elegance, his hand the same delicate whiteness, his features thesame spiritual beauty, his brow the same marble pallor, and his eyewhich beamed beneath its calm expanse the same deep brilliancy which,years before, had distinguished him from all other men and made theCount of Monte-Cristo the idol of every salon in Paris and the hero ofevery maiden's dream. Yet that face was not without its changes. Tears,care, thought and sorrow had done their work; in the deep lines upon hisbrow and cheek, in the silvery threads which thickly sprinkled hisnight-black hair, and, more than all, in the mild light of those eyeswhich once glowed only with vindictive hate or gratified revenge and inthe softened expression of those lips which once, in their stern beauty,had but curled with scorn or quivered with rage could be read that thelapse of time, though it might, indeed, have made him a sadder man, hadmade him also a better one.
The husband and wife were alone. They still loved as warmly as ever,and, if possible, more fondly than when first they were made one.
Dantes stretched himself out on the sofa, and Mercedes, dropping lowerupon the low ottoman at his side, passed her full and beautiful armaround his waist and pressed her lips to his forehead. He returned theembrace with warmth, and placing his own arm about her form, drew itclosely to his bosom. Thus they remained, clasped in each other's arms,and thus they fixed on each other eyes beaming with love, passion,bliss, happiness unutterable.
"My own Edmond!" murmured Mercedes. "At length you are again withme--all my own!"
"Am I not always your own, dearest?" was the fond reply.
"But during the week past, I might almost say during the month past, youhave been compelled to be so often absent from me."
"Ah! love, you know I was not willingly absent!" was the quick answer.
"No--no--no--but it was hardly the more endurable for that," said thelady, with a smile. "Oh! the anxiety of the last three days and nights!Dearest, I do believe I have not slept three hours during the whole ofthose three days and nights!"
"And I, dear, have slept not one!" was the laughing rejoinder.
"But all is over now, is it not?"
"In one sense all is over, and in another all now begins. The monarchyis ended in France, I believe, forever. The Republic has begun, and, Itrust, will prove lasting."
"And all the grand objects for which you have been striving with yournoble colleagues for years and years are at length accomplished, arethey not?"
"That is a question, love, not easily answered. That the cause of manand France has wonderfully triumphed during the past three days is, nodoubt, most true. But this victory, love, I foresaw. Indeed, it was butthe inevitable result of an irresistible cause. It was neither chance,love, nor a spontaneous burst of patriotism that, on the first day,filled the boulevards with fifty thousand blouses, which on the secondwon over to the people eighty thousand National Guards, and on the thirdchoked the streets of Paris with barricades constructed by engineers anddefended by men completely armed. The events of the last three days,Mercedes, have been maturing in the womb of Providence for the past tenyears. It is their birth only which has now taken place, and to some theparturition seems a little premature, I suppose. This banquet caused thefright that hastened the event," added Dantes, laughing.
"You are very scientific in your comparisons," replied Mercedes,slightly blushing, "and I suppose I must admit, very apt. But tell me,love, is all over? That is, must you be away from me any more at night,and wander about, Heaven only knows where, in this dark and dangerouscity, or Heaven only knows with whom or for what?"
Dantes kissed his fair wife, and, after a pause, during which he gazedfondly into her eyes, replied:
"I hope, I trust, I believe, dear, that all is over--at least all thatwill take me from you, as during the past week. France has or will havea Republic. That is as certain as fate can make it. But first she willhave to pass through strife and tribulation--perhaps bloodshed. The endsurely, love, is not yet. But France is now comparatively free. Thedreadful problem is now nearer solution than it ever was. Labor willhereafter be granted to all, together with the adequate reward of labor.Destitution will not be deemed guilt. The death-penalty is abolished.The rich will not with impunity grind the poor into powder beneath theirheels. Asylums for the suffering, the distressed, the abandoned of bothsexes will be sustained. The efforts which, as in
dividuals, we have someof us made for years to ameliorate the condition of mankind, to assuagehuman woes and augment human joys, will henceforth be encouraged anddirectly aided by the State. This Revolution, love, is a socialRevolution, and during the sixty-four hours the Provisional Governmentwas in session, in the Hotel de Ville, I became thoroughly convincedthat the thousands and tens of thousands who, with sleepless vigilance,watched their proceedings, had learned the deep lesson too well to befurther deceived, and that the fruits of the Revolution they had wonwould not again be snatched from their lips."
"And the result of this triumph of the people you believe has advancedthe cause of human happiness?" asked Mercedes.
"Most unquestionably, dear, and most incalculably, too, perhaps."
"All your friends are not as disinterested as you have been, Edmond,"said Mercedes.
"And why think you that, dear?"
"For six full years I know you have devoted all your powers of mind andbody and all your immense wealth to one single object."
"And that object?"
"Has been the happiness of your race."
"Well, dear?"
"And now, when a triumph has been achieved--now, when others, who havebeen but mere instruments--blind instruments, many of them, in yourhands to accomplish they knew not what--come forward and assume placeand power--you, Edmond, the noble author and first cause of all, remainquietly in seclusion, unknown, unnamed, unappreciated and uncommended,while the others reap the fruits of your toil!"
"Well, dear?" said Dantes, smiling at the warmth of his wife in hisbehalf.
"But it is not 'well,' Edmond. I say no one is as disinterested as you."
"Ah! love, what of ambition?"
Mercedes smiled.
"Let me tell you all, love, and then you will not, I fear, think medisinterested," said Dantes seriously. "I should blush, indeed, atpraise so little deserved. You know all my early history. I suffered--Iwas wronged--I was revenged. But was I happy? I sought happiness. Allmen do so, even the most miserable. Some seek happiness in gratifiedambition, some in gratified avarice, some in gratified vanity, and somein the gratification of a dominant lust for pleasure or for power. Isought happiness in gratified revenge!"
Mercedes shuddered, and, hiding her face on the bosom of her husband,clung to it more closely as if for protection. Dantes drew her form tohis as he would have drawn that of a child, and continued:
"I sought happiness in vengeance for terrible wrongs, and to win it Idevoted a life and countless wealth. What was the result?Misery!--misery!--misery!"
"Poor Edmond!" murmured Mercedes, clinging to him closer than ever.
"At length I awoke, as from a dream. I saw my error. My whole life hadbeen a lie. I saw that God by a miracle had bestowed on me untold richesfor a nobler purpose than to make his creatures wretched. I saw that ifI would be happy I must make others happy, and to this end--thehappiness, not the misery, of my race--must my wealth and power bedevoted. To this end, then, did I devote myself, and to this end, forsix years, have I been devoted--to make myself happy by making othershappy--you among the rest, dear, dear Mercedes," he added, pressing herto his bosom. "And am I then so disinterested?"
"But why should you achieve triumphs for others to enjoy, Edmond?" askedthe wife.
"You refer to the Provisional Government," said Dantes with a smile."Well, I see I must tell you all, even though by the revelation I provemyself utterly unworthy of the praise of disinterestedness. I may tellyou, love--you my second self--without danger of being charged withegotism, what I might not say to others. Our friend Lamartine is theactual head of this Government. I had but to assent to the urgententreaties to secure that position for myself. These appointments seemthe result of nomination by the people. Yet they are not!"
"And why did you refuse to head the Government, Edmond?"
"I am ashamed to confess to you that I feared to accept," said Dantesafter a pause. "My own selfishness, not, alas! my disinterestedness, haskept me from the post of peril. Perhaps, indeed, I can do far more forthe cause of my race as I am than I could by sacrificing myself foroffice and position; at least, I hope so."
"Is the position of your friends then so perilous?" asked Mercedes.
"Dearest, they stand upon a volcano!" said Dantes, solemnly.
"Ha!" cried the lady in alarm.
"Mercedes--Mercedes!" continued Dantes with enthusiasm, "I sometimes amstartled with the idea that to me have been entrusted the awful powersof foreknowledge, of prophecy, so fearfully true have some of mypredictions proved! The events of the past week I foresaw and foretold,even to minute circumstances and the hours of their occurrence. Andnow--glorious as is the triumph that France and the cause of man haveachieved--I perceive in the dim future a sea of commotion! All is notyet settled. Within one month, revolution will succeed revolutionthroughout Europe! Berlin, Vienna, and Madrid, perhaps also St.Petersburg, London, and all the cities of Italy, will be in revolt. AllEurope must and will feel the events of the past week in Paris. Europemust be free!"
"And our friends--Lamartine--Louis Blanc?"
"Within six months Louis Blanc will be an exile, and Lamartine--he maybe in a dungeon or on a scaffold!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Mercedes, clinging yet more closely to her husband.
"But the cause of human happiness, human right and human freedom willlive forever! That must be, will be eternal--as eternal, my adoredMercedes, as is our own deathless love!"