"I wanted to put my knife into the creature, but the girl said that if her fiancé was harmed, she would kill herself."
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"I am in despair," said Fernand.
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"And all you can do is sit there and tear your hair out, instead of finding some way out of the dilemma! By God! I didn't know that this was how people of your country behaved."
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"What?"
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"For a long time?"
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"So, my good sir," Danglars told Fernand, "not everyone, I think, is happy about this marriage."
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Danglars' eyes followed Edmond and Mercédès until the two lovers had vanished round one corner of the Fort Saint-Nicholas; then, turning at last, he noticed Fernand who had slipped back on to his chair, pale and trembling, while Caderousse was mumbling the words of a drinking song.
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"Ever since I've known her; I've always loved her."
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"How do I know? Is it any of my business? As I see it, I'm not the one who's in love with Mademoiselle Mercédès; you are. Seek and ye shall find, the Gospel says."
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"What do you expect me to do?" Fernand asked.
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"You're in love with Mercédès?"
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"I adore her!"
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"I had found already."
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"You don't know Mercédès, Monsieur. If she threatens to do something, she will."
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"Pah! People say such things, but they don't do them."
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"And before Mercédès dies," Fernand went on, in firmly resolute tones, "I should die myself."
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"Idiot!" Danglars muttered. "What does it matter whether she kills herself or not, provided Dantès does not become captain."
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"There's love for you!" Caderousse said, in a voice increasingly slurred by drink. "There's love, or I don't know it."
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"Yes," said Caderousse. "Come now."
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"Me? Drunk?" said Caderousse. "Never! I could take another four of your bottles, which are no bigger than bottles of eau de Cologne. Père Pamphile! Bring us some wine!" And, to make the point, Caderousse banged his glass on the table.
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"Come now," said Danglars. "You seem an agreeable enough lad to me and -- by Jove! -- I'd like to ease your sorrow, but…"
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"My good friend," Danglars remarked, "you are three-quarters drunk: go the whole way and finish the bottle. Drink, but don't interfere with our business, because you need a clear head for what we're doing."
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"Drunkard if you like. A curse on those who fear wine: it's because they have evil thoughts and they are afraid that wine will loosen their tongues."
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The Flood proved it beyond a doubt:
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"You were saying, Monsieur?" Fernand asked, impatient to hear what else Danglars had to tell him.
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"What was I saying? I don't remember. This drunkard Caderousse has put it quite out of my mind."
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Caderousse began to sing the last two lines of a song which was much in vogue at the time:
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"Ah, yes. But I added that… to give you satisfaction, it is enough for Dantès not to marry the one you love. And this marriage, it seems to me, could very well not take place, even if Dantès does not die."
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All wicked men do water drink.
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"You were saying, Monsieur," Fernand continued, "that you'd like to ease my sorrow, but you added…"
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"Only death will separate them," said Fernand.
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"You have the brains of an oyster, my friend," said Caderousse. "And Danglars here, who is a sharp one, crafty as a Greek, will prove you wrong. Do it, Danglars. I've stuck up for you. Tell him that Dantès doesn't have to die. In any case, it would be a pity if he died. He's a good lad, Dantès. I like him. Your health, Dantès."
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"Shut up," said Danglars.
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"Yes, but people get out of prison," said Caderousse, who was gripping on to the conversation with what remained of his wits. "And when you get out of prison and you are called Edmond Dantès, you take revenge."
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Danglars assessed the extent of the tailor's drunkenness from his dull eyes, and turned towards Fernand. "So, do you understand that there is no need to kill him?" he said.
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"Let him babble," Danglars said, putting a hand on the young man's arm. "And, for that matter, drunk as he is, he is not so far wrong. Absence separates as effectively as death; so just suppose that there were the walls of a prison between Edmond and Mercédès: that would separate them no more nor less than a tombstone."
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Fernand rose impatiently to his feet.
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"What does that matter!" said Fernand.
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"In any event," Caderousse continued, "why should they put Dantès in prison? He hasn't stolen anything, killed anyone, committed any murder."
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"I don't want to shut up," said Caderousse. "I want to know why they should put Dantès in prison. I like Dantès. Dantès! Your health!"
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He poured back another glass of wine.
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"No, surely not if, as you said a moment ago, there was some means of having Dantès arrested. But do you have such a means?"
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"No, stay!" said Fernand. "When it comes down to it, it's of no matter to me whether you have some bone to pick with Dantès or not; I do, and I freely admit it. Find the means and I shall carry it out, as long as there is no murder involved, for Mercédès said that she would kill herself if anyone killed Dantès."
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"I don't know why it should concern you," Fernand said, grasping his arm. "What I do know is that you have some private animosity against Dantès: a man who feels hated cannot be mistaken about that feeling in others."
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"If we look," Danglars answered, "we can find one. But, dammit, why should this concern me? What business is it of mine?"
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"I? Have some reason to hate Dantès? None, I swear. I saw that you were unhappy and took an interest in your unhappiness, that's all. But if you are going to imagine that I am acting on my own behalf, then farewell, my good friend. You can manage for yourself." Here Danglars himself made as if to get up.
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"Yes, yes. To Dantès' health," said Caderousse, emptying his glass. "His health! His health! Like that!"
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"Who said anything about killing him, idiot?" Danglars went on. "It's nothing more than a joke. Drink to his health and leave us be," he added, filling Caderousse's glass.
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Caderousse, who had let his head fall on the table, lifted it and turned his dull, drink-sodden eyes on Fernand and Danglars. "Kill Dantès!" he said. "Who's talking about killing Dantès? I don't want him killed. He's my friend. This morning, he offered to share his money with me, as I shared mine with him. I don't want anyone to kill Dantès."
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"You haven't thought of any yet?"
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"No, you said that you would do that."
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"But the means, what about the means?" Fernand asked.
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"Well, think up something, then," Fernand said impatiently.
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"That's true," said Danglars. "A Spaniard is inferior to a Frenchman in one respect: your Spaniard thinks things over, but your Frenchman thinks them up."
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"Waiter!" Danglars called. "A pen, ink and paper!"
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"A pen, ink and paper," Fernand muttered.
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"A pen, some ink and some paper!" Fernand repeated to the waiter.
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"Yes, I am an accountant: pens, ink and paper are the tools of my trade, and without them I can do nothing."
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"What you need is over there on the table," the waiter said, indicating the items they had requested.
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"Give them to us, then."
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The waiter brought the paper, some ink and a quill pen, and put them on the table in the arbour.
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"This clown is not yet as drunk as he seems," said Danglars. "Pour him another drink, Fernand."
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"When you think," Caderousse said, letting his hand fall on to the paper, "that what you have here can kill a man more surely than if you were to hide in the woods to murder him! I have always been more afraid of a pen, a bottle of ink and a sheet of paper than of a sword or a pistol."
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Fernand filled Caderousse's glass and he, like the true drunkard he was, took his hand off the paper and moved it to his glass. The Catalan watched him until Caderousse, almost floored by this new assault, put his glass back -- or, rather, let it fall -- on to the table.
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"Well?" the Catalan asked, seeing that the last traces of Caderousse's wits had begun to disappear in this final draught of wine.
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"As I was saying," Danglars continued, "for example, after a voyage such as the one Dantès has just made, in the course of which he put in at Naples and the island of Elba, if someone were to denounce him to the crown prosecutor2 as a Bonapartist agent…"
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"Oh, I couldn't ask for anything better," said Fernand. "Let him come and challenge me."
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"Yes, but in that case you would have to sign your declaration and be confronted with the man you accused: I could give you proof to support your accusation, I know; but Dantès cannot stay in prison for ever; one day he will come out, and on that day, woe betide the one who put him there!"
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"Yes, but what about Mercédès? Mercédès who will hate you if you are unfortunate enough to leave even a scratch on her beloved Edmond!"
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"I'll denounce him, I'll do it!" the young man said eagerly.
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"That's true," said Fernand.
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"No, no," Danglars continued. "You see, if we were to make up our minds to such a thing, it would be far better simply to do as I am doing now, and take this pen, dip it in the ink and, with one's left hand -- to disguise the writing -- make out a little denunciation in these terms."
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The crown prosecutor is advised, by a friend of the monarchy and the faith, that one Edmond Dantès, first mate of the Pharaon, arriving this morning from Smyrna, after putting in at Naples and Porto Ferrajo, was entrusted by Murat3 with a letter for the usurper and by the usurper with a letter to the Bonapartist committee in Paris.
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"So there we have it," Danglars continued. "In this way your revenge would be consistent with common sense, because it could in no way be traced back to you and the matter would proceed of its own accord. You would merely have to fold the letter -- as I am doing now -- and write on it: 'To the Crown Prosecutor'. That would settle it." And Danglars wrote the address with a simple stroke of the pen.
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To illustrate his meaning, Danglars wrote the following lines, with his left hand, the writing sloping backwards so that it bore no resemblance to his usual handwriting, then passed it to Fernand, who read it in a hushed voice:
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Proof of his guilt will be found when he is arrested, since the letter will be discovered either on his person, or at the house of his father, or in his cabin on board the Pharaon.
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"Which is why," said Danglars, pushing it beyond the reach of his hand, "which is why what I am saying and doing is simply in jest; and I should be the first to be upset if anything were to happen to Dantès -- dear Dantès! So, watch…"
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"Yes, that would settle it," cried Caderousse, who had made one final effort to muster his wits and follow the reading of the letter, and understood instinctively all the misfortune that such a denunciation could bring. "Yes, that would settle it, except that it would be a vile act." And he reached over to take the letter.
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"That's right," said Caderousse. "Dantès is my friend and I don't want anyone to harm him."
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"The devil take it! Whoever would think of doing him harm? Certainly not I or Fernand!" said Danglars, getting up and looking at the young man, who had remained seated but who had his covetous eye fixed sideways on the accusing letter where it had fallen.
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"In that case," Caderousse went on, "bring us more wine: I want to drink to the health of Edmond and the lovely Mercédès."
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He took the letter, crumpled it in his hands and threw it into a corner of the arbour.
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"You have had enough to drink already, you tippler," said Danglars. "If you go on, you will have to sleep here, because you won't be able to stand up."
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"Me?" said Caderousse, rising with the ridiculous movement of a drunken man. "Me! Not be able to stand up! I wager I could go up the belfry of Les Accoules, and without wavering."
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"Well, if you wish," said Danglars. "I accept the wager, but for tomorrow. Today it is time to go home, so give me your arm and we'll get started."
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"Let's go," said Caderousse, "but I don't need your arm for it. Are you coming, Fernand? Come with us to Marseille."
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"What did you say? You don't want to, my lad! Well, do as you wish. Everyone can do as he wishes. Come on, Danglars, and let this gentleman go back to the Catalans, since that's what he wants."
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"Don't be silly. Come with us to Marseille. Come on."
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"No," said Fernand. "I'm going back to Les Catalans."
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Danglars took advantage of Caderousse's momentary amenability to drag him towards Marseille; but, to leave a shorter and easier way free for Fernand, instead of going back via the Quai de la Rive-Neuve, he went through the Porte Saint-Victor. Caderousse followed, swaying and gripping his arm.
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"I have no business in Marseille and I don't want to go there."
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"It's you who can't see properly," said Danglars. "He has gone straight down the road to the Vieilles-Infirmeries."
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When he had gone some twenty yards, Danglars turned around and saw Fernand grab the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. Then, running out of the arbour, the young man immediately went in the direction of Le Pillon.
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"There, now! What's he up to?" said Caderousse. "He lied to us. He said he was going to Les Catalans, and he's headed into town. Hey, Fernand, my boy! You're going the wrong way!"
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"Has he?" said Caderousse. "Well, now, I could have sworn that he turned to the right. Wine really is a deceiver."
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"Come on, come on," Danglars muttered. "I think that the matter is properly under way now, and all we have to do is to let it take its course."
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