The Count of Monte Cristo (Barnes & Noble Signature Editions)

By Alexandre Dumas and Robert Hanks

The future could hardly look brighter for Edmond Dantès. Only nineteen years old, but already an experienced seaman, he is about to be named captain of the merchant vessel Pharaon. His deep and passionate love for the beautiful Mercedes is returned in every respect; they will be married in a few short weeks. Everyone who knows this handsome, modest young man wishes him the best—that is, almost everyone. Edmond is unaware that three men he knows well envy him and are conspiring to bring him down.

     The joy of Edmond and Mercedes’ betrothal dinner is shattered when soldiers march in and arrest Edmond as a Bonapartist traitor. Thrown into prison without a trial and with no hope of release, Edmond receives unexpected help from a fellow prisoner in discovering the identities of those who have done this to him. He spends long hours imagining how to punish them, should he ever escape. If revenge is a dish best served cold, Edmond Dantès is learning to be a very patient and ruthless chef.

     Set in the years following the defeat of Napoleon in 1815, The Count of Monte Cristo held Europe in thrall when it was first serialized in 1844. Even at that late date, Bonaparte’s ghost—which looms over this romantic adventure—still haunted the entire continent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barnes & Noble
• Release date: Nov 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781435141063

Alexandre Dumas

Frequently imitated but rarely surpassed, Dumas is one of the best known French writers and a master of ripping yarns full of fearless heroes, poisonous ladies and swashbuckling adventurers. his other novels include The Three Musketeers and The Man in the Iron Mask, which have sold millions of copies and been made into countless TV and film adaptions.

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© 2012 by Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

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CONTENTS

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS

INTRODUCTION

EDITOR’S NOTE

THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO

ENDNOTES

BASED ON THE BOOK

FURTHER READING

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS

INTRODUCTION

SOMETIMES AN IMAGE, A PILOT, A PERSONALITY WILL HAVE SUCH FORCE OR originality that it escapes the pages of a novel to a life in the world beyond. You don’t need to have read Dracula to have a picture in your head of an elegant, caped vampire who can transform himself into a bat; you don’t need to have read Moby-Dick to know about mad sea captains chasing great white whales. Alexandre Dumas managed to pull the trick off twice, with two novels that have never gone out of print, each of which has inspired countless adaptations and imitations. The first was The Three Musketeers: is it possible not to have some glimmering of Porthos, Athos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan—with rapiers; wide-brimmed, feathered hats; and a cry of All for one, one for all? The second was The Count of Monte Cristo, Dumas’ masterpiece; the story of an innocent man shut away in a dungeon to rot, who escapes after many years to retrieve a hidden treasure and dole justice out to his enemies, is unforgettable; so is the personality of the Count himself, Edmond Dantès—aloof, mysterious, fabulously wealthy, and possessing almost superhuman intelligence and abilities.

To have made such an impact on the public consciousness is unusual, even in a career as prolific as that of Dumas (his collected works run to 301 volumes). Look at the dates, though: Musketeers—700 pages in a current paperback edition—ran as a serial in the newspaper Le Siècle between March and July 1844; the first episode of The Count of Monte Cristo—more than 1,100 pages unabridged—ran in the Journal des débats the following month. That two such monstrous, marvelous books were written so close together is astonishing. But then, much about Dumas’ life and career is astonishing.

The author was born in 1802 in Villers-Cotterêts, a rural town fifty miles northeast of Paris. His father, Thomas-Alexandre, was the son of a minor French aristocrat and a slave in the French colony of Saint-Domingue, the country we now call Haiti. Thomas-Alexandre came to France as a teenager with his father and became a soldier. In the wars that followed the French Revolution of 1789, Thomas-Alexandre rose from private to general, thanks to his immense personal courage and physical strength. During an assault in Piedmont, in northern Italy, he supposedly got his men across a wooden palisade by picking each up by the collar and the seat of the pants and chucking each over. France’s Austrian enemies were said to have nicknamed him der schwarze Teufel —the Black Devil. But his bravery was not matched by intelligence or tact, and he fell out badly with his commanding officer, Napoleon Bonaparte. In 1799, Napoleon seized power in France, declaring himself emperor five years later. Out of favor, General Dumas left the army, petitioned unsuccessfully for back pay and a pension, and died a poor man in 1806. Alexandre was then only three years old, but his father’s influence ran deep. The boy had all of his father’s extravagance of feeling and strength—standing for parliament in middle age, he impressed voters by hoisting a heckler and threatening to throw him off a bridge into a river (Dumas lost the election, nevertheless). He also had his father’s African looks, and the taunt négre, French for negro, was flung at him throughout his career. Thomas-Alexandre seems to have found his way into his son’s fiction, as well; the impetuous d’Artagnan in The Three Musketeers is only one half-disguised portrait, or echo.

At the age of fourteen, Alexandre left school to become a lawyer’s clerk, having got little from his education but beautiful handwriting. Self-consciousness about his poor schooling chased him throughout his life; it is noticeable in The Count of Monte Cristo how often he drops the names of artists and writers, how keen he is to show off his hard-won knowledge of history, science, and classical literature. But his handwriting—in combination with a recommendation from an old comrade of his father’s—won him a job as a copyist in the household of the Duke d’Orléans (the monarchy had been restored after Napoleon’s fall, and the duke was the new king’s cousin; in 1830, following the July Revolution, he would become king himself). Dumas had a secure income and a base in Paris. At the age of twenty, he was ambitious, imaginative, and in love with the theater. He began writing plays in collaboration with friends, scoring early successes with light comedy. In 1829, he had his first real solo hit, Henri III et sa cour (Henry III and His Court), a melodrama set in early sixteenth-century France, packed with romance, sadism, wit, and thrilling incident. His reputation grew with Antony (1831), a thoroughly modern drama with a romantic hero brooding over his illegitimacy and a heroine who is unfaithful to her husband yet wins the audience’s sympathy—a forerunner of Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary and Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina.

More hits followed. Dumas was a celebrity, constantly in demand. But theater by itself could not absorb his prodigious energy or satisfy his financial wants (all his life he was extravagant, and by one biographer’s reckoning, he made and spent ten fortunes). He kept a jar stuffed with money on his desk to hand out to friends or anybody who asked. When he was on the verge of bankruptcy, his idea of thrift was to replace the notes with coins. He used his money to travel, turning his trips into popular books. He turned out newspaper articles by the truckload, and then he tried his hand at writing novels. His timing was lucky: the French press was highly competitive, and the roman-feuilleton, the serial novel, came into vogue as a circulation booster. After the daily Le Constitutionnel hired Eugène Sue to supply chapter after chapter of Le Juif errant (The Wandering Jew [1844–45]), its circulation jumped from three thousand to twenty-four thousand. But luck was only part of the story: Dumas and the roman-feuilleton turned out to be admirably well suited for one another. Vast sums were flung at him for the privilege of serializing his work—paid by the line, with the consequence that the lines could often be frustratingly short. He worked at a rate that other authors could only gawk at, writing several stories at once, founding magazines, and filling them for months on end with his own memoirs, stories, and articles. Authors and reviewers disdained him for his haste, his carelessness, his lack of style—for his popularity, one must suspect. Insinuations of plagiarism followed him about, and while that was not one of his crimes, he did not write or even bother to read everything that appeared under his name. Also, he had what amounted to a staff of collaborators, foremost among them Auguste Maquet, who carried out historical research and sketched plots for a number of his novels, including The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo.

Even so, Dumas had trouble meeting all of his literary obligations, and he was successfully sued by editors who had paid in advance for work he had no time to do. He was involved in plenty of other lawsuits: he won a libel case against the authors of a book called The Fiction Factory for alleging that he put his name to others’ work, though on at least one occasion he cheerfully admitted the charge. He fell out with Maquet over the question of who deserved credit for their joint compositions (people who have read Maquet’s solo works are in little doubt that he needed Dumas far more than Dumas needed him; Dumas supplied the color, pace, humor—the life of the story). In private life, too, Dumas was combative. His sharp wit, together with his celebrity and good looks, made him a valued guest at dinner parties, though hostesses were advised to seat him in sight of a mirror so he could admire his own reflection. He repeatedly had fallings-out with friends and colleagues, but his amiability always won out in the end, and he went to great lengths to patch up quarrels and remake friendships.

Dumas’ vitality and amiability found outlets outside writing. Aspiring actresses threw themselves at him in the hope of being cast in one of his plays, and Dumas was rarely averse to their attentions. His one marriage, to the actress Ida Ferrier, did not work out well. He had a gluttonous appetite for sex, and one of his earliest affairs, with a young seamstress just after his arrival in Paris, resulted in the birth of a son, also named Alexandre. Though Dumas père refused to make him legitimate, he was a dutiful and affectionate father. He launched his son’s literary career (Alexandre fils wrote La dame aux camélias, which inspired Gíuseppe Verdi’s opera La Traviata and the Greta Garbo film Camille), and for some time the pair lived and went about in society together. Young Alexandre was heard to complain that his father expected him to break in his new boots and take over his old mistresses; the printable part of his father’s reply was a compliment on the size of his son’s feet. Among Dumas’ lovers were some famous beauties of the day, including Lola Montez, the exotic dancer who became famous as the power behind the throne of King Ludwig of Bavaria. Dumas was still going strong in his sixties, enjoying a very public affair with Adah Isaacs Menken, a celebrated American actress and bareback rider.

In politics, Dumas was an enthusiastic patriot and democrat. In 1830, when discontent with the authoritarian rule of the Bourbon monarchy flared into the July Revolution, Dumas took a rifle and joined in the fighting, imagining that now was the moment for the revival of the Republic. He showed something of his father’s flair, keeping his nerve under fire and commandeering a store of gunpowder single-handedly; but the Duke d’Orléans, Dumas’ old employer, agreed to become a constitutional monarch, ruling with parliament’s consent, and the rebellion fizzled out. Having picked the wrong side, Dumas found it convenient to make the first of his long trips abroad. In 1860, when Giuseppe Garibaldi began a revolt against the Bourbon monarchy in Naples, Dumas used his own money to supply him with arms, dreaming of establishing in Italy a federal republic along American lines. His last work of fiction, written in 1867, was La terreur prussienne (The Prussian Terror), warning of German militarism. It proved prophetic: in 1870, a Prussian army invaded France and occupied Paris. But Dumas’ health had been failing, and by then he was too ill to be aware of the disaster. He died in December that year, almost penniless.

Dumas’ reversals of fortune, his surge from obscurity to celebrity, his passages of immense wealth and penury, were on a grander scale than those of most people. But his life was not out of keeping with French experience in the first half of the nineteenth century—a time when industrialization, revolution, European war, and the growth of empire made for a society both unstable and rich in opportunity. This is worth bearing in mind when reading The Count of Monte Cristo; though it is a bizarre and extravagant melodrama, turning on improbable coincidences and fueled by overheated passions, it is anchored in reality. The central characters—Edmond, Danglars, Fernand Mondego, Villefort—undergo startling changes in fortune and social status, to the point that the reader may find them hard to swallow; but at the time, such transformations were not uncommon in the popular fiction of the day.

The story is rooted in reality in another way. Dumas borrowed his basic plot from Jacques Peuchet’s Mémoires historiques tirés des archives de la police de Paris (Historical Memoirs Drawn from the Archives of the Paris Police)—a supposedly factual source. One of the anecdotes in this monumental collection concerned a young shoemaker from southern France, François Picaud, who in 1807 was thrown into prison as a spy, on charges cooked up by Mathieu Loupian, owner of a Paris café. Loupian was jealous of Picaud’s engagement to Marguerite Vigoroux, an attractive woman with a little money of her own, and persuaded two of Picaud’s friends to join in a plot against him (another, Antoine Allut, refused). During his seven years in prison, Picaud befriended an Italian priest who gave him the secret of a hoard of gold coins. On his release, Picaud used this wealth to finance revenge. First, disguised as an Italian priest, he bribed Allut to name the conspirators, paying him with a large diamond; Allut sold the diamond, and shortly after was charged with the murder of the jeweler who bought it. Loupian had married Marguerite and used her money to open a highly fashionable café. Now disguised as an elderly servant Picaud found a job in Loupian’s household and his revenge began: one of Loupian’s co-conspirators was stabbed to death; Loupian’s dog and his wife’s pet parrot were poisoned; his daughter married a criminal; his son was jailed for a theft he had been framed for or tricked into; Loupian’s café burned down; another conspirator was poisoned. Eventually Picaud confronted Loupian, revealing his identity and stabbing him to death. But Allut, now out of prison, had been tracking Picaud. He overpowered Picaud and locked him in a cellar, demanding vast sums in return for food; when Picaud proved stubborn, Allut murdered him and fled to England. He revealed the whole story on his deathbed, in 1828.

To this arrestingly peculiar story, Dumas added everything that makes The Count of Monte Cristo gripping and moving: charm, memorable incidents, likable characters, feeling, and morality—especially morality. Monte Cristo shocked the Victorians, with its references to drugs and lesbianism, and it is sometimes categorized as a novel of revenge, an odd genre for a writer who did not know how to hold a grudge to choose. But really it is a bildungsroman, the term, originating in German, for a novel of spiritual education. In outline it resembles Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Confessions (published posthumously in 1782), the first modern autobiography. As Rousseau told it, his boyhood was innocent and happy, but then came a fall (the biblical echo is deliberate)—he was punished for a crime he did not commit. Likewise, at the start of The Count of Monte Cristo, Dantès is innocent and trusting—good, maybe, but his goodness has never been tested. In the dungeons of Château d’If, the Abbé Faria educates him in worldly matters, but Edmond has also received an education in evil: he knows what people are capable of. The main body of the novel shows him trying out this new knowledge—and discovering that it is insufficient: revenge is not a foundation on which he can build a life.

The Count of Monte Cristo is above all a ripping yarn, but it is also a harrowing portrait of emotional extremity, a satirical swipe at a society obsessed with money and class, and a classic of Romantic feeling and idealism. The Romantic movement, which flourished in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, opposed the dry reason and progress of the Enlightenment with deep feeling, individual genius, and a taste for action and the exotic in music, painting, and literature. Romantic poets, novelists, and playwrights favored rebellious, outcast heroes; revolutionary politics; hints of sexual liberty; and, frequently, oriental settings (to the early Victorians, this meant the Ottoman Empire, which extended from the Middle East across southeastern Europe to the borders of Italy). In England and Germany, the Romantic movement was already losing steam when Dumas was a young man, but France came to the movement late, and leaders of French Romanticism, such as the poet Alphonse de Lamartine, were part of his social circle. The single great hero of the Romantics was the English poet Lord Byron, author of epic poems such as Manfred, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, and his great best-seller The Corsair (1814), whose hero is a Mediterranean pirate, Conrad, who has turned against society and lives on an island. In the 1820s, Byron sailed to Greece to fight in its war of independence against the Ottoman Empire. As a warrior he was ineffectual, and he died unglamorously of fever rather than in battle, but the image survived of a heroic figure dressed in gorgeous oriental robes, topped by a turban. The Count of Monte Cristo himself is clearly inspired by Byron; when the reader first meets him as the Count, rather than as Edmond Dantès, it is in an island camp much like Conrad’s lair. He dresses in the oriental fashion and behaves in what was then seen as an oriental manner—despotic, arbitrary, even cruel; the fact that he keeps the beautiful Haydée as a slave is part of his oriental act. In case the resemblance to Byron isn’t plain, Dumas keeps drumming in the comparison, bringing in one or another of the disillusioned heroes in Byron’s poems, as well as Lord Ruthven, villain of John Polidori’s novella The Vampyre, who was explicitly a portrait of Byron. So the reader has to know that, like Byron and his heroes, the Count hides under his lofty exterior deep sorrows and a tender heart.

In its day, The Count of Monte Cristo was an unprecedented page-turner. Nobody had ever produced a novel in which so much happened, so vividly. Today, if it’s only thrills we’re after, we can turn to movies—or Dan Brown or Robert Ludlum. But Dumas’ novel survives because it is more than a thriller; it is a work of conviction and art. After Dumas’ death, the novelist Victor Hugo, a friend and rival for forty years, wrote to his family to apologize for not attending the funeral: During this century, there was no more popular figure than Alexandre Dumas; his successes are better than successes, they are triumphs; they resound like a fanfare . . . he cleanses and improves the minds with some unknown, gay, and strong clarity. He fertilizes the soul, the mind, the intelligence; he creates a thirst for reading.¹ The thirst does not diminish.

EDITOR’S NOTE

MONTE CRISTO IS A SPLENDID STORY; NEARLY EVERYONE HAS ATTEMPTED to read it, but few have ever penetrated the labyrinth of the second part! Dumas was paid for quantity, and nobly he responded. The first part, however, telling of the unjust imprisonment of the young sailor, Edmond Dantès, of his thrilling escape from the Chateau d’If, and his reappearance in the world as the Count of Monte Cristo, is fairly straightforward. It is the second part, recounting his revenge on the trio who had wrecked his life, that becomes insufferably tedious and complicated. In the present book an attempt has been made to cut away all that is redundant and allow the story to stand out clearly. It would have been impossible otherwise to bring the matter within the compass of a single volume of reasonable type. The slightly archaic and conventional wording of the translation of 1846 has been used, as it accords with the atmosphere of the time in which the story is placed, and nothing has been altered unnecessarily, only a few words being interpolated to link up the points where cuts have been made.

G. E. MITTON

CHAPTER ONE

MARSEILLES¹—THE ARRIVAL

ON THE 28TH OF FEBRUARY, 1815, THE WATCH-TOWER OF NOTRE-DAME DE la Garde, signalled the three-master, the Pharaon, from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples.²

As usual, a pilot put off immediately, and, rounding the Château d’If, got on board the vessel between Cape Morgion and the Isle of Rion.³

Immediately, and according to custom, the platform of Fort Saint-Jean was covered with lookers-on; it is always an event at Marseilles for a ship to come into port, especially when this ship, like the Pharaon, had been built, rigged, and laden on the stocks of the old Phocée,⁴ and belonged to an owner of the city.

The ship drew on: it had safely passed the strait, which some volcanic shock has made between the Isle of Calasareigne and the Isle of Jaros: had doubled Pomègue, and approached the harbour under topsails, jib, and foresail, but so slowly and sedately that the idlers, with that instinct which misfortune sends before it, asked one another what misfortune could have happened on board. However, those experienced in navigation saw plainly that if any accident had occurred, it was not to the vessel herself, for she bore down with all the evidence of being skilfully handled, the anchor ready to be dropped, the bowsprit-shrouds loose, and beside the pilot, who was steering the Pharaon by the narrow entrance of the port of Marseilles, was a young man, who, with an active and vigilant eye, watched every motion of the ship, and repeated each direction of the pilot.

The vague disquietude which prevailed amongst the spectators had so much affected one of the crowd that he did not await the arrival of the vessel in harbour, but jumping into a small skiff, desired to be pulled alongside the Pharaon, which he reached as she rounded the creek of La Réserve.

When the young man on board saw this individual approach he left his station by the pilot, and came, hat in hand, to the side of the ship’s bulwarks.

He was a fine tall, slim, young fellow, with black eyes, and hair as dark as the raven’s wing; and his whole appearance bespoke that calmness and resolution peculiar to men accustomed from their cradle to contend with danger.

Ah! Is it you, Dantès? cried the man in the skiff. What’s the matter? And why have you such an air of sadness aboard?

A great misfortune, M. Morrel! replied the young man, "a great misfortune, for me especially! Off Civita Vecchia⁵ we lost our brave Captain Leclere."

And the cargo? inquired the owner eagerly.

Is all safe, M. Morrel; and I think you will be satisfied on that head. But poor Captain Leclere—

What happened to him? asked the owner, with an air of considerable resignation.

He died of the brain-fever in dreadful agony, Then turning to the crew, he said—

Look out there! All ready to drop anchor!

All hands obeyed. At the same moment the eight or ten seamen, who composed the crew, sprang, some to the main sheets, others to the braces, others to the halliards, others to the jib-ropes, and others to the topsail brails.

The young sailor gave a look to see his orders were promptly and accurately obeyed, and then turned again to the owner.

And how did this misfortune occur? inquired he, resuming the inquiry suspended for a moment.

"Alas! Sir, in the most unexpected manner. After a long conversation with the harbour-master, Captain Leclere left Naples greatly disturbed in his mind. At the end of twenty-four hours he was attacked by a fever, and died three days afterwards. We performed the usual burial-service, and he is at his rest sewn up in his hammock, with two bullets of thirty-six pounds each at his head and heels, off the Island of El Giglio.⁶ We bring to his widow his sword and cross of honour. It was worthwhile, truly, added the young man, with a melancholy smile, to make war against the English for ten years, and to die in his bed at last, like every body else."

Why, you see, Edmond, replied the owner, who appeared more comforted at every moment, we are all mortal, and the old must make way for the young. If not, why, there would be no promotion; and as you have assured me that the cargo—

Is all safe and sound, M. Morrel, take my word for it; and I advise you not to take 25,000 francs for the profits of the voyage.

Then, as they were just passing the Round Tower the young man shouted out, Ready, there, to lower topsails, foresail, and jib!

The order was executed as promptly as if on board a man-of-war.

"Let go! And brail⁷ all!"

At this last word all the sails were lowered, and the bark moved almost imperceptibly onwards.

Now, if you will come on board, M. Morrel, said Dantès, observing the owner’s impatience, "here is your supercargo,⁸ M. Danglars, coming out of his cabin, who will furnish you with every particular. As for me, I must look after the anchoring, and dress the ship in mourning."

The owner did not wait to be twice invited. He seized a rope which Dantès flung to him, and, with an activity that would have done credit to a sailor, climbed up the side of the ship, whilst the young man, going to his task, left the conversation to the individual whom he had announced under the name of Danglars, who now came towards the owner. He was a man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, of unprepossessing countenance, obsequious to his superiors, insolent to his inferiors; and then, besides his position as responsible agent on board, which is always obnoxious to the sailors, he was as much disliked by the crew as Edmond Dantès was beloved by them.

Well, M. Morrel, said Danglars, you have heard of the misfortune that has befallen us?

Yes—yes! Poor Captain Leclere! He was a brave and an honest man!

And a first-rate seaman, grown old between sky and ocean, as should a man charged with the interests of a house so important as that of Morrel and Son, replied Danglars.

But, replied the owner, following with his look Dantès, who was watching the anchoring of his vessel, it seems to me that a sailor needs not be so old as you say, Danglars, to understand his business; for our friend Edmond seems to understand it thoroughly, and not to require instruction from anyone.

Yes, said Danglars, casting towards Edmond a look in which a feeling of envy was strongly visible. Yes, he is young, and youth is invariably self-confident. Scarcely was the captain’s breath out of his body than he assumed the command without consulting anyone, and he caused us to lose a day and a half at the Isle of Elba, instead of making for Marseilles direct.

As to taking the command of the vessel, replied Morrel, that was his duty as captain’s mate; as to losing a day and a half off the Isle of Elba he was wrong, unless the ship wanted some repair.

The ship was as well as I am, and as, I hope, you are, M. Morrel, and this day and a half was lost from pure whim, for the pleasure of going ashore, and nothing else.

Dantès! said the shipowner, turning towards the young man, come this way!

In a moment, sir, answered Dantès, and I’m with you! Then, calling to the crew, he said—

Let go!

The anchor was instantly dropped, and the chain ran rattling through the port-hole. Dantès continued at his post, in spite of the presence of the pilot, until this manœuvre was completed, and then he added, Lower the pennant half-mast high—put the ensign in a weft, and slope the yards!

You see, said Danglars, he fancies himself captain already, upon my word.

And so, in fact, he is, said the owner.

Except your signature and your partner’s, M. Morrel.

And why should he not have this? asked the owner; he is young it is true, but he seems to me a thorough seaman, and of full experience.

A cloud passed over Danglars’ brow.

Your pardon, M. Morrel, said Dantès, approaching, the ship now rides at anchor, and I am at your service. You hailed me, I think?

Danglars retreated a step or two.

I wished to inquire why you stopped at the Isle of Elba?

I do not know, sir; it was to fulfil a last instruction of Captain Leclere, who, when dying, gave me a packet for the Maréchal Bertrand.⁹

Morrel looked around him, and then, drawing Dantès on one side, he said suddenly—

And how is the emperor?

Very well, as far as I could judge from my eyes.

You saw the emperor, then?

He entered the maréchal’s apartment whilst I was there.

And you spoke to him?

He asked me questions about the ship, the time it left Marseilles, the course she had taken, and what was her cargo. I believe, if she had not been laden, and I had been master, he would have bought her. But I told him I was only mate, and that she belonged to the firm of Morrel and Son. ‘Ah! Ah!’ he said, ‘I know them! The Morrels have been shipowners from father to son; and there was a Morrel who served in the same regiment with me when I was in garrison at Valence.’

"Pardieu! And that is true! cried the owner, greatly delighted. And that was Policar Morrel, my uncle, who was afterwards a captain. Dantès, you must tell my uncle that the emperor remembered him, and you will see it will bring tears into the old soldier’s eyes. Come, come! continued he, patting Edmond’s shoulder kindly. You did very right, Dantès, to follow Captain Leclere’s instruction, and touch at the Isle of Elba, although, if it were known, that you had conveyed a packet to the maréchal, and had conversed with the emperor, it might bring you into trouble."

How could that bring me into trouble, sir? asked Dantès. Your pardon; here are the officers of health and the customs coming alongside! and the young man went to the gangway. As he departed Danglars approached and said—

Well, it appears that he has given you satisfactory reasons for his landing at Porto-Ferrajo?

Yes, most satisfactory, my dear Danglars.

Well, so much the better, said the supercargo; for it is always painful to see a comrade who does not do his duty.

Dantès has done his, replied the owner, and that is not saying much. It was Captain Leclere who gave orders for this delay.

Talking of Captain Leclere, has not Dantès given you a letter from him?

To me? No—was there one?

I believe, that besides the packet, Captain Leclere had confided a letter to his care.

Of what packet are you speaking, Danglars?

Why, that which Dantès left at Porto-Ferrajo.

How do you know he had a packet to leave at Porto-Ferrajo?¹⁰

Danglars turned very red.

I was passing close to the door of the captain’s cabin, which was half open, and I saw him give the packet and letter to Dantès.

He did not speak to me of it, replied the shipowner; but if there be any letter he will give it to me.

Danglars reflected for a moment.

Then, M. Morrel, I beg of you, said he, not to say a word to Dantès on the subject, I may have been mistaken.

At this moment the young man returned, and Danglars retreated as before.

All is arranged now, said he.

Then, you can come and dine with me?

Excuse me, M. Morrel, excuse me, if you please: but my first visit is due to my father, though I am not the less grateful for the honour you have done me.

Right, Dantès, quite right. I always knew you were a good son.

And, inquired Dantès, with some hesitation, do you know how my father is?

Well, I believe, my dear Edmond, although I have not seen him lately.

Yes, he likes to keep himself shut up in his little room.

That proves, at least, that he has wanted for nothing during your absence.

Dantès smiled.

My father is proud, sir; and if he had not a meal left I doubt if he would have asked anything from anyone, except God.

Well, then, after this first visit has been made we rely on you.

I must again excuse myself, M. Morrel; for after this first visit has been paid I have another, which I am most anxious to pay.

True, Dantès, I forgot that there was at the Catalans someone who expects you no less impatiently than your father—the lovely Mercédès.

Dantès blushed.

Then I have your leave to go, sir?

Yes, if you have nothing more to say to me.

Nothing.

Captain Leclere did not, before he died, give you a letter for me?

He was unable to write, sir. But that reminds me that I must ask your leave of absence for some days.

To get married?

Yes, first, and then to go to Paris.

"Very good; have what time you require, Dantès. It will take quite six weeks to unload the cargo, and we cannot get you ready for sea until three months after that; only be back again in three months, for the Pharaon, added the owner, patting the young sailor on the back, cannot sail without her captain."

Without her captain! cried Dantès, his eyes sparkling with animation; "pray mind what you say, for you are touching on the most secret wishes of my heart. Is it really your intention to nominate me captain of the Pharaon?"

"If I were sole owner I would nominate you this moment, my dear Dantès, and say it is settled; but I have a partner, and you know the Italian proverb—Che a compagno a padrone—‘He who has a partner has a master.’ But the thing is at least half done, as you have one out of two voices. Rely on me to procure you the other; I will do my best."

Ah! M. Morrel, exclaimed the young seaman, with tears in his eyes, and grasping the owner’s hand, M. Morrel, I thank you in the name of my father and of Mercédès.

"Tell me, Dantès, if you had the command of the Pharaon, should you have pleasure in retaining Danglars?"

Captain or mate, M. Morrel, replied Dantès, I shall always have the greatest respect for those who possess our owners’ confidence.

Good! Good! Dantès. I see you are a thorough good fellow, and will detain you no longer. Go, for I see how impatient you are. Good luck to you!

The young sailor jumped into the skiff, and sat down in the stern, desiring to be put ashore at the Canebière. The two rowers bent to their work, and the little boat glided away as rapidly as possible in the midst of the thousand vessels which choke up the narrow way which leads between the two rows of ships from the mouth of the harbour to the Quai d’Orléans.

CHAPTER TWO

FATHER AND SON

DANTÈS, AFTER HAVING TRAVERSED THE CANEBIÈRE,¹ TOOK THE RUE DE Noailles, and entering into a small house, situated on the left side of the Allées de Meillan, rapidly ascended four stories of a dark staircase, holding the baluster in his hand, whilst with the other he repressed the beatings of his heart, and paused before a half-opened door, which revealed all the interior of a small apartment.

This apartment was occupied by Dantès’ father.

The news of the arrival of the Pharaon had not yet reached the old man, who, mounted on a chair, was amusing himself with staking with tremulous hand some nasturtiums which, mingled with clematis, formed a kind of trellis at his window.

Suddenly he felt an arm thrown round his body, and a well-known voice behind him exclaimed, Father! Dear father!

The old man uttered a cry, and turned round; then, seeing his son, he fell into his arms, pale and trembling.

What ails you, my dearest father? Are you ill? inquired the young man much alarmed.

No, no, my dear Edmond—my boy—my son! No; but I did not expect you; and joy, the surprise of seeing you so suddenly—Ah! I really seem as if I were going to die!

Come, come, cheer up, my dear father! ’Tis I—really I! They say joy never hurts. The good Captain Leclere is dead, father, and it is probable that, with the aid of M. Morrel, I shall have his place. Do you understand father? Only imagine me a captain at twenty, with a hundred louis pay, and a share in the profits! Is this not more than a poor sailor, like me, could have hoped for?

Yes, my dear boy, replied the old man, and much more than you could have expected.

Come, come, said the young man, a glass of wine, father, will revive you. Where do you keep your wine?

No, no; thank ye. You need not look for it; I do not want it, said the old man.

Yes, yes, father, tell me where it is; and he opened two or three cupboards.

It is no use, said the old man; there is no wine.

What! No wine? said Dantès, turning pale, and looking alternately at the hollow cheeks of the old man and the empty cupboards. What! No wine? Have you wanted money, father?

I wanted nothing since I see you, said the old man.

Yet, stammered Dantès, wiping the perspiration from his brow, yet I gave you two hundred francs when I left three months ago.

Yes, yes, Edmond, that is true, but you forgot at that time a little debt to our neighbour, Caderousse. He reminded me of it, telling me if I did not pay for you, he would be paid by M. Morrel; and so, you see, lest he might do you an injury, I paid him—

But, cried Dantès, it was a hundred and forty francs I owed Caderousse. So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs?

You know how little I require, said the old man.

Here, father! Here! said Edmond, take this—take it, and send for something immediately.

And he emptied his pockets on the table, whose contents consisted of a dozen pieces of gold, five or six crowns, and some smaller coin.

The countenance of old Dantès brightened.

Whom does this belong to? he inquired.

To me! To you! To us! Take it; buy some provisions; be happy, and tomorrow we shall have more. I have some smuggled coffee, and most capital tobacco, in a small chest in the hold, which you shall have tomorrow. But, hush! Here comes somebody.

’Tis Caderousse, who has heard of your arrival, and, no doubt, comes to congratulate you on your fortunate return.

There appeared at the door at that moment the black and shock head of Caderousse. He was a man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, and held in his hand a morsel of cloth, which, in his capacity as a tailor, he was about to turn into the lining of a coat.

What! Is it you, Edmond, returned? said he, with a broad Marseillaise accent, and a grin that displayed his teeth as white as ivory.

Yes, as you see, neighbour Caderousse; and ready to be agreeable to you in any and every way, replied Dantès, but ill concealing his feeling under this appearance of civility.

Thanks—thanks; but, fortunately, I do not want for any thing; and it chances that at times there are others who have need of me. Dantès made a gesture. I do not allude to you, my boy. No! No! I lent you money, and you returned it; that’s like good neighbours, and we are quits.

We are never quits with those who oblige us, was Dantès’ reply; for when we do not owe them money, we owe them gratitude.

What’s the use of mentioning that? What is done is done. Let us talk of your happy return, my boy. It seems you have come back rich, continued the tailor, looking askance at the handful of gold and silver which Dantès had thrown on the table.

The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the dark eyes of his neighbour.

Eh! he said, negligently, this money is not mine: I was expressing to my father my fears that he had wanted many things in my absence, and to convince me, he emptied his purse on the table. Come, father, added Dantès, put this money back in your box—unless neighbour Caderousse wants anything, and in that case it is at his service.

No, my boy, no, said Caderousse. I am not in any want, thank God! The state nourishes me. Keep your money—keep it, I say; one never has too much; but at the same time, my boy, I am as much obliged by your offer as if I took advantage of it.

It was offered with goodwill, said Dantès.

No doubt, my boy; no doubt. Well, you stand well with M. Morrel, I hear, you insinuating dog, you!

M. Morrel has always been exceedingly kind to me, replied Dantès.

So much the better—so much the better! Nothing will give greater pleasure to all your old friends; and I know one down there behind the citadel of Saint Nicolas, who will not be sorry to hear it.

Mercédès? said the old man.

Yes, my dear father, and with your permission, now I have seen you, and know you are well, and have all you require, I will ask your consent to go and pay a visit to the Catalans.

Go, my dear boy, said old Dantès; and Heaven bless you in your wife, as it has blessed me in my son!

His wife! said Caderousse; why, how fast you go on, father Dantès; she is not his wife yet, it appears.

No, but according to all probability she soon will be, replied Edmond.

Yes—yes, said Caderousse; but you were right to return as soon as possible, my boy.

And why?

Because Mercédès is a very fine girl, and fine girls never lack lovers; she, particularly, has them by dozens.

Really? answered Edmond, with a smile which had in it traces of slight uneasiness.

Ah, yes, continued Caderousse, and capital offers too; but you know you will be captain, and who could refuse you then?

Meaning to say, replied Dantès, with a smile which but ill concealed his trouble, that if I were not a captain—

Eh—eh! said Caderousse, shaking his head.

Come, come, said the sailor, I have a better opinion than you of women in general, and of Mercédès in particular; and I am certain that, captain or not, she will remain ever faithful to me.

So much the better—so much the better, said Caderousse. When one is going to be married, there is nothing like implicit confidence; but never mind that, my boy, but go and announce your arrival, and let her know all your hopes and prospects.

I will go directly, was Edmond’s reply; and, embracing his father, and saluting Caderousse, he left the apartment.

Caderousse lingered for a moment, then taking leave of old Dantès, he went down stairs to rejoin Danglars, who awaited him at the corner of the Rue Senac.

Well, said Danglars, did you see him?

I have just left him, answered Caderousse.

Did he allude to his hope of being captain?

He spoke of it as a thing already decided.

Patience! said Danglars, he is in too much hurry, it appears to me.

Why, it seems M. Morrel has promised him the thing.

So that he is quite elate about it.

That is to say, he is actually insolent on the matter—has already offered me his patronage, as if he were a grand personage, and proffered me a loan of money, as though he were a banker.

Which you refused.

Most assuredly; although I might easily have accepted, for it was I who put into his hands the first silver he ever earned; but now M. Dantès has no longer any occasion for assistance—he is about to become a captain.

Pooh! said Danglars, he is not one yet.

"Ma foi! And it will be as well he never should be, answered Caderousse; for if he should be, there will be really no speaking to him."

If we choose, replied Danglars, he will remain what he is, and, perhaps, become even less than he is.

What do you mean?

Nothing—I was speaking to myself. And is he still in love with the Catalane?

Over head and ears: but unless I am much mistaken, there will be a storm in that quarter.

What do you know? Come, tell me!

"Well, every time I

Reviews for The Count of Monte Cristo (Barnes & Noble Signature Editions)

[tikimoof · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Reading the unabridged version meant that there were some parts that dragged at times (Benedetto's backstory in particular), but other than that, this book was very capable of hooking me in and staying fairly exciting through to the end.

[nx74defiant · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Complex story. Multiple story lines. Edmond takes on multiple identities. Edmond Dantès is betrayed by multiple people due to jealousy, envy, a desire to protect their own interests.

[comfypants · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A wrongfully-imprisoned man unhatches an elaborate revenge scheme.3/4 (Good)If you want to spend a couple months reading the same book, this one's pretty good for that.(Sep. 2021)

[kittycunningh-815148 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Now, I want to watch a movie to see what they felt could be left out.

[joe73-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What an incredible story. The moral is quite simple. There are some people you just do not underestimate. I cannot begin to imagine what thoughts ran through our character's head while he slept at night or how he managed to keep things in enough order to stay ahead of those who wronged him. A sad heartbreaking story but also one of redemption.

[jbreedlove_6 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Wanted to read a classic after a number of detective books. A long haul of a book that is about 700 pages too long. Obvious w little to no character development w the first 300 pages interesting and th elast two hundred rushed. But a look at early 19th century France that was interesting and he did have some interesting scene descriptins and a rare insight or two.

[dhmontgomery-265379 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This justifiably famous masterpiece of plotting is best understood today, I think, as an ancestor of the modern superhero genre. The main character suffers a terrible trauma as a youth, at the hands of powers far greater then him, then by happenstance acquires superhuman powers of his own and uses them to seek out justice while concealing his identity. These tropes underly many famous comic book characters, and none moreso than Bruce Wayne/Batman, who similarly uses immense wealth to develop uncanny abilities.

Seen as a prototypical form of the superhero genre, many of the odder features of the book make perfect sense. Monte Cristo's uncanny abilities, which begin from but are by no means restricted to essentially unlimited wealth, are quasi-supernatural. He is surrounded by a host of more mundane sidekicks, who regularly need rescuing by the count's greater abilities. His enemies all have their own abilities and backstories (of whom the most interesting and capable is Villefort), as well as weaknesses that must be exploited to defeat them. Like the best exhibits of the superhero genre, Monte Cristo does not simply defeat his enemies, but suffers moral hazard in doing so, and must grapple with the ultimate morality of how he uses his powers; his final victory is not a clean one.

This also helps contextualize the reaction to Monte Cristo, which is often dismissed as a simple adventure book (never mind that the unabridged version contains repeated drug trips and gruesome violence), much as comic books are seen as juvenile. In fact, Dumas's masterpiece, like works such as Watchmen or The Killing Joke is best understood as a superlative example of a non-elite genre, which uses juvenile tropes to tell a more sophisticated story. (It is helped in this by the sheer weirdness of many passages in the unabridged version, which elevate it above a mere adventure yarn.)

[jrthebutler · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The classic story of an innocent man wrongly, but deliberately imprisoned and his brilliant strategy for revenge against those who betrayed him.

[aront-2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I hadn’t read this book in decades, although it was one of my teenage favorites. I was wondering if it would stand the test of time.First, the Penguin Classics translation by Robin Buss is magnificent, and makes clear many points older translations make fuzzy. While as the translator’s introduction points out, this book is now relegated to the YA category, this is in fact an adult book, with very adult themes.While Dumas is perhaps one of the first great masters of genre fiction, this book transcends that classification. Besides being a riveting story, it is also a brilliant and unsurpassed meditation on human nature, right action, justice and revenge and the ethical ambiguity & complexity of all these.Read this book and this translation. Despite the books length you will find it hard.to put down and have much to ponder after reading it.

[ghr4 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo is simply one of the greatest novels in all of literature. It is an epic tale of adventure and intrigue, betrayal and revenge, mischief and murder, romance and redemption. It is a remarkably long and complex story with myriad characters that manages to hold one’s interest and still leave the reader yearning for more even at the end of its nearly 1,250 pages. The unabridged Penguin Classics edition with Robin Buss’s smooth translation and solid Introduction is the easily the version of choice. This is a book to be savored, with re-readings certain to deepen one’s appreciation; however, I will not watch any of the film adaptations, as they are sure to pale in comparison, and will inevitably alter the matchless mind’s-eye visuals that the book has created.

[leslie398 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

2021 review: reread via BPL audiobookThis unabridged audiobook narrated by John Lee made me bump up my previous rating from 4.5* to 5*. This (very) long novel reminded a bit of Victor Hugo in places with long digressions into minor characters' stories, though being Dumas even these were generally pretty exciting.While I have enjoyed several film adaptations, none of them have the complexity of the novel (and most make some sort of significant change to either plot or character). I am so glad that I decided to reread this and in an unabridged edition!

[danielstj · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A flawed yet still worthwhile masterpiece that shows the prowess of Dumas in creating a character that seems, and feels, real.

[thedivineoomba · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I so was not expecting this book to so... fun. It is a near perfect book for what it is - drama, love, action, revenge, kindness, absurdity. You should totally read this book.Don't be afraid of the label of classic! Or that it is about a man in prison who escapes and gets revenge on those who put him there. Its not a dark story at all. It reminds me an Errol Flynn movie - where everybody is exactly what they seem, the good guys win, the bad guys get punished, and everybody lives the life they deserve at the end.But, the book isn't perfect - there is some aspects that are quite a stretch to believe. For example, Dante become an educated man by talking to a priest in the next cell over. Or how a ship was completely recreated, cargo and all. Or how the Count has a seemingly unending supply of money. There are a few ethical issues that will cause modern audiences some trepidation. The Count has a few slaves, even though slavery is illegal in France. Or his treatment of Mercedes - was she really suppose to wait for him for all the years he was gone?

[amerynth · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I thoroughly enjoyed Alexandre Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo" and am very thankful a monthly challenge prompted me to pick this book up, as it really wasn't on my radar. It turned out to be right up my alley and the type of book I really enjoy.The book centers on Edmond Dantes, a 19-year-old French sailor whose enemies get the better of him, leaving him in jail for over a decade before he makes his escape. Dantes becomes obsessed with meting out justice -- revenge against those who destroyed his life, and favor for those who remained loyal. There are some great twists and turns (as well as some tangents, but I didn't really mind them) in this book and I enjoyed seeing where Dantes' efforts for retribution landed. I thought this was a pretty fun read overall.

[skateboard34-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fantastic story of retribution and revenge. I took the plunge reading the unabridged version and although it took a while to get into, I couldn't stop reading once the Count had been fully unleashed. I kept expecting negative things to happen to the protagonist but instead, pure revenge. It was great to read through and this one-sided dynamic didn't get boring at all.

[kristelh_15 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This story is mostly a very long adventure story with themes of revenge. Dante's is harmed by evil people. He goes to prison where he is without hope but he manages to survive. As the Count of Monte Cristo, he takes his revenge on others by setting them up to destroy themselves. I thought I would really like this story but I often found myself not liking it, not liking the main character and not liking the whole revenge as it also seems wrong. In the end, I needed to remind myself that this is an adventure story. The ending was also displeasing. I did not think it fair to have to mourn for 30 days the death of a loved one. I understand why he did it, it just seems so cruel. What right does the Dante have to act as God? I thought the story was way too long, covered too much territory and I am glad I listened to it instead of read this huge overwritten book. That being said, I would read it again and I think I might enjoy it more with a second reading. Rating 3.83

[capriciousreader · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Everyone in this book is bat-shit crazy.

[michael_rose-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oh, ho, the unabridged version! I've seen the 2002 film, though not the 1934 film. Looking for something interesting to read among the classics, I chose this one recently. In full disclosure, my medication has left me quite unable to sleep like a human being, so I've had a lot of extra time to tackle this book rather quickly (relatively speaking). Unlike other longer books I've read from this period, it's been a breeze to get through, and quite enjoyable. Also, it's another example of a book being superior (and quite different to, in many respects) any film adaptations. My edition isn't exactly this one, as many books I read (when not from the library) are actually on my nook (though I select the closest approximate on this website), and it has a few spelling/grammar/format errors here and there (not prohibitively so). I'm only encouraged to read more works by Alexandre Dumas, who seems to have led quite the interesting life himself!

[electrascaife · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oh, this is So. Good. The story of Edmund Dantes, his misfortunes, rise to riches and his deliciously intricate revenge is just as fabulous as the details of all of the intertwining characters and stories following along in his wake. A long one, but I was so sad for it to end. Dantes also enters the ranks of fictional fantasy boyfriends (move over, Mr. Holmes, and Gen, and...).

[keithgordonvernon · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Long but enjoyable

[rayski_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I found this book an absolute slug to get through. At times I couldn't put it down (e.g. his stint in prison) and other times I could find every excuse in the world to not read it. Mostly the latter was my experience with the book and maybe because of the slow read, many stops, only reading it for minutes at a time, all contributed to me finding it a tough read.

[sonya.contreras · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A great story about people, life and human nature.

Revenge may be sweet, or not so sweet.

The interweaving of many characters showed how life isn't predictable with one person, let alone the responses of those around them. A true 'life' book that shows things don't always turn out 'happily ever after.'

A true work of literature showing how we want to be like God and reward evil. We find that we are not God and should not try to be Him.

Our family has taken two years to read this book together. It was helpful to read out loud. When we would forget who this character was, someone else could remind of who he was, especially with all the foreign names and titles.

[tomeboy_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This translation by Robin Buss is fantastic. I accidentally read an abridged edition and felt cheated.

[tonifgmamtc · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

No revenge story will ever measure up after reading this. Dude is the Revenge Master, level infinity. He was framed and sent away to prison for life as a young man. After fourteen years in prison, he escapes and plots and amazing comeback. He doesn't rush in and screw it all up. It takes twenty-three years overall, but everyone who even stood next to someone that looked at him funny gets theirs. He totally wrecks and ruins every single one amazingly. Wow, he was dedicated.

[brodiew2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"This Count de Monte-Cristo is a singular man," said Emmanuel. "Yes," answered Maxmilian; "but I feel sure he has an excellent heart, and that he likes us." The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexndre Dumas is a singular novel. I can think of no higher praise than to say it now ranks as one of my top five favorite books ever. It is the story of a young sailor named Edmund Dantes who returns from voyage intending to marry his love Mercedes. On his return, he is praised by the ship owner (who trusts him and loves him like a son), and in wake of the captain's death, promotes Edmund to Captain. This does not sit well with Danglar, the ship owner's representative on the ship. It does not take Danglar long to conspire with Fernand, a soldier and friend of Mercedes who also loves her. The conspirators accuse Dantes of being a traitor and he sent before the magistrate the night before he is to be married. The Magistrate, Monsieur de Villfort, is ready to release Dantes, when evidence is provided that he must personally protect. For this reason, he ships Dantes to prison where he stays for 14 years. When he emerges from prison, he is a changed man. He is led to a treasure of unimaginable size which he plans to use to avenge himself against his enemies. This review will be unconventional as I have shared my thoughts with you along the way. Please forgive my rambling stream of consciousness praising this magnificent novel. Dumas is a master of character. This is present in Edmund Dantes/The Count himself. We begin with a simple man who is good and loves his simple life. After prison, his education by the Abbe, and his immense fortune, we have a magnanimous man on the surface, but a cold, seething man underneath. The mask of The Count reminds me very much of Batman and how Bruce Wayne is the mask. Dantes is a man who has everything the world says is success: knowledge, power, fame, riches. But in all of this he is driven by revenge. Thankfully, ultimately, he is not consumed by it. In fact, he takes just as many pains to bless those he loves as he does to cause the downfall of the those who wronged him.Dumas is a master of character. There are many characters in this book, major and minor. What amazes me is that Dumas gives every minor character a moment in the spotlight. An example of this is a scene in which Albert de Morcef, Fernand's son, challenges his good friend Beachamp to a duel over an item which appeared in one of his newspapers. This scene could have been short as Beachamp could simply have accepted the challenge. Albert is insistent that his father's honor has been impugned. Beauchamp takes extra care to try and deter his friend as the item got into the paper without his knowledge and that he cannot confirm or deny its truth. Beachamp skillfully, and lovingly, delays the duel long enough to resolve the issue. This scene, and others like it, show the love that permeates the novel. Whether is it romantic love, filial love, the love of a friend, or the love of a mentor, Dumas make this love inescapable. I'll wrap up by saying I loved that every bit of this book is central to the plot. There is little if any fat here. Every tangent that Dumas leads us on rounds back to the central story and bares on The Count's machinations. And, his machinations are great. This is the long con. The Count knows all. The Counts see all. At least, we are lead to believe this into the final pages of the book. I cannot leave without sharing that John Lee performed this book as a master of his craft. He uses multiple accents, of Italian, French, Arabian, and British. They are seamless. He builds dramatic tension so well and expressed anguish in such a way that I cannot help but get a lump in my throat. I would also say that this is my favorite audiobook ever. Lee's performance is so well rounded and so rich that I say it should be held up as a definitive example of the craft.

[melydia_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When I started this book, all I knew of the plot was from the movie: Edmond Dantes gets wrongfully jailed, Dantes escapes jail, Dantes becomes rich, Dantes exacts revenge on the people who threw him in jail. But given it's nearly a thousand pages long, it comes as no surprise that there's a whole lot more to it than that. First of all, there are three people responsible for the jailing, and by the time Dantes returns for revenge, all his enemies have grown children with their own little dramas. There are loads of characters, but there's enough repetition in the narration that it's not too terribly difficult to keep track of who's who. And I found I enjoyed it a lot more than I'd expected. I mean, I liked both of the Musketeers novels I read, but this was on another level. And while I was disappointed with Mercedes's story arc and I thought Dantes's relationship with Haydee was kind of creepy, overall it was a really great story.

[datrappert · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Maybe as good as the Three Musketeers, but very different, although full of the same danger, intrigue, romance, action, etc. Completely engrossing, as the Count seeks revenge for his false imprisonment.

[mattries37315 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This classic story of wrongful imprisonment, hidden treasure, and revenge is truly a masterpiece. Alexandre Dumas’ famous novel The Count of Monte Cristo has seen life not only in print but in film and television, but one cannot appreciate the novel unless you read it in its entire unabridged length.Edmond Dantes is wrongfully accused of a crime and thrown in prison without trial to be forgotten, after overcoming both mental and physical anguish and befriending a fellow prisoner, and finally he is able to escape. Thanks to his friendship Dantes knows where a potential hidden treasure is located and finds it to be real, and using it begins finding out why he was thrown into prison and chart is path to revenge through fortune and hidden identities. Yet what this quick synopsis omits is the numerous and fascinating major and secondary characters that Dantes interacts throughout the narrative.Originally published in serial form, Dumas was paid for how much he wrote and one would think that The Count of Monte Cristo might be riddled with meandering subplots that never go anywhere and/or have nothing to do with the central plot. But Dumas instead wove a tapestry of beauty with every word he wrote; instead of making meandering plots he described scenes and events in rich detail that it brings the story even more alive in the reader’s imagination.If pressed to find anything negative to say about this book, the easiest answer would be cultural references that are almost 170 years old. The only other negative was the completely different societal norms that were in Parisian society in the 1840s compared today’s. However both of these ‘negatives’ can easily be put down to a piece of fiction that was contemporary when it was written but now can be seen as historical fiction with the passage to time.The Count of Monte Cristo needs to be read in all its unabridged glory to fully appreciate why it is a masterpiece and classic. Dumas’ literary tapestry is a delight to behold once finished with the last page and makes the reader think about when they’ll have time to reread it in the future.

[parp-4 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Interesting read for young people. It provides entertainment for many hours and lots of historical information.

[thebookmagpie · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I'm finished. It got better. MUCH better. More later. Maybe.