Respawned as The Count of Glow-Up-Chapter 264: Farewell to Paris: III
"Look at me," she continued with profound sadness. "My eyes no longer shine with their old brilliance. The days are long gone when I used to smile at Edmond Dantès as he looked up at me from the window of that attic room where his old father lived. Years of grief have created an unbridgeable gap between those days and now. I don’t blame you or hate you, my friend. No, Edmond, it’s myself I blame, myself I hate! What a miserable creature I’ve become!" She clasped her hands together and raised her eyes toward the sky. "I once had faith, innocence, and love, everything that makes angels happy. And now what am I?"
Monte Cristo moved closer and silently reached for her hand.
"No," she said, gently withdrawing it. "No, my friend, don’t touch me. You spared me, yet of all those who fell to your vengeance, I was the most guilty. The others were driven by hatred, greed, and selfishness. But I was weak. I lacked the courage to follow my own judgment. No, don’t take my hand, Edmond. I’m sure you’re thinking of some kind words to console me, but don’t speak them. Save them for others more worthy of your kindness. Look-" She fully exposed her face. "See how misfortune has turned my hair silver? How my eyes are ringed with purple from all my tears? How my forehead is lined with wrinkles? But you, Edmond, you’re still young, handsome, dignified. That’s because you had faith. Because you had strength. Because you trusted in God, and God sustained you. As for me, I was a coward. I denied God, and he abandoned me."
Mercédès burst into tears, her heart breaking under the weight of memories. Monte Cristo took her hand and kissed it, but even she could feel it was a cold kiss, no warmer than if he’d kissed the hand of a marble saint.
"It often happens," she continued, "that one mistake destroys an entire life. I thought you were dead. Why did I survive you? What good did it do to mourn you eternally in my heart? Only to turn me from a woman of thirty-nine into a woman who looks fifty. And when I recognized you, the only one who did, why could I save only my son? Shouldn’t I have also tried to save the man I’d accepted as my husband, guilty though he was? Yet I let him die! No, worse than that, wasn’t I partly responsible for his death through my indifference, my contempt for him? I forgot, or refused to remember, that he’d become a traitor and a liar for my sake. And what have I gained? I accompanied my son this far, only to abandon him now and let him sail alone to dangerous Africa. I’ve been weak, cowardly, I’ve betrayed my own feelings. Like all traitors to themselves, I bring bad luck to everyone around me."
"No, Mercédès," Monte Cristo said firmly. "You’re being too hard on yourself. You’re a noble woman, and it was your grief that stopped me from completing my revenge. But I was just an instrument, driven by an invisible, offended God who chose not to hold back the blow I was meant to deliver. I swear by that God, at whose feet I’ve knelt daily for ten years, that I would have sacrificed my life for you, and with it all my plans. But, and I say this with pride, Mercédès, God needed me, so I lived. Look at the past and present, try to glimpse the future, and then tell me if I’m not an instrument of divine will. The worst misfortunes, the most terrible suffering, abandonment by everyone who loved me, persecution by those who didn’t even know me, these were the trials of my youth. Then suddenly, from captivity, loneliness, and misery, I was restored to freedom and became the owner of a fortune so brilliant, so vast, so extraordinary that I’d have been blind not to see that God gave it to me for a specific purpose. From that moment, I viewed this wealth as something entrusted to me for a sacred mission. I never thought about the life you could have made happy for me, Mercédès. Not one hour of peaceful calm was mine. I felt myself driven forward like an avenging angel. Like captains embarking on dangerous voyages, I gathered my provisions, loaded my weapons, collected every means of attack and defense. I trained my body through brutal exercises and hardened my soul through bitter trials. I taught my arm to kill, my eyes to witness unbearable suffering, my mouth to smile at the most horrible sights. I’d been kind, trusting, and forgiving, but I became vengeful, calculating, and ruthless. Or rather, I became immovable as fate itself. Then I launched myself onto the path that opened before me. I overcame every obstacle and reached my goal. But woe to those who stood in my way!"
"Enough, Edmond, enough!" Mercédès cried. "Believe me, the woman who alone recognized you was the only one who truly understood you. Even if you’d crushed me like glass when I crossed your path, I still would have admired you! There’s an abyss between you and ordinary men, Edmond. Comparing you to others will always be one of my greatest torments. There’s no one in the world like you in worth and goodness! But we must say goodbye now. Let us part."
"Before I leave you, Mercédès, is there nothing you want to ask of me?" the Count said.
"I want only one thing in this world, Edmond, my son’s happiness."
"Pray that God spares his life, and I’ll dedicate myself to ensuring his happiness."
"Thank you, Edmond."
"But what about you? Is there nothing you want for yourself?"
"For myself, I want nothing. I live between two graves. One belongs to Edmond Dantès, lost to me so long ago. He had my love, and though that word sounds strange coming from my faded lips now, it’s a precious memory I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. The other grave belongs to the man who died by Edmond Dantès’s hand. I accept what was done, but I must pray for the dead."
"Your son will be happy, Mercédès," the Count promised again.
"Then I’ll have all the happiness this world can give me."
"What will you do now?"
"If I said I’d live here like the old Mercédès, earning my bread through work, it wouldn’t be true, and you wouldn’t believe me anyway. I no longer have the strength for anything except prayer. But I won’t need to work. The small amount of money you buried here years ago, which I found where you said it would be, is enough to sustain me. People will probably gossip about me, about how I live and what I do, but that doesn’t matter."
"Mercédès," the Count said carefully, "I’m not criticizing you, but you made an unnecessary sacrifice by giving up all of M. de Morcerf’s fortune. At least half belonged to you by right, through your careful management and economy."
"I know what you’re about to suggest, but I can’t accept it, Edmond. My son wouldn’t allow it."
"I won’t do anything without Albert de Morcerf’s full approval. I’ll speak with him and respect his wishes. But if he’s willing to accept my help, will you oppose it?"
"You know very well, Edmond, that I’m no longer capable of reasoning or making decisions. I have no will anymore, except the will to never make choices. I’ve been overwhelmed by so many storms that I’ve become passive in God’s hands, like a sparrow in an eagle’s talons. I live because I haven’t been ordained to die yet. If help is sent to me, I’ll accept it."
"Madame," Monte Cristo said with concern, "you shouldn’t talk like this! This isn’t how we should show our submission to heaven’s will. We’re all free agents with choices."
"If only that were true!" Mercédès cried. "If I had free will but no power to make that will effective, it would drive me to despair!"
Monte Cristo bowed his head, shrinking from the intensity of her grief.
"Won’t you at least promise to see me again?" he asked quietly.
"On the contrary, we will meet again," Mercédès said, pointing solemnly toward heaven. "I say this to prove I still have hope."
She pressed her trembling hand to the Count’s one last time, then rushed up the stairs and disappeared from view.
Monte Cristo slowly left the house and walked toward the harbor. But Mercédès didn’t watch him go, even though she sat at the small window of the room that had once belonged to old Dantès. Her eyes were straining to see the ship carrying her son across the vast sea. Yet her voice involuntarily murmured softly, again and again, "Edmond... Edmond... Edmond..."
