Disclaimer: The names don't belong to me. And I am trying to make it sound a little like Dumas.
The night Mercedes told Albert what happened to protect the count.
"I have been humiliated by the very man I wished to humiliate!" Albert ran away from the opera house with his friends. After a frustrating discussion that lasted for scarcely a minute, Beauchamp had gone back to tell the count about the time, place, and weaponry. Albert was certainly not in diplomatic moods, if he ever was. His face was flushed with anger and sweat, his breathing rapid. "How did he do it? How dared he do it? After all that he's done to my father… Dishonorable man whom I have called savior and with whom I dined, at my home! But all would be over tomorrow… Either I kill him, or he kills me!"
With such thoughts he arrived home. As he approached the door he stopped in his tracks. Of course, if he was thinking of dueling with the count, whose marksmanship has been reputed to be formidable, he must not tell his poor mother. Mother, perhaps the only one without a dark secret in the house! "How sad she would be, when she learns tomorrow morning of the death and true character of the admired count, or the death of her own son. Yes, if I should die against such a confident man…" The count looked proud in the opera house. In fact, he looked more than proud; he was majestic as a king, a sultan, an emperor! Damn the man!
Albert calmed himself down by taking off his jacket. The night air chilled his skin. He felt the warm sweat turning to ice on his palm, and walked in the door.
The house was silent. Ever since the disgrace, the house quieted down. Mercedes was not at home. Where was she? For a long while Albert stood there, pondering whether he should wait for his mother in the hall or in his room. If he waited in the hall, she may guess that something is wrong. If he waited in the bedroom, then how was he not worried about his own mother?
He stood there, like a stone, wavering between bedroom and the hall, and thinking of other things too. Those miscellaneous thoughts floated in his subconscious like entangled strings: death, blood, pistol shots, mother crying, tears, a will, father's anger, the court, Haydee, and the magnificent man he once admired but now hated. Was it right for him to challenge the count to a duel? According to filial duties, surely, but according to justice? His father was a traitor and a liar who received his fortunes through denial! Unbelievable. Yet why did the count have to come along to make them suffer… through secrecy and manipulation?
The door hushed all his thoughts. Suddenly the mind was quiet as a sepulcher, watching a ghost entering from the doorway.
Mercedes arrived home. She did not look sad, but bitter. Her face was deathly white with detectable tear traces around her eyes. Her nose was a little red. She's been crying.
"Albert." She called him, softly but firmly. "My son, come here. I must speak with you."
"Yes, mother." Words choked. Albert looked at her mother. Such a beauty, despite her years she was still the most perfect woman in the world.
"I know what you did at the opera." Mercedes said, without sound of reproach.
Albert paused. "Well, mother?"
Mercedes looked at her son with sorrow. Albert couldn't bear it. "Mother, forgive me… but it's all for honor…"
Mercedes grabbed his arms. "My son! Look into my eyes. I know what you have set out to do, with good intentions, but you are wrong!"
"Wrong?" Albert whispered, "To justice perhaps, but not …" Mercedes hushed him.
"Shhhh. Listen to me. You are wrong in every aspect of it, and it's not your fault. I have been wrong too, until tonight, until I spoke with him."
"With whom?" Albert was alarmed.
"With the count. I went to ask him to spare your life."
Albert was amazed. "Mother, oh mother, how could you? After what the man has done to us…"
Mercedes looked at him with penetrating eyes, penetrating almost like the count's, except with profound love and emotionality. "Listen to me, Albert. It's time for you to hear a story, a story from my past."
"I am listening, mother." Albert said tenderly and softly.
Mercedes pressed his hand. "When I was very young, Albert, when I was about 17, I was in love with a sailor called Edmond Dantes. No, he is not your father. But we were deeply in love. He was a simple, handsome, noble, and brave man who was to marry me. When he went out to voyages, I waited. When he came back, we rejoiced. He had a pious father and a small fortune. But he was very capable, so when he was 19, he was promoted to be the captain of a ship. Everything was perfect for us. At the time, another man was in love with me. He was jealous of Edmond, and wanted to hurt him. So when opportunity came along, he betrayed Edmond, who thought him as a friend. He mailed a letter that said Edmond was a Bonaparte. It was a lie, Albert, because Edmond was too innocent to be a political radical. On our betrothal night, a feast which the very traitor attended, Edmond was arrested."
"But he came out soon enough, of course." Said Albert.
"No, Albert. He never came back to me. I washed my face with tears while his father prayed and starved himself to death. Can you imagine it, Albert? An old man with his only joy and hope taken away on a happy occasion. He had nothing but despair then. I went to him daily, and saw a person more miserable than I, for I still had comfort. Yes, the man who mailed the sinister letter was there for me. He went away to the army but his very existence was a comfort." She shuddered. "I should have killed myself. I had the reason and the sorrow enough to kill myself. But foolish as I was, I didn't. I waited for Edmond for 18 months, and was married."
Albert's face turned very pale. "And Edmond?" He whispered.
"Apparently he stayed in prison for 14 years, before he was thrown into the sea in a bag with a canon ball tied to it."
"Fourteen years?" Albert was horror -struck.
"Yes, fourteen years in prison, alone, betrayed, and helpless. And I, the unfaithful lover, took another!" Mercedes wrung her hands in guilt and shame. Albert took her hands, "Mother! It was not your fault. It was that traitor's fault!" Upon this he realized something. "The traitor, your husband… you mean… my, my, my…?" He gazed at Mercedes incredulously.
"Yes, Albert, your father. The one who betrayed Ali Teblin and Edmond Dantes, the former out of greed the latter out of jealousy! But I cannot reproach him, Albert, because fool that I was, I married him! I didn't love him, but I married him."
"But," Albert's eyes grew bright, "this does not excuse the Count of Monte Cristo! My father's sins can be paid before God, and the Count of Monte Cristo is not God!"
"Very true, Albert. The Count of Monte Cristo is not God, but he is Edmond Dantes, whose father was driven to death by your father, and whose fiancée married your father!"
Albert held his breath. Tears gathered in his eyes quickly and rolled down his white cheeks like mountain snow in spring. "Edmond Dantes, Edmond Dantes, The Count of Monte Cristo…" Of course, it must be true. Mother's unnatural reaction to him, his not eating under father's roof, his mysterious manner and past, his dignity and confidence at the opera, all of it now confirmed by his mother.
"And he told you this? How can he be sure that it was father, and not some other people?" Albert asked, with a glimmer of hope, hope for the possibility that he can still respect his father.
"Yes. I went to him tonight. I recognized him the second he spoke in our house. Remember that day when you introduced him to me? And after that, I've followed his actions. I knew that our grief came with his effort. But I didn't blame him. I thought it was because of me, because of whom I married in his place… But I have underestimated him. He would not have wanted me to suffer, but he would have your father suffer! Your father and you, because of what happened to him. Albert, what would you have done if you were he, think, my son, try to imagine!"
"I don't need to imagine," Albert said with a shivering voice, "I know. I have challenged him to a duel because he rightly punished my father. I was mistaken yet I was going to kill him. What would I have done if I were right, and confident in knowing that I am right? I would have destroyed the man completely, including seducing his wife, killing his son, and deliver the death blow myself, by telling him how guilty he is and how God truly takes revenges!" As he spoke, his tone grew darker; his fists clenched; and what was a whisper became an exclamation. "The count has good reason to kill me, and I am going to let him do it, tomorrow morning."
"No, no, Albert. That is what I was going to tell you. He has spared you." Mercedes looked upon his son with pride, love, and sorrow.
"Spare me?" Albert smiled bitterly. "No, mother, he would not give up now. And I have not received a message from him saying that he would not fight with me. He is too proud, mother, and too much wronged. I would not refrain from his bullet."
"That is very noble of you, Albert. But as your mother, I cannot see you die. I could not let it happen. So I went to him and begged him to spare you."
"And he consented?" Albert smiled faintly, not believing.
"Yes! He is willing to die in the duel! Consider, Albert, how much he has to lose. He has a vast fortune, a great reputation, a noble title, and a household of loyal servants. But he has decided to spare you."
Albert could not talk.
"I have told you his decision, Albert. Now it is yours. Do you truly wish the man dead?"
Albert still could not talk.
"Good night, my son! I trust you." Mercedes turned around and went upstairs, full of hope.
The night Mercedes told Albert what happened to protect the count.
"I have been humiliated by the very man I wished to humiliate!" Albert ran away from the opera house with his friends. After a frustrating discussion that lasted for scarcely a minute, Beauchamp had gone back to tell the count about the time, place, and weaponry. Albert was certainly not in diplomatic moods, if he ever was. His face was flushed with anger and sweat, his breathing rapid. "How did he do it? How dared he do it? After all that he's done to my father… Dishonorable man whom I have called savior and with whom I dined, at my home! But all would be over tomorrow… Either I kill him, or he kills me!"
With such thoughts he arrived home. As he approached the door he stopped in his tracks. Of course, if he was thinking of dueling with the count, whose marksmanship has been reputed to be formidable, he must not tell his poor mother. Mother, perhaps the only one without a dark secret in the house! "How sad she would be, when she learns tomorrow morning of the death and true character of the admired count, or the death of her own son. Yes, if I should die against such a confident man…" The count looked proud in the opera house. In fact, he looked more than proud; he was majestic as a king, a sultan, an emperor! Damn the man!
Albert calmed himself down by taking off his jacket. The night air chilled his skin. He felt the warm sweat turning to ice on his palm, and walked in the door.
The house was silent. Ever since the disgrace, the house quieted down. Mercedes was not at home. Where was she? For a long while Albert stood there, pondering whether he should wait for his mother in the hall or in his room. If he waited in the hall, she may guess that something is wrong. If he waited in the bedroom, then how was he not worried about his own mother?
He stood there, like a stone, wavering between bedroom and the hall, and thinking of other things too. Those miscellaneous thoughts floated in his subconscious like entangled strings: death, blood, pistol shots, mother crying, tears, a will, father's anger, the court, Haydee, and the magnificent man he once admired but now hated. Was it right for him to challenge the count to a duel? According to filial duties, surely, but according to justice? His father was a traitor and a liar who received his fortunes through denial! Unbelievable. Yet why did the count have to come along to make them suffer… through secrecy and manipulation?
The door hushed all his thoughts. Suddenly the mind was quiet as a sepulcher, watching a ghost entering from the doorway.
Mercedes arrived home. She did not look sad, but bitter. Her face was deathly white with detectable tear traces around her eyes. Her nose was a little red. She's been crying.
"Albert." She called him, softly but firmly. "My son, come here. I must speak with you."
"Yes, mother." Words choked. Albert looked at her mother. Such a beauty, despite her years she was still the most perfect woman in the world.
"I know what you did at the opera." Mercedes said, without sound of reproach.
Albert paused. "Well, mother?"
Mercedes looked at her son with sorrow. Albert couldn't bear it. "Mother, forgive me… but it's all for honor…"
Mercedes grabbed his arms. "My son! Look into my eyes. I know what you have set out to do, with good intentions, but you are wrong!"
"Wrong?" Albert whispered, "To justice perhaps, but not …" Mercedes hushed him.
"Shhhh. Listen to me. You are wrong in every aspect of it, and it's not your fault. I have been wrong too, until tonight, until I spoke with him."
"With whom?" Albert was alarmed.
"With the count. I went to ask him to spare your life."
Albert was amazed. "Mother, oh mother, how could you? After what the man has done to us…"
Mercedes looked at him with penetrating eyes, penetrating almost like the count's, except with profound love and emotionality. "Listen to me, Albert. It's time for you to hear a story, a story from my past."
"I am listening, mother." Albert said tenderly and softly.
Mercedes pressed his hand. "When I was very young, Albert, when I was about 17, I was in love with a sailor called Edmond Dantes. No, he is not your father. But we were deeply in love. He was a simple, handsome, noble, and brave man who was to marry me. When he went out to voyages, I waited. When he came back, we rejoiced. He had a pious father and a small fortune. But he was very capable, so when he was 19, he was promoted to be the captain of a ship. Everything was perfect for us. At the time, another man was in love with me. He was jealous of Edmond, and wanted to hurt him. So when opportunity came along, he betrayed Edmond, who thought him as a friend. He mailed a letter that said Edmond was a Bonaparte. It was a lie, Albert, because Edmond was too innocent to be a political radical. On our betrothal night, a feast which the very traitor attended, Edmond was arrested."
"But he came out soon enough, of course." Said Albert.
"No, Albert. He never came back to me. I washed my face with tears while his father prayed and starved himself to death. Can you imagine it, Albert? An old man with his only joy and hope taken away on a happy occasion. He had nothing but despair then. I went to him daily, and saw a person more miserable than I, for I still had comfort. Yes, the man who mailed the sinister letter was there for me. He went away to the army but his very existence was a comfort." She shuddered. "I should have killed myself. I had the reason and the sorrow enough to kill myself. But foolish as I was, I didn't. I waited for Edmond for 18 months, and was married."
Albert's face turned very pale. "And Edmond?" He whispered.
"Apparently he stayed in prison for 14 years, before he was thrown into the sea in a bag with a canon ball tied to it."
"Fourteen years?" Albert was horror -struck.
"Yes, fourteen years in prison, alone, betrayed, and helpless. And I, the unfaithful lover, took another!" Mercedes wrung her hands in guilt and shame. Albert took her hands, "Mother! It was not your fault. It was that traitor's fault!" Upon this he realized something. "The traitor, your husband… you mean… my, my, my…?" He gazed at Mercedes incredulously.
"Yes, Albert, your father. The one who betrayed Ali Teblin and Edmond Dantes, the former out of greed the latter out of jealousy! But I cannot reproach him, Albert, because fool that I was, I married him! I didn't love him, but I married him."
"But," Albert's eyes grew bright, "this does not excuse the Count of Monte Cristo! My father's sins can be paid before God, and the Count of Monte Cristo is not God!"
"Very true, Albert. The Count of Monte Cristo is not God, but he is Edmond Dantes, whose father was driven to death by your father, and whose fiancée married your father!"
Albert held his breath. Tears gathered in his eyes quickly and rolled down his white cheeks like mountain snow in spring. "Edmond Dantes, Edmond Dantes, The Count of Monte Cristo…" Of course, it must be true. Mother's unnatural reaction to him, his not eating under father's roof, his mysterious manner and past, his dignity and confidence at the opera, all of it now confirmed by his mother.
"And he told you this? How can he be sure that it was father, and not some other people?" Albert asked, with a glimmer of hope, hope for the possibility that he can still respect his father.
"Yes. I went to him tonight. I recognized him the second he spoke in our house. Remember that day when you introduced him to me? And after that, I've followed his actions. I knew that our grief came with his effort. But I didn't blame him. I thought it was because of me, because of whom I married in his place… But I have underestimated him. He would not have wanted me to suffer, but he would have your father suffer! Your father and you, because of what happened to him. Albert, what would you have done if you were he, think, my son, try to imagine!"
"I don't need to imagine," Albert said with a shivering voice, "I know. I have challenged him to a duel because he rightly punished my father. I was mistaken yet I was going to kill him. What would I have done if I were right, and confident in knowing that I am right? I would have destroyed the man completely, including seducing his wife, killing his son, and deliver the death blow myself, by telling him how guilty he is and how God truly takes revenges!" As he spoke, his tone grew darker; his fists clenched; and what was a whisper became an exclamation. "The count has good reason to kill me, and I am going to let him do it, tomorrow morning."
"No, no, Albert. That is what I was going to tell you. He has spared you." Mercedes looked upon his son with pride, love, and sorrow.
"Spare me?" Albert smiled bitterly. "No, mother, he would not give up now. And I have not received a message from him saying that he would not fight with me. He is too proud, mother, and too much wronged. I would not refrain from his bullet."
"That is very noble of you, Albert. But as your mother, I cannot see you die. I could not let it happen. So I went to him and begged him to spare you."
"And he consented?" Albert smiled faintly, not believing.
"Yes! He is willing to die in the duel! Consider, Albert, how much he has to lose. He has a vast fortune, a great reputation, a noble title, and a household of loyal servants. But he has decided to spare you."
Albert could not talk.
"I have told you his decision, Albert. Now it is yours. Do you truly wish the man dead?"
Albert still could not talk.
"Good night, my son! I trust you." Mercedes turned around and went upstairs, full of hope.