#Count/Caderousse since it’s been in my mind for so long

[disaster-priestress-sumire]

One of the main themes of The Count of Monte Cristo is the balance between Justice and Vengeance, keeping things under control. He happens to doubt, and he thinks, but he does not lose himself in the vengeance.

"And now," said the unknown, "farewell kindness, humanity, and gratitude! Farewell to all the feelings that expand the heart! I have been Heaven’s substitute to recompense the good—now the god of vengeance yields to me his power to punish the wicked!"

– Chapter 30: The Fifth of September

The count bowed, and contented himself with seeing Villefort to the door of his cabinet, the procureur being escorted to his carriage by two footmen, who, on a signal from their master, followed him with every mark of attention. When he had gone, Monte Cristo breathed a profound sigh, and said: "Enough of this poison, let me now seek the antidote." Then sounding his bell, he said to Ali, who entered: "I am going to madame’s chamber—have the carriage ready at one o’clock."

– Chapter 48: Ideology

"What have I to fear, except from you?" "If you reach your home safely, leave Paris, leave France, and wherever you may be, so long as you conduct yourself well, I will send you a small annuity; for, if you return home safely, then—" "Then?" asked Caderousse, shuddering. "Then I shall believe God has forgiven you, and I will forgive you too."

– Chapter 82: The Burglary

"Oh, enough of this,—enough of this," he cried; “let me save the last."

– Chapter 111: Expiation

The count departed with a sad heart from the house in which he had left Mercédès, probably never to behold her again. Since the death of little Edward a great change had taken place in Monte Cristo. Having reached the summit of his vengeance by a long and tortuous path, he saw an abyss of doubt yawning before him. More than this, the conversation which had just taken place between Mercédès and himself had awakened so many recollections in his heart that he felt it necessary to combat with them. A man of the count’s temperament could not long indulge in that melancholy which can exist in common minds, but which destroys superior ones. He thought he must have made an error in his calculations if he now found cause to blame himself. "I cannot have deceived myself," he said; "I must look upon the past in a false light. What!" he continued, "can I have been following a false path?—can the end which I proposed be a mistaken end?—can one hour have sufficed to prove to an architect that the work upon which he founded all his hopes was an impossible, if not a sacrilegious, undertaking? I cannot reconcile myself to this idea—it would madden me. The reason why I am now dissatisfied is that I have not a clear appreciation of the past. The past, like the country through which we walk, becomes indistinct as we advance. My position is like that of a person wounded in a dream; he feels the wound, though he cannot recollect when he received it."

– Chapter 113: The Past

The count breathed with difficulty; the cold drops ran down his forehead, and his heart was full of anguish. "No," he muttered, "the doubt I felt was but the commencement of forgetfulness; but here the wound reopens, and the heart again thirsts for vengeance."

– Chapter 113: The Past

"Yes," he said, "there is the stone upon which I used to sit; there is the impression made by my shoulders on the wall; there is the mark of my blood made when one day I dashed my head against the wall. Oh, those figures, how well I remember them! I made them one day to calculate the age of my father, that I might know whether I should find him still living, and that of Mercédès, to know if I should find her still free. After finishing that calculation, I had a minute’s hope. I did not reckon upon hunger and infidelity!" and a bitter laugh escaped the count. He saw in fancy the burial of his father, and the marriage of Mercédès. On the other side of the dungeon he perceived an inscription, the white letters of which were still visible on the green wall: "‘Oh, God!’" he read, "‘preserve my memory!’" "Oh, yes," he cried, "that was my only prayer at last; I no longer begged for liberty, but memory; I dreaded to become mad and forgetful. Oh, God, thou hast preserved my memory; I thank thee, I thank thee!"

– Chapter 113: The Past

"Oh, second father," he exclaimed, "thou who hast given me liberty, knowledge, riches; thou who, like beings of a superior order to ourselves, couldst understand the science of good and evil; if in the depths of the tomb there still remain something within us which can respond to the voice of those who are left on earth; if after death the soul ever revisit the places where we have lived and suffered,—then, noble heart, sublime soul, then I conjure thee by the paternal love thou didst bear me, by the filial obedience I vowed to thee, grant me some sign, some revelation! Remove from me the remains of doubt, which, if it change not to conviction, must become remorse!" The count bowed his head, and clasped his hands together. "Here, sir," said a voice behind him. Monte Cristo shuddered, and arose. The concierge held out the strips of cloth upon which the Abbé Faria had spread the riches of his mind. The manuscript was the great work by the Abbé Faria upon the kingdoms of Italy. The count seized it hastily, his eyes immediately fell upon the epigraph, and he read: "Thou shalt tear out the dragons’ teeth, and shall trample the lions under foot, saith the Lord."

– Chapter 113: The Past

"Do you repent?" asked a deep, solemn voice, which caused Danglars’ hair to stand on end. His feeble eyes endeavored to distinguish objects, and behind the bandit he saw a man enveloped in a cloak, half lost in the shadow of a stone column. "Of what must I repent?" stammered Danglars. "Of the evil you have done," said the voice. "Oh, yes; oh, yes, I do indeed repent." And he struck his breast with his emaciated fist. "Then I forgive you,” said the man, dropping his cloak, and advancing to the light. "The Count of Monte Cristo!" said Danglars, more pale from terror than he had been just before from hunger and misery. "You are mistaken—I am not the Count of Monte Cristo." "Then who are you?" "I am he whom you sold and dishonored—I am he whose betrothed you prostituted—I am he upon whom you trampled that you might raise yourself to fortune—I am he whose father you condemned to die of hunger—I am he whom you also condemned to starvation, and who yet forgives you, because he hopes to be forgiven—I am Edmond Dantès!"

– Chapter 116: The Pardon

[sparklingly-defective]

Okay, I'm going to list some more TCoMC rarepairs to get your opinion, because I'm excited about this now :D

Albert/Benedetto

Valentine/Haydèe

Albert/Beauchamp

Villefort/Danglars (maybe not AS rare but y'know)

Villefort/Hermine (technically canon but I haven't seen anybody talking about it and I find their few interactions to actually be quite sweet, despite Villefort being the way he is)

These are all positive since I have never been able to decide on a ship in my life but here we go:

Albert/Benedetto: This ship and Villefort/Danglars are the two on the list I’ve written for before, I really enjoy this one! It’s probably tied with Franz/Albert for my favorite Albert ship

I think the two would have an interesting dynamic both before and after Benedetto’s reveal, also that Albert would probably grow into the only one that really got to see Benedetto’s personality before his identity was revealed

Valentine/Haydèe: I really like this one too (it is. Vastly superior. To a certain canon ship involving Haydèe)

I do wish we got to see these two interacting with each other (or more Valentine in general because I love her dearly) but I think they’d have a nice dynamic, probably one of the less chaotic ships for the two

Also very funny to imagine Haydèe revealing she’s in love with a Villefort to Count

Albert/Beauchamp: I’d actually never considered this one, but I’m absolutely thinking about it now

One of my favorite chapters in the book is the one where Beauchamp tells Albert about Fernand’s treason and then comforts Albert and does his best to erase the knowledge of the article or the Janina plot from the public eye

Because it was a chapter where you could tell just how much he cared about Albert, especially since he could’ve just fought in a duel with Albert, but instead took weeks out of his life to go on a trip to Janina specifically so he would know to tell Albert or take back what he said

Like he very clearly cares for Albert, especially from that chapter to the duel with Count chapter and it’s really nice to see

A good ship, a good character dynamic, 11/10

Villefort/Danglars: I mentioned it at the top, but I have written for this pairing before and it’s probably my favorite Villefort pairing (my favorite Danglars ship is probably tied between this one and Danglars/Caderousse)

I think these two have a dynamic that’s really unique to them, one you can’t really find much in other ships

I do think one of the things that make ships from TCoMC so good is the strong characterization a lot of the characters have, and these two are a really good example of that

Definitely one of my favorite ships

Villefort/Hermine: I like this ship, their interactions in the book were really interesting, and with Benedetto, it was a really interesting plot point

I definitely think the two loved each other, even if they weren’t able to really be a proper couple, and I feel like their relationship wouldn’t have ended the way it did without the supposed death of their child

I do think it would’ve been interesting to see more of the immediate aftermath of the whole Bertuccio stabbing Villefort incident, especially how Hermine reacted and how the two grew apart slightly after everything

But yeah, despite it being in the book, I’ve not seen much content for it

Other than Renee/Villefort (and sort of Danglars/Villefort), I don’t see much of Villefort being shipped with anyone in the fandom, honestly (I might be managing to miss it entirely, but overall I can’t think of many times I’ve seen him shipped with other characters)

Overall, there aren’t many ships in the book I don’t like, I have favorites, but I’m definitely a multishipper 😅

[brightbeautifulthings]

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (trans. Robin Buss)

"'I have heard it said that the dead have never done, in six thousand years, as much evil as the living do in a single day.'"

Year Read: 2019

Rating: 3/5

Context: Last year’s year-long Les Mis read went so well, I decided to choose another intimidating classic to tackle in the same fashion this year. I know myself, and if I don't deliberately pace out a book like this, I'll try to read a thousand pages in a week, and it will just be a miserable experience. (That's not to say some classics aren't miserable experiences regardless of how you read them, but that's another issue entirely.) The Count of Monte Cristo was calling to me from the shelf, and by pure luck, I already owned the edition I wanted to read (plus a B&N abridged version that promptly went into the donation box). Reviews overwhelmingly praise Robin Buss’s translation for ease/modernity, and the Penguin Classics haven’t let me down yet.

For my less coherent updates in real-time: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX. My review is spoiler-free, but my updates are not, so read with caution if you’re not familiar. Trigger warnings: In a book with a thousand pages? Everything, probably, but for sure death, parent/child death, suicide/suicidal thoughts, severe illness, guns, abduction, poisoning, slavery, mental illness, sexism, ableism, grief, depression.

About: When forces conspire to have sailor Edmond Dantès arrested for a crime he didn't commit, he spends years in a hellish prison, fighting to stay sane. Through bravery and good fortune, he manages to escape, and he assumes a new identity for himself: The Count of Monte Cristo. Under this guise, he inserts himself into the lives of the French nobility, vowing revenge on those who wronged him.

Thoughts: Like most thousand page novels, there's no reason this novel needs to be a thousand pages, but the one thing I can say about them, collectively, is that I come away feeling like I have a relationship with them that I usually don't get from a shorter book unless I've read it multiple times. And it makes sense: I've been reading this book for a year. I've had relationships with actual humans that were much shorter than that. Dumas's prose (helped along by Buss's translation) is accessible and not overly dry, if not quite as humorous as Victor Hugo’s. Thanks to both of them, I now have a rudimentary understanding of the French Revolution and the difference between a Royalist and Bonapartist (because truly the only way to make me read about history is to put it in a novel).

Dumas proves himself more capable of staying on topic though, with one or two exceptions. The only margin note I cared to write was, apparently, "Horrible digression", and I stand by that. As soon as the novel leaves Dantès’s perspective, it gets less interesting, beginning with Franz encountering Sinbad the Sailor on Monte Cristo and continuing with the Very Weird and Terrible Side Anecdotes about bandits in Rome. Otherwise, much of the storyline is more or less linear, without the intricacies of Waterloo or the Paris sewer system. It grows more chaotic as the book goes on though, with frequent digressions into every character's backstory.

The plot takes such a drastic turn that it's almost like reading two different novels with two different main characters. At the beginning, it’s most like an adventure story. There are sailors, prison breaks, and buried treasure. Yet, for all those things, it’s surprisingly un-suspenseful. Dumas has a very stolid way of story-telling. The pace is almost supernaturally consistent, so that even things that probably should have tension in them are presented as a matter of course. (Or maybe I’m just hugely desensitized by media.) I wasn’t as excited as I thought I should be during some of the more compelling parts, but there’s something reassuring about Dumas’s relentlessly straightforward story-telling.

The middle takes a major dip in interest. Cue a lot of long and tedious backstories, plus Monte Cristo's elaborate set-ups to take down his enemies. It basically devolves into a soap opera of the various dramas of Paris’s rich and powerful families. Monte Cristo barely needs to lift a finger to destroy these people, since with a few mostly harmless suggestions, it looks like they're all going to self-destruct at any moment without outside help. The ending never really recovers from the action of the beginning, thanks in large part to the characters. There are more than it's worth keeping track of, including a lot of side characters, family members, and name changes. A detailed, spoiler-free flow chart of how everyone is connected to everyone else would have been helpful. (But be careful about Googling those because spoilers.)

Edmond Dantès is an easy hero to pull for, since he’s honest, good, and capable, and he has a kind of earnest faith that things will work out that’s endearing. He goes through a fair amount of character development in prison, and his father/son relationship with Faria is especially moving. On the other hand, it's difficult to like his alternate persona, The Count of Monte Cristo. Dumas goes a bit overboard in making him filthy rich and knowledgeable about literally every subject, and no matter how generous he is to his slaves, they're still slaves. Whether he’s playing the part of a pompous ass or is actually a pompous ass is sort of irrelevant by the end. There are a couple of flailing attempts at character development in the last sections where he wonders whether he had the right to do everything he did, but it's too little/too late to make much of an impact.

The story wouldn't work without some Shakespeare-level villains. Danglars is Iago whispering in Othello’s ear, and Villefort is even more insidious because his upstanding citizen act is so convincing. Caderousse is just a coward, and it’s interesting to see how jealousy, ambition, and fear all play an integral part in condemning an innocent man. Mercédès is a bland love interest; Valentine and Morrel are basically the Cosette and Marius of the novel, but at least there are some decent people on the page to pull for. Much as I dislike all the descriptors of Eugenie as “masculine” (because she must be less of a woman if she has a mind of her own), she's a powerhouse, and I was living for her lesbian relationship with her piano instructor.

It's clear Dumas has no idea when to end a story, since every time I thought we'd wrapped up a plot with a certain character, they'd resurface a few chapters later to spin it out a little further. Though everything (and I do mean everything) moves much more slowly than necessary, I was satisfied with the way it all played out. It's hard to come back from a main character I can barely stand though, and I happen to not like novels where nearly every character is terrible. While I found Les Mis surprisingly relevant on its social commentary, I’m struggling to see why Monte Cristo has stuck around. Only the first parts could reliably be called an "adventure novel," and the rest is purely middle of the road.