The priest stood up abruptly, paced around the room twice, and pressed his trembling hand against his dry throat. "And you believe he died of-"
"Starvation, sir. Pure starvation," Caderousse said firmly. "I’m as certain of it as I am that we’re both believers."
The priest, with shaking hands, grabbed a half-full glass of water nearby, drained it in one gulp, and sat back down, his eyes red and his cheeks pale. "This was indeed a horrific tragedy," he said in a hoarse voice.
"Even more so, sir, because it was caused by n, not by fate."
"Tell about these n," the priest said, and added in an almost threatening tone, "and rember, you promised to tell everything. Tell , then, who are these n who killed the son with despair and the father with starvation?"
"Two n who were jealous of him, sir. One jealous for love, the other for advancent. Fernand and Danglars."
"How did this jealousy show itself? Continue."
"They reported Edmond as a spy for the old emperor’s supporters."
"Which of the two reported him? Which was the real culprit?"
"Both, sir. One wrote the letter, the other mailed it."
"And where was this letter written?"
"At La Réserve, the day before the engagent party."
"So it was true... it was true," the priest murmured. "Oh, Faria, Faria, how well you understood human nature!"
"What did you say, sir?" Caderousse asked.
"Nothing, nothing," the priest replied quickly. "Go on."
"It was Danglars who wrote the accusation with his left hand so his handwriting wouldn’t be recognized, and Fernand who put it in the mail."
"But," the priest exclaid suddenly, "you were there yourself!"
"!" Caderousse said, astonished. "Who told you I was there?"
The priest realized he had revealed too much and quickly added, "No one. But to know everything so well, you must have witnessed it."
"True, true!" Caderousse said in a choked voice. "I was there."
"And you didn’t speak out against such an evil act?" the priest asked. "If not, you were an accomplice."
"Sir," Caderousse replied, "they had gotten so drunk that I could barely think straight. I only had a foggy understanding of what was happening around . I said what any man in that condition could say, but they both assured it was just a harmless prank they were playing."
"The next day, the very next day, sir, you must have seen clearly what they had done, yet you said nothing, even though you were present when they arrested Dantès."
"Yes, sir, I was there, and I desperately wanted to speak up. But Danglars stopped . ’If he really is guilty,’ he said, ’and really did stop at that island, if he really is carrying a letter for the emperor’s supporters in the capital, and if they find this letter on him, anyone who supported him will be considered his accomplice.’ I admit I was afraid, given the political climate at the ti, and I kept quiet. It was cowardly, I admit, but it wasn’t criminal."
"I understand, you simply let events take their course."
"Yes, sir," Caderousse answered, "and remorse haunts day and night. I often ask God for forgiveness, I swear to you, because this action, the only one in my entire life that I seriously regret, is undoubtedly the cause of my current wretched condition. I’m paying for a mont of selfishness, and that’s what I always tell my wife when she complains, ’Hold your tongue, woman. This is God’s will.’"
Caderousse bowed his head with every sign of genuine repentance.
"Well, sir," the priest said, "you have spoken honestly, and to accuse yourself like this deserves forgiveness."
"Unfortunately, Edmond is dead and hasn’t pardoned ."
"He didn’t know," the priest said.
"But he knows everything now," Caderousse interrupted. "They say the dead know all." There was a brief silence as the priest stood and paced thoughtfully, then sat back down.
"You’ve ntioned a Monsieur Morrel several tis," he said. "Who was he?"
"The owner of the ship Pharaon and Dantès’ employer."
"And what role did he play in this sad story?" the priest asked.
"The role of an honest man, full of courage and genuine care. Twenty tis he interceded for Edmond. When the old emperor returned from exile, Morrel wrote letters, pleaded, and threatened so energetically that when the monarchy was restored again, he was persecuted as a supporter of the old regi.
Ten tis, as I told you, he ca to see Dantès’ father and offered to take him into his own ho. The night before the old man’s death, as I ntioned, he left his purse on the mantelpiece, which paid for the old man’s debts and gave him a decent burial. So Edmond’s father died as he had lived, without harming anyone. I still have that purse, a large one made of red silk."
"And," the priest asked, "is Monsieur Morrel still alive?"
"Yes," Caderousse replied.
"In that case," the priest said, "he should be rich and happy."
Caderousse smiled bitterly. "Yes, as happy as I am," he said.
"What! Monsieur Morrel unhappy?" the priest exclaid.
"He’s nearly ruined, in fact, he’s almost at the point of complete disgrace."
"How is that possible?"
"Yes," Caderousse continued, "that’s exactly how it is. After twenty five years of hard work, after building an honorable reputation in the shipping business, Monsieur Morrel is completely ruined. He’s lost five ships in two years, suffered from the bankruptcy of three major companies, and his only hope now is that very ship Pharaon that poor Dantès used to command. It’s expected back from the Indies with a cargo of expensive dyes. If this ship sinks like the others, he’s finished."
"And does this unfortunate man have a wife or children?" the priest asked.
"Yes, he has a wife who has been an angel through everything. He has a daughter who was about to marry the man she loved, but whose family now won’t allow him to wed the daughter of a ruined man. He also has a son, a military officer. As you can imagine, all of this only increases his sorrows instead of lessening them. If he were alone in the world, he would end his own life and be done with it."
"Horrible!" the priest exclaid.
"And this is how heaven rewards virtue, sir," Caderousse added. "You see, I, who never did a bad deed except the one I told you about, am destitute. My poor wife is dying of fever before my very eyes, and I can’t do anything in the world to help her. I’ll die of starvation, just like old Dantès did, while Fernand and Danglars are rolling in wealth."
"How can that be?"
"Because their evil deeds brought them good fortune, while honest people have been reduced to misery."
"What beca of Danglars, the instigator and therefore the most guilty?"
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