Reviewer Note: In 2024, I started to read the free version of The Count of Monte Cristo that is available from Project Gutenberg (my go-to resource for novels in the public domain). After reading 200 pages, I couldn’t understand why I was so bored. This novel has more action than a Die Hard movie, yet I was struggling to stay interested. I decided to do some research into what’s considered the best translation of this novel, and I found recommendations for the edition translated by Robin Buss. I asked for and received a copy of that one for Christmas, started over, and what a difference it made! Not only is the writing engaging, but Buss’s notes are helpful for providing historical context and, in some cases, rationale for certain translation decisions. I’m so glad that I went this route–what could have ended up as a DNF has become a new favorite.
And now, the review (with a few spoilers in the beginning, because you’ve had 179 years to read this monster).
Three hundred pages into The Count of Monte Cristo, I pause and look at the thickness of what I still have to read. So far, the protagonist, Edmond Dantès, has been falsely accused of treason, arrested, sent to the most notorious prison in France, languished for 14 years, escaped, found hidden treasure, established several aliases, and rewarded those friends who remained true to him during his incarceration. That leaves 900 pages for revenge. Clearly, Edmond is playing a long game.
That’s a lot of action for the first 300 pages, but then again The Count of Monte Cristo is the ultimate action-adventure-revenge story. Published in installments between 1844 and 1846, the novel entices the reader with cliffhangers and keeps the action coming fast and furious (for the most part). I love serialized classics (A Tale of Two Cities is another one of my favorites) for the way they precurse modern entertainment–where we might binge an entire series all at once, or one episode per week, Monte Cristo fans had to search the daily newspaper for the latest installment. Longer breaks occurred between “Parts” the way we have to wait for a new season after a particularly juicy finale. (As an aside, someone on Reddit created a Google doc with the original publication schedule. Sometimes people got a chapter or two per day, then there would be longer breaks. Note the two-week hiatus before the final installment!)
So here’s the basic outline: Edmond Dantès, an honest, upright sailor, is betrayed by three rivals. The first baddie, Fernand Mondego, is in love with Edmond’s fiancé Mercédès. The second, Danglars, is a fellow sailor who is jealous of Edmond’s rise and inevitable promotion to captain of the trading ship they both serve on. The third, Villefort, is a mostly respectable magistrate whose only gripe with Edmond is that Edmond has a letter that could incriminate Villefort’s father, a rabid Bonapartist. (There’s a whole bunch of historical context here, but don’t worry–Buss’s endnotes have you covered.) The irony of this complaint is that Edmond has no idea how damning this evidence is and has no interest in harming anyone, but Villefort isn’t one to take any chances. Not that concern for his father is the magistrate’s top priority–the point is more how his father’s actions could torpedo Villefort’s career aspirations. As another character later points out “. . . to make his way, Villefort will sacrifice everything, even his father.”
Mondego and Danglars conspire to have Edmond arrested, and Villefort seals the poor sailor’s fate. During his 14-year stay in the Château d’If, Edmond becomes friends with the Abbé in the next cell, who teaches Edmond everything he knows (languages! medicine!) and helps him connect the dots vis-à-vis the betrayal (Edmond is so naive in the beginning of the story, it’s sweet). The Abbé also tells Edmond about a hidden treasure that only he knows about and will share with Edmond when they escape. Hot damn! It pays to be nice to the holy man in the next cell. Sadly, the Abbé dies before they can compete their escape plan, but Edmond seizes the opportunity to sneak out in the old man’s burial sack. He places the old man’s body in HIS bed in what might have been the original “Gonna play sick and skip school today” caper.
Edmond Dantès’s Day Off
After the escape, which includes Edmond being thrown off a cliff in a scene that is unintentionally hilarious, our hero finds the treasure, rebuilds his life, and sets to doling out revenge against the trio of baddies.
As exciting as all that sounds, The Count of Monte Cristo has more to offer than adventure. Dumas explores themes of justice, loyalty, forgiveness, and transformation, to name a few. Edmond’s transformation from kind, naive sailor to avenging angel begins in prison. After the Abbé opens his eyes to the betrayal at the hands of Fernand, Danglars, and Villefort, Edmond spends the rest of the night contemplating the meaning of these revelations. “During those hours of meditation, which had passed like seconds, he had made a fearful resolution and sworn a terrible oath.” That moment is the turning point for Edmond, his first steps toward becoming the Count. This change is underscored about 50 pages later, when Dumas writes that “His heart was turning to stone in his breast.” Not until page 328 does Dumas finally have Edmond go by the name “Count of Monte Cristo;” in reality, the Count came to life back in the prison cell.
I feared for Edmond during this transformation. Would he succumb to bloodlust and start a Reign of Terror? He certainly comes to see himself as something more than a wronged man, at one point confessing, “I want to be Providence, because the thing that I know which is finest, greatest and most sublime in the world is to reward and to punish.” Perhaps the most satisfying proclamation of revenge, and the one that makes me wish for a really, really good television adaptation, is when he states, “I owe it to God to take my revenge. He has sent me for that purpose. Here I am.”
Ironically, one of the few aliases Edmond didn’t adopt
With this quest for revenge, is there any room left in Edmond’s heart for mercy or, for that matter, happiness?
This novel has a spectacular cast of supporting characters, and I found myself pondering which of the three villains was the most to blame. Fernand possessed Mercédès’s affection but not her love, so he destroyed his rival and manipulated her heartbreak to finally win her hand. Danglars is the most petty of the group–professional jealousy is a pretty weak justification for ruining someone’s life, and Danglars metaphorically takes a sledge hammer to a pin by his actions. It would be like a mid-level manager accusing the guy right above him of terrorism to get a promotion.
I feel like there’s probably a real-world example to illustrate this, but for my
own mental health I’m not going to pursue it. Enjoy this puppy.
Of all the villains, Villefort is the biggest hypocrite. When we first meet him, he’s celebrating his marriage, just as Edmond would have been doing if he hadn’t been falsely accused and arrested. He’s almost a decent guy–upstanding and seemingly prepared to do the right thing by Edmond until he realizes his own future is at stake. He gives the matter the briefest of thoughts before concluding, “Dantès would have to be broken between the cogs of his ambition.”
As if that weren’t bad enough, Villefort has the audacity to lecture Madame Danglars many years later when she comes to him for help, saying, “For God’s sake, never ask me to pardon a guilty man. What am I? The law. Does the law have eyes to see your sorrow? Does the law have ears to hear your soft pleadings? Does the law have a memory to make itself the conduit for your tender thoughts? No, Madame, the law orders and when it orders, it strikes.” Villefort seems to truly think of himself as the law and as an honest man, conveniently forgetting that he once sent an innocent man to prison to protect his own ambitions.
The women in this novel are equally rich characters and deserving of attention. Mercédès doesn’t have much depth when we first meet her, but when Edmond/the Count returns, she is both a mother and a heartbroken lover. She longs for Edmond, but she’ll do anything to protect her son, and she demonstrates courage and strength to that end. Madame Danglars is conniving and opportunistic, while Madame de Villefort is . . . well, you’ll just have to meet her. All I’ll say is that she plays a key role. Meanwhile Valentine, Villefort’s daughter by his first marriage (the one from the day Edmond was arrested), is the essence of sweetness and purity. She and Max Morrell (the son of Edmond’s old shipping boss) have a real Juliet & Romeo thing going on. And I dare not leave out Eugenie Danglars, who is engaged to Albert, son of Mercédès and Fernand, but is clearly not into him, preferring the company of her music teacher Louise d’Armilly. Yup, this novel even has a heavily implied lesbian romance. You know what, we are going to need a scorecard.
Thar be spoilers! (Character map courtesy of Wikipedia)
So, yeah–love, deceit, murder, financial ruin . . . this novel has everything you could want in a 19th century soap opera.
For readers who like everything to make sense, I feel like I should acknowledge that not everything that happens is 100% plausible.
Shocking, I know!
Aside from the existence of a treasure so massive that it could finance a modern tech billionaire’s lifestyle and still fit into a small treasure chest, I’m not sure how Edmond managed to maintain his health and strong physique living on swill for 14 years. He’s so strong he survives being tossed into the roiling seas with a cannonball chained to his foot despite being on a mostly starvation diet. He’s described as muscular, but I don’t recall him getting much protein with his meals. I get it though, he’s a hero and heroes like Edmond are strong. Next, I love that Edmond has different personas he can switch into–his characters include Sinbad the Sailor, Lord Wilmore, an English clerk, and Abbé Buson, in addition to the titular Count. I don’t even mind that Mercédès is the only one who ever recognizes him. I do have to wonder, though, how he manages these quick changes at times. At one point he leaves the room as the Count and comes back a few minutes later as Abbé Buson. Only the Mission Impossible franchise could pull off such magic!
Get the makeup crew in here, stat!
The one incident that keeps nagging me though, has to do with Madame Villefort and a team of runaway horses. The Count plots to curry favor with Madame by having his servant Ali (er. . .actually he’s a slave. . . yikes) stop some runaway horses using his lassoing skills. I’m still trying to work out how the Count managed to plan for the horses to run wild just as they passed his house–or at least, how he knew that they would pass his house. Are they like carrier pigeons and remembered the way? I have no idea, but I was hoping Dumas would at least give us some silly rationale that would allow me to suspend my disbelief. Then there’s the outcome of the Valentine and Max love story, which is ridiculous but also satisfying and inevitable.
If I’m honest, none of these incidents troubled me much. This is a true adventure story, and I loved every implausible minute of it.
The Count of Monte Cristo is one of those rare books that you want to devour as quickly as possible and yet drag out in the second half to make it last. I spent so much time with these characters (and there are many characters–I’ve barely scratched the surface) that I didn’t want it to end. No doubt one could write a Master’s thesis on any one theme/character/plot point in this novel, but you have better things to do than read what I have to say. Namely, go out and get Robin Buss’s translation, sit down with a nice cup of tea or a glass of rye, and jump into the adventure.
