World Literature Classics Library: The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 95 Toxicology (1)
Sure enough, it was M. Monte Cristo who came to Madame de Villefort's drawing room, and he was paying homage to M. the prosecutor.It is completely conceivable that when he heard his name, the whole house was excited.Madame de Villefort, who was in the drawing-room when the servant came to inform the count, immediately ordered her son to be called, and told him to thank the count again.In the past two days, Edward kept hearing about this great man, so he hurried over, not because he listened to his mother, nor because he came to thank the count, but just out of curiosity, and wanted to take the opportunity to show off and play a few tricks. A little cunning, let the mother say: "Hey, this bad boy, but you have to forgive him, he is too smart."

After exchanging greetings, the count asked M. de Villefort about it. "My husband went to dine with the Lord Seal," replied the young woman. "He has just left, and I think he will regret that he missed a valuable opportunity to see you." Before the count arrived, there were already two guests in the drawing room. Now they stared intently at the count for a little while, and at last, being polite and curious, they rose to take their leave. "I say, what is your sister doing?" Madame de Villefort asked Edward. "Send her here. I should like to introduce her to Monsieur the Count."

"You have another daughter, madam?" asked the count. "Aren't you young?"

"M. de Villefort's daughter," answered the young woman, "by his first wife. She is already a grown girl, and very handsome."

"But melancholia," put in little Edward.He was pulling feathers from the tail of a very beautiful South American parrot to use as feathers in his hat, and the bird on the gilded perch was chirping in pain.

Madame de Villefort simply said: "Don't interrupt, Edward." Then she added, "The little rascal is almost right, he has heard me say it so many times in pain that he has parroted it. We have done everything we can to make Villefort Miss Fortune cheered up, but she was naturally sentimental and reticent, which often did not match her beauty. Why is she not here, Edward? Go and see why."

"Because I found her in the wrong place."

"Where did they find her?"

"Grandpa Noirquier's."

"She's not there, is she?"

"No, no, no, no, she's not there," replied Edward, humming something.

"Then where is she? Tell me if you know."

"She's right under that big chestnut tree," said the wretched boy, and, ignoring his mother's scolding, he fed the live flies to the parrot, which seemed to relish them.

Madame de Villefort then stretched out her hand to pull the bell, and was about to call her maid and tell her where Valentine was, when Valentine also entered the drawing-room.Her demeanor was indeed depressing, and if one looked carefully, one could see traces of tears in her eyes.

We have told the reader about Valentine, but we have not had time to introduce her to the reader in the haste of telling the story.The girl was nineteen years old, slim, with light brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a melancholy manner, always unhappy, but tender, exactly like her mother.Her fingers are white and slender, her neck is as smooth and smooth as pearls, and her cheeks are blushed from time to time, but they are fleeting. At a glance, she looks like an English beauty, and her demeanor is just like the swan who looks at herself in the poem .Then she entered the living room, and seeing the guest she had heard about sitting next to her stepmother, she saluted the guest gracefully, without any affectation like the other girls, nor was she so shy that she couldn't even look at her. Dare to lift it up, this kind of generous behavior attracted the earl's attention to her.The count rose to return the salute.

"Mademoiselle de Villefort, my stepdaughter," said Madame de Villefort, leaning back on the sofa, and pointing to Valentine.

"This is Monsieur the Count of Monte Cristo, King of China, Emperor of Cochinchina," said the queer little fellow, glancing furtively at his sister.

This time Madame de Villefort turned pale with a swipe, and was almost ready to quarrel with the evil of the family named Edward, but the count, on the contrary, smiled and looked at the child with a tolerant attitude, which made the mother again. I was very happy in my heart.

"But, Madame," the count resumed the conversation, looking back and forth at Madame de Villefort and Valentine, "have I had the honor of seeing you and Mademoiselle somewhere? I just thought of it. Come in, Mademoiselle." Forgive me for describing it as a light illuminating a vague memory when I saw her."

"That's unlikely, sir. Mademoiselle de Villefort doesn't like society, so we seldom go out."

"So, I don't see Miss, Madam, yourself, and this lovely little rascal at society. Besides, I still don't know anything about Paris society, because, I think I have told you, I come to Paris It's only a few days. No, let me think about it... wait a moment..." The count touched his forehead, as if he wanted to concentrate on remembering. "No, it seems to be out of doors... It was... I can't remember... But I think it is inseparable from the bright sunshine and some religious festival... The lady is holding flowers, and the child is chasing a beautiful dog in the garden." You, madam, you are under the grape shed... Please help me think about it, madam, does what I just said remind you of anything?"

"I really can't remember anything," replied Madame de Villefort, "but I think, monsieur, that if I saw you anywhere, I should remember and never forget."

"The count may have met us in Italy," said Valentine timidly.

"It is true that in Italy . . . it is possible," said Monte Cristo. "Have you traveled to Italy, mademoiselle?"

"Madame and I went together two years ago. The doctor was afraid that my lungs would be bad, and told me to go to Naples for a change of air. We went to Bologna, Perugia and Rome."

"Ah, that's right, mademoiselle," cried Monte Cristo, as if this simple reminder had been enough to fix all his recollections distinctly. "It was in Perugia. We happened to be together at the Hotel Post on the day of God's Day. There was you, the lady, the son, and I. I remember that I had the honor of meeting you."

"Monsieur, I can clearly recall Perugia, the Post Hotel, and the Day of God you just spoke of," said Madame de Villefort, "and I'm trying to recall, but I'm sorry, I have no memory, I don't think so." It's an honor to have known you."

"It's very strange, and I can't remember it," said Valentine, raising her beautiful eyes to the count.

"Oh, I remember now," said Edward.

"Let me help you remember, madam," the count continued. "It was scorchingly hot that day, and you were waiting for the carriage. Because a solemn religious ceremony was being held, the carriage could not pass. The lady was not with you, she went alone. In the shade of the trees in the garden, the young master chased the birds to play, and ran away to some unknown place."

"I caught the bird, don't you remember, Mother?" said Edward, "and I plucked three of his tail hairs."

"Yourself, Madame, you are under the vine, don't you remember? You are sitting on a stone bench, and at this moment, as I said, Mlle de Villefort and the young master are not around, do you not?" Talked to a gentleman for a long time?"

"Yes, yes, yes," said the young woman, blushing, "I remember, the gentleman was wrapped in a very long woolen cloak... I remember he was a doctor."

"That's right, ma'am, it was me. I had been in the hotel for two weeks, and I cured my valet of a high fever and the owner of the restaurant's jaundice, so they thought me something special." The famous doctor. We talked for a long time, madam, about many things, about Virugeno (Italian painter of the Renaissance.), Raphael (Italian painter of the Renaissance.), about customs and customs And clothes, and also talked about the famous Tofana potion (a slow poison prepared by the Italian woman Tofana in the middle of the 17th century.), I remember someone told you at that time that there were still people in Perugia who knew the secret recipe.”

"Ah, that's right," Madame de Villefort said hastily, with a somewhat flustered expression, "I remember."

"I have forgotten exactly what you said to me at that time," the count continued unhurriedly, "but I still remember clearly that you were mistaken for the rumor that I was a doctor and consulted Mademoiselle de Villefort. health status."

"But, sir, you were a doctor," said Madame de Villefort, "and you cured several patients."

"Molière and Beaumarchais French writers (1732-1799), authors of The Marriage of Figaro. Words speak for themselves, Madame. Just because I am not a doctor, I do not cure my patients at all, but my The patient recovered by himself. As for myself, I will only explain this to you. I have a relatively deep study of chemistry and natural science, but it is only a hobby... I am sure you will understand."

Then the clock struck six o'clock.

"It's six o'clock," said Madame de Villefort, her restlessness was evident. "Valentine, go and see if your grandfather wants dinner?"

Valentine stood up, bowed to the count, and left the drawing room in silence.

"Oh, my God, Madame, did you send Mademoiselle de Villefort away for my sake?" said the count, after Valentine had gone.

"Absolutely not," the young woman said hastily, "at this time we should let Mr. Nouakiya eat something, in fact, the food is poor, just to maintain his poor life, the situation of the family is too sad , do you know, sir?"

"Yes, madame. M. de Villefort has spoken to me about it. Paralysis, I suppose?"

"Oh, it's the disease, now the poor old man can't move his whole body, but his soul is still guarding this human body machine, and this machine is already bloodless and trembling, like a lamp that is about to go out. Excuse me, sir, but I should not have interrupted you to tell us about our family misfortunes. You told me just now that you were also good at chemistry."

"Oh, that's not what I said, madam," replied the count, smiling slightly, "in fact, on the contrary, I studied chemistry because I decided to live in the Orient specifically, and I wanted to learn from Mithridates. In order to prevent people from being poisoned, the king of the Pontus Kingdom in ancient times took the poison himself first, and gradually increased the amount of poison, so as to have the ability to resist the poison."

"Mithridates, rex Ponticus. Latin: Mithridates, king's land in Ponticus." The child cut out pictures from a beautiful picture book and said boldly, "this man drinks a glass of cream every morning. poison."

"Edward, you are such a nuisance!" Madame de Villefort shouted, snatching the mutilated album from her son. "You're annoying and confusing us all. You go, go to your grandpa and find your sister."

"The picture book..." Edward said.

"What about the album?"

"I want a picture album..."

"Why did you cut up the album?"

"I cut and played."

"Let's go, let's go!"

"You won't leave until you give me the picture book." The child sat down on a big chair and said, completely in his usual unruly temper.

"Take it, and don't bother us any more," said Madame de Villefort, giving Edward the album, and leading him out of the drawing-room.

The count kept his eyes fixed on Madame de Villefort. "We have to see if she closes the door immediately after the child goes out." He muttered to himself.

After the child had gone out, Madame de Villefort closed the door carefully, but the count did not seem to pay any attention to whether it was closed or not.Then, Madame de Villefort looked around and sat down on the oval double sofa just now.

"Let me say a word, madame," said the count, with that gentlemanly look on his face which must be known to all, "you are very strict with the dear little rascal."

"It is necessary to be stricter," Madame de Villefort said in a motherly manner.

"Just now when the little boy Edward talked about King Mithridates, he recited the sentence of the Neposian Latin historian (99-24 BC)," the count said, "you interrupted his recitation, but It seems that his tutor did not waste his time teaching him, the young master can be said to be mature at a young age."

"Let's put it this way, Monsieur Earl," said the mother, who was flattered by the flattery, "the boy's talent is very quick, he can learn everything, and his only defect is that he is too opinionated. However, speaking of the one he just recited In a word, Monsieur Count, do you believe that Mithridates was so careful and effective?"

"I am quite sure, Madame, and I can assure you that I have also used it, so that Naples, Palermo and Smyrna were not poisoned, that is to say, three times. His life was already lost."

"Your method is very clever?"

"of course."

"Oh, yes, I remember, you told me about this in Perugia."

"Is that so?" said the count, with a very tactful air of surprise, "I don't remember."

"At that time, I asked you whether the toxicity of poison is the same for northerners and southerners. You also replied that the tolerance is different, because northerners have a lymphatic constitution and are naturally cold, while southerners are naturally emotional. and energetic."

"Well," said Monte Cristo, "I have seen Russians eat certain plants without discomfort, but the same things that Neapolitans or Arabs eat must surely kill them."

"So you think that the effect is more reliable here than in the East. People in our foggy and rainy places are more likely to adapt to chronic poisoning than people in the tropics, don't you?"

"There is no doubt about it. Of course, it's just a matter of which one you adapt to before you can prevent which one."

"Yes, that's clear to me. So, for example, how did you get used to it? Or rather, how did you get used to it?"

"It's very simple. If you knew in advance what poison was going to be used to poison you... Let's say it was... strychnine, for example..."

"I think this strychnine can be distilled from the bark of the angu," said Madame de Villefort.

"Exactly, Madame," replied Monte Cristo, "but I don't think I have much to tell you. You are worthy of praise, and ladies of this learning know very little."

"Oh, to tell you the truth," said Madame de Villefort, "I have a great curiosity for the mysterious sciences, which require the imagination like poetry and work with numbers like algebraic equations. But I Please go on, I am very interested in the knowledge you said."

"Well," continued Monte Cristo, "assuming that the poison is strychnine, let's say you take one milligram the first day and two milligrams the next day, then after ten days you can take a centigram." gram, after 10 days, if you add one more milligram per day, you can take three centigrams, that is to say, you can tolerate this dose without any discomfort, but the other person didn’t take a little for anti-virus like you , this dose is already very dangerous. Finally, drinking from the same jug after a month, you can poison the person who drank it with you, and yourself, except for a little discomfort, even the water You can't feel that there is some kind of poison in it."

"Do you know if there is an antidote?"

"I do not know."

"I used to read the life of Mithridates over and over again," said the thoughtful Madame de Villefort, "and always thought it was a fable."

"No, ma'am, it's not like ordinary storytelling. It's a real story. But you told me this, ma'am, and you asked me this again. I don't think you just asked me on a whim, because the two Years ago you asked me the same question, and said that you had long been aware of Mitridast's experience."

"That's right, sir. Botany and mineralogy were two of my favorite subjects when I was young, and I later learned that the way in which herbs are used tells the whole history of the peoples of the East and the life of each individual, just as flowers do." It shows that the feelings of grass and trees are the same. At this time, I really wish I could be a man, I can become Flame (French writer (1330-1418), legend is an alchemist.), Fontana (Italian physiologist (1730-1805) .) or Canani (French physician and philosopher (1757-1808).).”

"Besides, Madame," said Monte Cristo, "the Orientals do not use poison only as a breastplate, as Mithritus did, but they also use it as a dagger. In their hands science is not only a weapon of defense, And usually more offensive weapons, one is used to cure their physical pain, and the other is used to deal with the enemy. They use opium, belladonna, angu wood, snake wood, osmanthus cherry as medicine, Whoever tries to wake them up, they put them to sleep. The women of Egypt, Turkey and Greece are called ladies here, but in fact there is not one of them who does not know how to use chemistry to make things that make doctors stunned. There is no one who does not know Use psychology to do things that make the soul of the confessor fly away."

"Really?" said Madame de Villefort, with a gleam in her eye which had nothing to do with the conversation.

"Ah, my God, it is so, Madame," continued Monte Cristo, "that the mysteries and tragedies of the Orient begin and end in this way, with plants to love, and plants to kill, and there are plants that fill the whole sky." There is a drink that opens, and there is a drink that can drive a person to hell for you. All these things are unpredictable, which is exactly the same as the capriciousness and eccentricity of human nature. I would even say that by virtue of superb skills , these chemists can very skillfully concoct medicines and soups according to their love needs or their desires for revenge."

(End of this chapter)