THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO
by Alexandre Dumas
Introduction
by Lorenzo Carcaterra
Modern Library Classics
 Edmond Dantès is a part of us all.
The young sailor from Marseilles begins his fictional life as most
begin their true ones -- washed ashore in clear warm waves of innocence and
love. But he is soon confronted by the grasping force of man's often venal
and vindictive nature. In Dantès's case, this evil is masked by the familiar faces of three men he expected to do him no harm. Dantès is a man
of the sea who gazes at life through youthful eyes as clear as the unlit
Mediterranean, but finds himself no match for humanity's darker side, and
is quickly done in and disposed of by his enemies' thirst for money, by power, and, in once instance, by a woman's love. Within a mere matter of
weeks, his benevolent core is viciously scrubbed away by the harsh soap of
betrayal and deceit, leaving behind nothing more than a shaken, angry, and
tormented convict. It is in this prison, both outside and within, that Edmond Dantès awakens to what lies dormant in many men's hearts -- a desire
for redemption through crushing revenge.
Many of us were first exposed to the intricate plotting and
compelling characters of Alexandre Dumas's The Count of Monte Cristo as
teenagers. It was during those turbulent years, hidden in the back rooms
of darkened libraries or under the shadows of bedcovers and night-lights,
that we turned the crisp pages and eagerly followed the path of the unsuspecting sailor, framed by his friends and dispatched to a cold, dark
cell. We read with horror of his initial torment, then cheered his daring
escape. We were captive readers as Dumas expertly painted a portrait of
Dantès's transformation from a desperate and ravaged prisoner into the elusive, secretive, and wealthy Count of Monte Cristo. And we thrilled as
we followed his path of manipulation as he planned out the wreckage of those who had so casually tossed his life through the blades of their
vicious blender.
Our initial introduction to one of literature's most endearing,
enduring, and entertaining stories may have come through the pages of the
popular abridged paperback version, or even the Classics Illustrated comic
book, or perhaps by way of the numerous television and film adaptations that materialized every few years. Yet however we were first exposed to
the wily Count, the introduction led to a lasting bond.
Teenagers are quick to embrace the story, especially those of us
raised in what used to be called working-class neighborhoods, which now have been labeled "inner city" by those who never venture onto their
streets. We were first struck by the story's forceful spirit of adventure.
That allowed us to travel to foreign and majestic places well beyond our
financial means. We watched with amazement as the Count played out his masterful hand shrouded in the comforting blanket of wealth, moving with
the speed of a ghost through the rich landscapes of European countries. Beyond that colorful coating, Dumas expertly reached down deeper and
burrowed in on our feelings of alienation, anger, and betrayal before offering a final and satisfactory serving of revenge.
The Count of Monte Cristo is a story with the power to speak to all who have tasted the
bitterness of life, but perhaps the young most truly understand its throbbing despair. It is a shame that in their quest for a more ethnically
diverse curriculum, today's high schools rarely place the novel on their
reading lists (this, despite the fact that Dumas was himself half-black).
The Count of Monte Cristo is, like most of the author's many other
works, strongly rooted in the real and probable. The story is very loosely
based on an actual criminal case, culled from an account buried in the back
pages of a newspaper. From there, Dumas turned this minor incident into a
novel of major proportions, adding a small ocean of complex characters, chases and escapes, duels and deceits, romance and mystery. It is, at its
very heart, a love story, the saga of one man's soul held captive across
many decades by a woman he would forever wish were his own. It is through
that love that Dantès, once poor and desolate and cast into the dark hole
of the Chateau d'If in 1815 and left to die, completes a spiritual voyage
born in the company of an imprisoned abbé, a fellow inmate, and released by
the powerful hold of his beloved Mercedes. The strength of their love allows the Count finally to strip away his hardened shell and reveal the
pure and honest inner core of Edmond Dantès.
Dumas used the political turmoil of his age to fuel his massive
historical novels. He was a man of wealth, and already France's most successful author by the time he began to write The Count of Monte Cristo
for newspaper serialization in 1844. This allowed him both the luxury and
the knowledge to skewer the morals and fabric of the upper-crust society in
which he found himself a respected member. At the same time, he was not
far removed from the young boy who had watched his widowed mother struggle
to make ends meet, working at a series of menial jobs and often borrowing
to keep her son in the better schools. These memories fueled his fictional
stance on the side of the poor, who are pitted against those who have the
means and desire to bury their hopes and simple dreams. The historical accuracy of The Count of Monte Cristo, as with all of Dumas's novels and
plays, should be viewed through a fine periscope. As with many great novelists, the breath and the purity of the story mattered more to Dumas
than did the strict adherence to the political facts and historical details. As he himself put it, "History is the nail on which I hang my
novels." Nothing mattered to him more than the telling of the tale.
The Count of Monte Cristo is my favorite book. It has resonated
throughout my life, its impact touching on all aspects of my daily world,
both personal and professional. As a young man, its haunting theme of betrayal and revenge was the fuel I poured over the harsh reality of my own
life. Now, as a married man and the father of two teenage children, I look
back on the book with an older set of eyes and take solace from one man's
tortuous inner travels and silent quest to find a spiritual peace.
We have all walked, to some degree, in the footsteps of Edmond
Dantès. We have seen our first loves lost to the arms of others, through
no fault of our own. We have witnessed the treachery of those we thought
to be friends, only to find that their hidden motives, often based in jealousy, were to cause us irreparable harm. We have thirsted for the cold
cup of revenge in order to right the wrongs that have left us damaged. Then, through the wisdom brought our way by the passage of time, we come to
a reflective end, where we seek to understand more than destroy, and are
quicker to grasp for the warmth of love than for the chill of hate.
The words that Alexandre Dumas first wrote in 1844 and 1845
reverberate even more in today's uncertain climate, 158 years after they
first appeared. Our world, like that of the young sailor from Marseilles,
has been thrown into a horrendous upheaval that once could never have been
imagined, thrusting us into choppy and uncertain waters, forcing us to come
to a mental and physical grip with our enemies, both revealed and unknown.
The valuable lessons taught to us by The Count of Monte Cristo are all here, on the pages that follow, to be learned by those who are new to the
story or relearned by those who once again venture inside Dumas's fictional
cave. It would be a shame not to do otherwise.
To reread The Count of Monte Cristo is much like spending time in
the relaxing company of an old and valued friend. We relish the telling of
the numerous tales of adventure. We cry at Dantès's wasted years spent
rotting away inside the hard stones of a cold prison. We are thrilled when
we hear of the truth behind the old abbé's words of a hidden world of vast
riches, there just for the taking. We read with tense anticipation as the
young sailor, now reborn as a dignified Count, unveils his far-reaching plan to bring down the unholy trio that stripped away his love and future
and forced his father to die at the hands of hunger. Then we see, as the
veil of revenge is dropped, the tender glow of love return to eyes that were deadened for so many years.
The long journey of Edmond Dantès is one we should all take at some point in our lives. We should follow it and embrace it with the warmth,
love, and respect the scope of his story commands.
It is a tale that must never be allowed to leave us.
And one that will be a part of us forever.
Copyright (C) 2002 by Lorenzo Carcaterra. Posted by permission of Modern
Library, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of
this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing
from the publisher.
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