Count of Monte Cristo

The Count comes with secret islands, dashing adventure-seekers, fistfuls of poison, serious

disguises, Italian bandits, intricate prison escape strategies, Romeo-and-Juliet-like love scenes,

and more. This novel is about a sailor named Edmond Dantès (think the Dread Pirate Roberts

from The Princess Bride) who is betrayed by three men, two of whom are jealous of his fiancée

and of his success. Dantès spends fourteen years in Chateau d'If (a hardcore prison) for a crime

he has not committed, and then he spends many years after that seeking revenge on these

three dudes.

It's got tons of treasure, a secret island hideout, secret identities, duels, gory executions,

bandits and smugglers galore, all topped with a healthy serving of revenge. If that's not

adventure, we don't know what is. All of this happens during a particularly tumultuous time in

French history – the whole thing wouldn't have happened without Napoleon's attempt to

regain power – so all the "historical" trappings should be acknowledged. Also, all the Count's

swashbuckling raises some very serious questions of morality, forcing us to think about big

things like Fate, Free Will, and Justice.

Characters:

Edmond Dantès is the apple of this novel's eye. We will follow him over the course of twenty-

three years and 117 chapters (yikes). During this time he will pretend to be a number of

different people, including Sinbad the Sailor, Lord Wilmore, Abbé Faria, and the Count of Monte

Cristo.

M. Gerard de Villefort – He betrays Edmond and has him thrown in jail to secure his own

ambition. Bad character

Madame Héloise de Villefort – Villeforts second wife

M. Gaspard Caderousse – Bad character

Mercedes Herrera/The Countess de Morcerf - Dantès’ fiancée at the beginning of the novel.

Good character.

Fernand Mondego/The Count de Morcerf – Betrays Dantès’. Bad character

M. Danglars/Baron Danglars – Bad character

Madame Hermine Danglars – Danglars’ second wife. Bad character

M. Morrel - Dantès’ employer One of the "good" characters in the novel, he will be rewarded

for his friendship and goodness by Dantès.

M. Maximilian Morrel – One of Dantès’ only friends and is in love with Valentine de Villefort. A

"good" character.

Haidee Tepelini - A "good" character.

M. de Noirtier - Villefort’s father. A "good" character.

Albert de Morcerf - The son of Mercedes and Fernand. A "good" character.

Benedetto/Andrea Cavalcanti - The illegitimate child of Villefort and Madame Danglars. A "bad"

character.

Valentine de Villefort - Villefort’s daughter by his first wife. A "good" character.

Narration:

Third Person (Omniscient)

Dumas has total control of the book's narrative – sort of like the Count himself when you think

about it. He can switch the focus of the story abruptly, as he does when we're first introduced

to Franz d'Epinay. Dumas doesn't do much with the "inner monologue" of his characters –

oftentimes when they're thinking something, they simply mutter it.

Having said all this, we should note that at a few points during the novel he lets the characters

themselves narrate the action; we get to hear Bertuccio's take on the (unsuccessful) murder of

de Villefort and Haydée's account of her father's betrayal. These are exceptions to the rule,

though. Dumas is usually reading minds and calling the shots.

Background:

The Count of Monte Cristo, despite all of its unbelievable (unbelievable in the best possible

way, the "oh man, no way did he just do that" way) action and adventure, draws heavily on fact

– at least as far as the setting and details go. All the stuff about Napoleon the descriptions of

Marseille, the Roman carnival, Parisian society, and the like are true to life.

It should come as no surprise, then, that there really is an island of Montecristo located a short

distance south of Elba. Dumas's description of the place isn't exact – at one point there was a

monastery there, and it may or may not be inhabited by a bunch of wild goats – but it's there,

nonetheless, in all its insignificant glory. The name Monte Cristo literally means Mountain of

Christ, and, as you might expect, there's a reason Dumas chose a place with such a loaded

name instead of, say, the nearby isle of Pianosa; resurrection, redemption, and salvation are a

big part of the book, and the "Christ" reference recalls all of these themes.

The book is called The COUNT of Monte Cristo and in Dumas's fictional world, there's a lot of

meaning invested in such a title. Back in the early nineteenth century just about any old rich

dude (nabob, meaning "a man of great or conspicuous wealth" is a good word for those types)

could get himself a title. Monte Cristo tells Albert de Morcerf that he's "an accidental count,

fabricated by Tuscany with the help of a commandership of Saint Stephen: I should never have

passed myself off as a great nobleman were it not that I was repeatedly told this was absolutely

necessary for anyone who travels a lot." Dumas wants us to know how easy it is to transform

oneself in society's eyes.

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Symbolism:

Now, before we really dig into this symbol, check out these two passages:

In addition to that, escorted by only these men, he [Franz d'Epinay] was about to land on an

island which certainly had a very religious name, but which appeared to offer Franz no greater

hospitality than Calvary did to Christ, in view of the smugglers and the bandits. (31.100)

A little corvette was bobbing in a fairly large cove; it had a narrow hull and tall mast with a flag

flying from the lateen yard and bearing Monte Cristo's coat of arms: a mountain on a field of

azure with a cross gules at the chief, which could have been an allusion to his name (evoking

Calvary, which Our Saviour's passion has made a mountain more precious than gold, and the

infamous cross which his divine blood made holy) as much as to any personal memory of

suffering in the mysterious night of the man's past. (85.124)

Here, Dumas is making a less than subtle analogy between the island of Monte Cristo and

Calvary, the hill on which Jesus was crucified. Franz d'Epinay immediately makes the association

between Monte Cristo – "Mountain of Christ" – and the place of Christ's execution. Dumas is a

little more coy about his comparisons when he describes the Count's coat of arms, "a mountain

with a field of azure with a cross gules" at the chief. In this context, "gules" simply means red;

the Count's flag has what looks like a mountain with a red cross on top, against a blue

background. Dumas goes on to tell us that this "could be" an allusion to the Count's name, a

name which "could be," we can infer, an allusion to Calvary and the cross of Christ; or, that it

could be some reference to his own personal suffering.

Of course, Dumas wants us to know that it is all those things: Monte Cristo's name – taken from

the name of the island – and coat of arms recalls the suffering of Christ on the cross; Edmond

Dantès's personal suffering reminds us of the same, and his rebirth as the Count reminds of

Christ's resurrection. He, like Jesus, emerges from a cave – although in Edmond's case the cave

contains a big chest of gold and jewels.

Now, if Dumas hasn't gotten through to you at this point, he really hammers things home in the

last line of the last chapter of the book. "Who knows if we shall ever see them again," says

Morrel, tears in his eyes. "My dearest," Valentine responds, "has the count not just told us that

all human wisdom was contained these two words—'wait' and 'hope?'" (117.159). Dumas lets

us know that the Count will be back again, like the Christian belief in the "second coming" of

Christ.

Ending:

There's some serious Christian symbolism going on in The Count of Monte Cristo. Nowhere is

that more apparent than at the book's end. For one thing, the Count literally brings someone

back from the dead – at least as far as Maximilian is concerned. Also, as you might recall –

especially if you've just found out what's up with the title – you know that this happens at a

place called Mount Christ. Oh, and the guy who did the resurrecting has taken on the name of

the place that's named after Jesus.

So, we've got this sort of literal resurrection thing, and a direct reference to Jesus Christ. "But is

Valentine really the only person/thing that's being resurrected?", you ask. No way, we answer.

The ending is about a broader kind of redemption and rebirth. Remember, the Count has just

had a crisis of conscience (he's like, "oh man, was all that revenge stuff worth it?"). He's made

some amends, but he has something special cooked up for Maximilian, a kind of positive lesson,

a lesson which he puts neatly into a couple of sentences:

As for you, Morrel, this is the whole secret of my behaviour towards you: there is neither

happiness nor misfortune in this world, there is merely the comparison between one state and

another, nothing more. Only someone who has suffered the deepest misfortune is capable of

experiencing the heights of felicity. Maximilian, you must needs have wished to die, to know

how good it is to live. (117.149)

This is the ultimate lesson taken away from Monte Cristo's years of pain and suffering. It

basically boils down to "No pain, no gain" or, to be needlessly wordy, "No suffering, no

cherishment of life." And who should know better than the Count? It must be said, too, that it's

a deeply Christian sentiment. In the Good Book, Jesus must suffer in order to redeem mankind,

which is to say, only by his suffering can they come to enjoy the afterlife. If all this weren't

enough, well, it helps to look at MC's parting words to Maximilian and Valentine. "So, do live

and be happy, children dear to my heart," he tells them, "and never forget that, until the day

when God deigns to unveil the future to mankind, all human wisdom is contained in these two

words: 'wait' and 'hope'!" (117.150). He's telling them to wait patiently until Judgment Day.

Monte Cristo himself already had his own sort of miniature version of it, but, as we know, it

didn't go quite right. Now, just before he sails off into the sunset, he tells them to wait for the

real deal.

Questions:

Does the Count succeed in taking his revenge? Is he happy at the end of the novel?

When does he decide to stop taking revenge on his enemies, and why does he do so?

How is the Count at the end of the novel similar or different from Edmond Dantès at the

beginning of the novel?

What's the deal with The Count and women? He freely admits that Haydée is his slave,

and he claims to have seraglios (harems) all over the world. Does this affect our

perception of him?

Valentine de Villefort is pretty much the perfect daughter and fiancée. She loves her

family, especially her grandfather, and Maximilian Morrel; she would do anything for

them. Should we applaud her behavior? How does her behavior compare to that of

Eugénie Danglars's? How are these two women different or similar?

A London newspaper calls you and asks you to write chapters 118 through 130 of The

Count of Monte Cristo. What would happen next in your extended ending?

Who are the happiest characters at the end of this novel? Why are they happy?

How did the experience of living in prison affect the Count?

Is "family" an important concept in The Count of Monte Cristo?

Do you ever disagree with what the Count does?

Should the Count and Mercédès have tried to renew their love at the end of the novel?

Do you feel hopeful upon reading the last words of this story?