CHAPTER CXIV
THE PAST
HE count departed with a sad heart from the house in which he had left Mercédès, probably never to behold her again. Since the death of little Edward a great change had taken place in Monte-Cristo. Having reached the summit of his vengeance by a long and tortuous path, he saw an abyss of doubt on the other side of the mountain. More than this, the conversation which had just taken place between Mercédès and himself had awakened so many recollections in his heart that he felt it necessary to combat with them. A man of the count's temperament could not long indulge in that melancholy which can exist in common minds, but which destroys superior ones. He thought he must have made an error in his calculations if he now found cause to blame himself.
"I cannot have deceived myself," he said; "I must look upon the past in a false light. What!" he continued, "can I have been tracing a false path?—can the end which I proposed be a mistaken end?—can one hour have sufficed to prove to an architect that the work upon which he founded all his hopes was, if not impossible, at least sacrilegious? I cannot reconcile myself to this idea—it would madden me. The reason why I am now dissatisfied is, that I have not a clear appreciation of the past. The past, like the country through which we walk, becomes indistinct as we advance. My position is like that of a person wounded in a dream; he feels the wound, though he cannot recollect that he received it.
"Come, then, thou regenerate man, thou extravagant prodigal, thou awakened sleeper, thou all-powerful visionary, thou invincible millionaire! once again review thy past life of starvation and wretchedness, revisit the scenes where fate and misfortune conducted, and where despair received thee; too many diamonds, too much gold and splendor are
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