Episode: 869
Title: HPR0869: The Count of Monte Cristo
Source: https://hub.hackerpublicradio.org/ccdn.php?filename=/eps/hpr0869/hpr0869.mp3
Transcribed: 2025-10-08 03:52:11

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you're listening to Centigator Thursday on Hacker Public Radio.
Today we're going back in time bringing you the complete
unedited version of the classic audio drama performed by the Mercury Theatre,
originally aired on the 28th of August 1938, and it's an adaptation of the classic novel
The Count to Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas. It's quite a long one, so sit back, relax and enjoy the show.
The Mercury Theatre on the Air.
The Columbia Broadcasting System takes pride in bringing you Orson Wells and the Mercury Theatre
on the Air in another broadcast of a unique series which signalises radio's first presentation
of a complete theatrical producing company. For these programs, the regular members stations
of the Columbia Broadcasting System are joined by the Costa Coast Network of the Canadian Broadcasting
Corporation. Tonight the Mercury Theatre turns to another of the great narratives and adventure
stories of the world of literature. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas,
and here again is the director, the star and producer of these broadcasts, Orson Wells.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. There is no reasonable explanation of Alexander Dumas.
He was a rich man. We note with interest that he went bankrupt in the theatre.
He was a revolutionary. His grandfather was a marquee. His grandmother was a negris.
He was born as Napoleon became emperor. He died in poverty as the Germans marched into France.
He wrote the Count of Monte Cristo as a newspaper serial, and shortly after the last installment,
a ball and a bullfight were organized for him in Seville and finally in Algiers,
the customs men let his baggage through without examination.
Such things don't and can't happen today, but then neither does Alexander Dumas himself,
the wildest romance of a man who could and did openly maintain at 70, numerous establishments,
and a literary factory as well whose quantitative output is equaled in the arts only by Ruben's studio.
There's a good story about what Dumas Père told Dumas Fees.
Father said the inventor of cameo. I have just read your latest book. Have you,
my son said, Dumas Père? What's it about? I'm not sure I have.
There's no secret and no shame either that the Chateau Monte Cristo was haunted by many ghost writers
and that its owner signed his name to more books than anyone could ever write.
It is not expected of Pharaoh that he build with his own hands, his own pyramids,
and the mere blueprint of one Dumas plot is an airtight alibi for a whole career.
Of all these out of question the most gloriously complex, possibly the most impossible,
a mathematical miracle as perfect as watchworks and as big as Pittsburgh,
among hundreds one Dumas plot persists as the most ingenious tall story ever perpetrated by
the mind of men. God's vengeance on radio script writers and your indestructible delight
in spite of us. Here then is a humble 57 minutes worth of the count of Monte Cristo.
In the year 1815, I, Edmund Anties, was first made of the Pharaoh,
bound for my say from Smirna, Trieste and Naples. The day we left Naples the captain was attacked
by a fever and died within three days. On the 28th day of September we sighted the coast of France.
Some hours later we rounded the Chateau Diffinette at Marseilles Harbor.
Monsieur Morelle, the owner, came abroad.
Good name Monsieur Morelle?
Ah, good name Monsieur Dunclas. You've heard of the misfortune,
let's be following us Monsieur Morelle?
Yes, yes, you mean for Captain Leclerc. He was a brave and an honest man.
The first brave seamen, grown old, between sky and ocean.
Well, a man needs not be old, Dunclas, to know his business.
Edmund Anties, you're made there seems to understand his style of name.
Yeah, let's go, the anchor.
You see, he fancies himself, kept him already.
So, in fact, he is.
Monsieur Morelle, what's your service? You call me, I think?
Yes, Dennis. I'm told you stop to then a half at the Isle of Elba.
Why?
I don't know, sir.
You don't know?
No, sir.
It was to fulfill the last instruction of Captain Acre, when he was dying.
He gave me a packet to be delivered on the island.
You did right, Dennis, to follow Captain Leclerc's instructions.
Though, if it were known that you've delivered a packet to the island,
it might get you into trouble.
How could it get me into trouble, sir, if I don't even know what it was?
I was delivering.
Thank you for your pardon, sir.
Yeah, the customs officers coming alongside.
Hey, the other companion, wait!
Well, Monsieur Morelle?
Yes, Monsieur D'Angla.
Edmund D'Artis gave you satisfactory reasons for his landing at Elba?
Oh, yes, quite satisfactory.
So much the better?
Yes, it was Captain Leclerc who gave orders for this delay.
Talking of Captain Leclerc, has D'Artis given you a letter from him?
To me?
No, was the one?
I believe that besides the packet, Captain Leclerc had confided a letter to his care.
What packet are you speaking, D'Angla?
Of that which D'Artis left at the Isle of Elba?
How do you know he had a packet to leave at the Isle of Elba?
I was passing close to the door of the captain's cabin, which was partly open.
I saw him give the letter and the packet to D'Artis.
He didn't speak to me of it, but if there was any letter, he'll give it to me.
D'Angla, your report of the office is up to noon with the bills of lading on the storage plans.
Good day.
Good day, Monsieur Morelle.
It's a wonderful thing to be home again after three months at sea,
to see the places you've grown up in as a boy in the streets full of people.
I found my father in the little dark room where he lived on the fourth floor of a house in the Ludo Nui.
Father, Edmund.
Father, what is it, you ear?
Father, what's wrong with you?
No, no, my boy, my son, no, but I didn't expect you and the joy and surprise of seeing you suddenly.
Father, listen to me.
I'm to be captain at 20, a captain with 3,000 francs pay and a share in the profits.
Isn't that more than I could have hoped for?
Yes, yes, dear boy.
Much more than we could have expected.
It's not young dog yourself, he's aunties.
The doorways stood on neither the tailor.
Cataroos.
Captain, eh?
I know someone below the church of Saint Michel who will be sorry to hear about this.
He's done this.
Mercedes, that's who he means, Father.
And now that I know your will, your consent, I'll go to her.
Her goad, dear boy, and heaven bless you and her wife.
Has it blessed me?
In a wife?
I'll fast you go, Father, Dante.
She isn't his wife yet, as far as I know.
She soon will be.
Here she is, but you were wise to return when you did, my boy.
Cataroos, what do you mean by that?
Oh, I don't mean anything in particular.
Mercedes, a very fine girl, and fine girls, never-like suitors.
There's one in particular.
A cousin of hers, I think he is.
Then I'm on day go.
I've even heard him.
What's that?
Oh, don't worry, my boy.
Now that you're captain, who can refuse?
You can say that if I were not a captain.
I didn't say that.
My boy, I don't even say that.
No offense, man.
My boy, no offense.
I went into the street, don't pass the church of San Michel
into the fisherman's quarter.
Mercedes, Mercedes.
Edmund, you're back.
We were in each other's arms.
The burning sun of Marseille covered us with a flood of light.
At first I saw nothing but a face raised to mine.
The shining eyes, the eager lips.
Then suddenly in the room behind me,
I saw the face of a young man, pale and threatening.
And I saw that he had his hand on a knife at his belt.
That's it is.
Who is this man?
Mercedes, I did not expect to meet an enemy here in your house.
Sure, there's no enemy.
This is my cousin.
We've been friends since childhood.
For land is the man whom after you, Edmund,
I love best and the world.
And you're my cousin.
And you're my cousin.
I love best and the world.
Well, give me your hand, Fernand.
Is your name Edmund Dante?
Fernand Mondego came forward.
For an instant, I saw a look of deadly hatred in his eyes,
then quickly without giving me his hand.
He went past us and out into the street.
Ah, geez!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
For truth, a feast is a gay affair in the South.
Monsieur Morrell removed every difficulty.
The papers were soon drawn up.
The arrangements were simple.
Mercedes had no fortune.
I had none to settle on her.
And the wedding was set for two.
All our friends were there, cruel of the Pharaoh,
and Mercedes people from among the fishermen.
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Get a name of the law!
Hey!
Get a name of the law!
Get a name of the law!
I demand an invitation!
What does he say?
What does he say?
The law?
It's the old image.
Wow!
What?
Who among the person's here are sample answers
of the name of Edmund Dante's?
I'm Edmund Dante's.
What do you want of me?
Edmund Dante's in the name of the law.
I arrest you.
Arrest me?
We do that plenty of the reason for your arrest
at your first examination.
Officer, what?
Officer, here's the rest.
What's that?
He's done up for granted.
He's a good boy.
Edmund!
It's impossible in which case have a reparation with you today?
Edmund.
Every time Edmund Dante's here.
You're under arrest.
What?
Follow me.
Oh!
Edmund!
Oh!
Edmund!
Edmund!
Edmund!
Edmund!
Come in.
So did he fall.
Here is the prisoner.
Bring him in.
Wait outside.
Yes, sir.
What is your name?
Are you the king's prosecutor, sir?
Yes.
Your name?
My name is Edmund Dante's.
You have all the information in your power.
Have you served under the usurper, Napoleon?
No, sir.
It is reported that your political opinions are extreme.
My political opinions?
I last, I never had any opinions.
I'm hardly 19, sir.
What do you make of this, then?
It is a letter, Monsieur Dante's.
Where?
Read it.
Monsieur the king's prosecutor is hereby informed by a friend of the throne and religion.
But one Edmund Dante's, made to the ship Ferro, arrived this morning from Smirna,
having touched at Naples and the island of Elba.
He's been entrusted by the usurper with a letter for the Bonapartist Committee in Paris,
proof of this crime will be found on arresting him, for the letter will be found on his personal,
father's, or in his cabin on board the Ferro.
I'm sorry, sir.
I don't understand it.
Do you know the right of no, sir?
Whoever did it rights will.
Have you any enemies?
Not that I know of, sir.
Now answer me, frankly.
Not as a prisoner to a judge, but as one man to another.
Is there any truth in this accusation?
Not at all, sir.
I swear by my honors, a sailor.
Then I told him my story.
I told him my captain to clear on his deathbed and entrusted a packet to me,
and told me of his dying breath to deliver it to the island of Elba.
What did you do then?
What should I have done, Monsieur?
What every man would have done in my place, I sail for the island of Elba.
I delivered the packet, was given return a letter to be delivered to a man here in my sea.
I did it because it was what my captain had told me to do.
I landed here yesterday, that is also.
I see.
Well, that sounds like the truth.
No.
Give up this letter, you will have brought from Elba.
Give us your word that you will appear if you are cold, and go back to your friends.
And free the answer?
Yes.
But first give me this letter.
Here you are, sir.
Very well.
By the way, to whom were you to deliver this letter?
To François Noitier, this city.
François Noitier?
Yes, sir.
Why do you know this man?
A peaceful servant of the king does not know conspirators.
Have you shown this letter to anyone?
To no one, sir, my honor.
Nobody knows that you are the bearer of a letter from the Isle of Elba, at least to François Noitier.
Nobody sir except the person who gave it to me.
Why so?
It's a matter.
It's a matter, sir.
You give me your word of honor that you are ignorant of the contents of this letter.
I'm not a word of honor, sir.
But what's the matter?
Your earl, sir, shall I call for help?
No, stay where you are.
It is for me to give orders here, not you.
I'm sorry.
I am no longer able, as I had hoped, to restore you to liberty, before doing so,
there are formalities to be gone through.
I'll try to make them as short as possible.
The principal charge against you, as you know, is this letter, and you see what I do with it?
You see?
I destroy it.
Oh, you should be fearful.
Your goodness itself.
Now then.
Do you trust me?
Order me, sir.
I'll obey.
Listen, this is not an order, but advice that I give you.
Yes, ma'am.
I shall keep you until this evening, here in the Palais de Justice.
Yes, sir.
Should anyone else question you?
Don't be the word of this letter.
I promise.
You see, the letter is destroyed.
You and I alone know of its existence.
So if they question you about it, deny your knowledge of it.
My will, sir.
It was the only letter you had.
It was.
Sir?
Did you ring, Monsieur?
A guard entered.
The ill-forged whispered something in his ear to which he replied by a motion of his head.
Follow this man, Monsieur Dante's.
He has his orders.
I was taken to a cell.
Presently it grew dark.
Hours later, I heard steps coming along the corridor.
When the torches they carried, I saw the glittering sabers and carbines of four gendarmes.
Edmund Dante's.
Have you come to fetch me?
Yes.
By the orders of the King's prosecutor?
I believe so.
Come with us.
Is this carriage for me?
It is for you.
Get in.
Get on board.
He went there!
I sat in the stern sheets with a guard on each side of me in a little boat.
There they are.
King's business.
Lower the chain.
The chain that closed at the mouth of the port at night, is lowered.
Soon we were outside the harbour.
My first feeling was one of joy at breathing the fine sea air again.
Then, if sadness as I saw the lights of Larm reserve,
the weight of the left of me and heard the sound of voices and music coming through the open windows.
Now we had passed the titanore.
We were in front of the lighthouse.
We were about to double the battery.
Where are you taking me?
You don't know.
But I want to know.
We are forbidden to give you any information.
Now we left the iron ore to know where the lighthouses stood.
We were going past the fishermen's quarter.
A few lights were visible from the water.
If I cried out, perhaps Mercedes might hear me.
I remained silent.
My eyes fixed on the lights.
The boat went on and, presently, a rising ground hid the lights.
Then I saw that we were out to sea.
Comrades!
The love of God tell where we're going.
You're on native of Marseille and the sailor.
Yet you don't know where you're going.
I have no idea.
Unless you're blind or have never been outside the harbor, you must know.
No!
Look around you.
And certainly within a hundred yards of me in the night.
I saw a dark, frowning rock with a tower on it.
Like a great black scaffold.
The shadow-deaf.
Quite right, my friend.
The shadow-deaf.
Help!
Help!
Let me go, help!
Help!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
Dante's.
Haven't you slept?
I don't know.
Are you hungry?
I don't know.
Do you want anything?
I want to see the governor.
The governor.
What do you see?
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
I'm innocent!
Another day.
Another eternity.
I threw out my food under the floor.
I walked around the narrow cell like a wild beast in its cage.
I tore up the straw of my mattress.
Dante's.
Well.
Are you reasonable today?
I want to see the governor.
I've told you that's impossible.
Why is it impossible?
It's not allowed.
I want to see the governor.
Take my advice, my friend.
Don't rule over what's impossible.
You'll go out of your head.
You think so?
We had an instance of it here in this cell.
A priest who was here before you.
He kept offering the governor a million francs for his freedom.
In the end, he went out of his head.
When was he in the cell?
Two years ago.
Was he set free?
No. He was put in that dungeon.
Listen to me.
I want to see the governor.
If you don't let me see the governor someday,
I'll hide behind the door.
And when you come in,
I'll dash your brains out with a stool.
That's it.
Hey.
With that stool out.
Are you going to let me see the governor?
Well, get down.
With that stool out.
Where do I see the governor?
Yes, yes, yes.
You shall see the governor twice.
And that's better.
It's better hurry.
Hurry.
President, the jail are returned with four soldiers.
By the governor's orders,
take the prisoner to the floor below.
The dungeon, man?
That's right.
We put Madman with Madman.
You don't understand it.
I tell you, I'm innocent.
I'm innocent. I'm innocent.
I'm innocent.
Months went by underground.
Fowl, humid and dark.
Every day, twice a day,
morning and evening,
the jailer came to my cell
and put down the vile food
and went away without speaking to me.
My hair and nails had grown long,
and my skin was white as a lepers.
I'd been proud the first months.
Now I'd began to beg.
I begged to be moved from this dungeon to another.
I begged to be allowed to walk about.
I begged for books.
Nothing was granted.
I spoke to the jailer when he brought me my food.
He rarely answered me.
But to speak to a man,
even though mute was something,
I tried to speak when alone,
but the sound of my own voice terrified me.
After what must have been three or four years,
the governor of the Chateau Tiff was transferred.
The new man never troubled to learn my name.
I was no longer Edmond Antis.
It was number 34.
I took the praying, but not as men pray in prosperity.
In my prayers, I laid out every action in my life
before the Almighty.
Still, I remained a prisoner.
Then a deep gloom took possession of me,
and then furious rage and savage thoughts of revenge.
And while I dashed myself against the walls of my prison,
I tore it my own flesh with my nails.
And then in the end,
in the end, I began to think of dying.
I swore that I would starve myself to death.
And every evening, I threw out through the small graded window,
all the food that Jala brought me every bit of it,
at first galley and then thoughtfully,
and then with regret.
I held the plate in my hand for an hour at a time,
gazing at the morsel of bad meat,
of tainted fish,
of black and moldy bread.
Then I remembered nails and threw the dish away.
One day, I found I had not sufficient force to throw my supper out of the window.
The next morning,
I could hardly see or hear.
I knew I was dying.
The day went by.
I felt a sort of stupor creeping over me,
the knowing pain at my stomach had ceased,
my thirst had abated.
When I closed my eyes, I saw myriads of lights dancing before them.
I was on the edge of that mysterious country called death.
Suddenly,
a little after dark,
I heard a hollow sound in the wall against which I was lying.
I set up and listened to this continuous gratching
as if made by a huge claw,
some iron instrument scraping against the stones,
then all silent.
Soon after it began again,
nearer and more distinct.
Perhaps there's only a workman repairing a neighbouring dungeon.
I would soon find out.
The sound continued,
with my ovenware jug I knocked against the wall with a sound game.
Then,
the sound stopped.
The night passed in complete silence.
I never closed my eyes.
Three days passed.
Three long days.
And never a sound.
At last on the fourth evening.
Whoever it was was quite close to me now.
I wanted desperately to help him,
but I had nothing known knife or sharp instrument.
I smashed my ovenware jugs.
That night I moved my bed out from the wall and started to scrape the plaster
with a piece from my broken jug.
Soon the fragments of plaster began to fall away.
In three days I uncovered a large stone.
The next day about noon the stone began to move.
Oh my god, my god, I don't feel enough.
Oh my god!
The top of the god in this place.
Speak again.
The name of heaven.
Speak.
Who are you?
A prisoner.
Of what country?
A Frenchman.
Your name?
Edmont Dantes.
How long have you been here since the 28th day of February?
1815.
Your prime.
I'm innocent.
You?
Who are you?
I am number 27.
How long have you been here since 1800 and 420 years?
All that night we worked.
Then just before dawn a portion of the floor in myself get away.
And from the bottom of this passage the depth of which it was impossible to measure appeared the head, then the shoulders, and lastly the body of a man.
To this man I owe all that I possess, all that I know, all that I have become.
In the prison he was known as the mad priest I never learned his name.
For eight years we saw each other every day, using the tunnel he had dug through the solid rock, concealing the mouth of the passage with stones carefully fitted in place.
By the sundial he had traced on the wall of his cell we knew the hours of the guards visit, the rest of the day we were together.
He had been a great scholar in his day, and all that he knew he taught me with infinite loving patience.
Day after day, year after year.
Then one morning when I went down I found him standing in the middle of his cell.
Pale is dead.
Quick, Dante's quick.
Listen to what I have to say.
What is it Father? Tell me, have a seat, what's the matter?
I am dying. Help me to my bed.
See, half my body is paralyzed already.
Careful.
Thank you, my son.
Now listen to me.
All is over with me.
This night or tomorrow I shall be dead.
But Father, I know the illness.
There is no hope, and I shall never leave this place now.
Before I die there is something I want to give you.
In this handheld of morsel of paper tightly rolled together.
A half-burned paper on which with some lines of graphic character traced with a peculiar kind of ink.
This paper, my child, is my treasure.
From this day forth it belongs to you.
Your treasure?
Oh, yes.
I know what's passing through your mind at this moment.
Even now you, like all the others.
But be assured, my child.
I am not mad.
This treasure exists.
Read what it says.
This treasure, which may amount to declangle.
A pro-forty.
See?
I see nothing but broken lines and unconnected words.
Yes.
To you who read them for the first time.
But to me, who have grown pale over them by many nights study.
Who have reconstructed every phrase, completed every thought.
Have you ever heard of the great Spada treasure?
I've heard sailors talk of it, yes.
For ten years I worked for the house of Spada.
That paper you have asked is what is left of the will of Cardinal Spada.
Murdered by a Roderick Baja.
Now take this and put the two pieces together and read.
For twenty-fifth day of April 1498 being invited to die.
By his holiness Alexander the sixth and fearing for my life.
I declared to my nephew, Guido Spada, my sole heir.
That I have buried in a place he knows.
In the caves of the island of Monte Cristo.
All I possessed of ingots, gold, money, jewels and diamonds.
Which treasure may amount to nearly two million of Roman crowns
which you will find in the farthest angle of the island cave.
And this treasure I bequeath and leave entire to him as my sole heir.
For a Draco Spada.
Ten million crowns.
Yes.
A hundred million francs of our money.
Think of the good a man could do in the world.
With a hundred million francs.
Yes.
Now I am dying.
With my dying breath I leave this treasure to you.
Pray God you be more fortunate than I.
But I know right to it, sir.
You are my son, down to his.
You are the child that God sent to console me in my captivity.
Two days later, in fearful agony he died.
I closed his eyes and laid him out to rest as well as I could.
That night the governor of the prison came down to look at the body.
Well, the Madman's gone to look after his treasure.
With all his millions he hasn't enough to pay for his shroud, eh?
Is the iron heated?
Yes, sir.
Apply it to the soul's feet.
From where I stood in the secret passage I could smell the sickening odor of burnt flesh.
Did all right?
Poor devil.
He was a priest.
Get him the newest sack you've got.
Time shall we bathe him, sir.
Use your...
When the cell was empty again I went in.
On the bed at full length.
And faintly lighted by the light of a single candle was visible a sack of coarse cloth.
In it was stretched along in a different form.
I unlace the sack.
Drew the corpse out and carried it through the tunnel to my cell.
I let it on my bed turned the head of the wall and covered it with a sheet.
For the last time I kissed the ice cold brow.
Then I went back to the dead man's cell.
Where's the job I get to help?
I could hear steps in the passage as the guards came down with a stretcher.
Quickly I laced up the sack around my body.
I lay stiff hoping they would not hear the beating of my heart.
Here we go.
You take the head and I'll take the beating.
He's heavy enough for an old man.
They say every year adds half a pound to the bone.
Poor much.
Half a pound.
Steady while I open this door.
Oh, that's cold up here.
Yeah, pleasant morning for a dip in the ocean.
A fidgetly I'd say.
Have you got the weight?
Here it is.
Tired on, round his feet.
That's right.
Tight.
See if you could do it any time.
Yeah, that's all right.
That'll sink him.
All right now.
Are you ready?
One.
Two.
Hey, wait a minute.
Get nearer the edge.
The last one was national rock.
We got the blame for it.
All right then.
Come on, guys.
Freezing itself.
Ready?
Let's go.
One.
Two.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
Three.
You are listening to the CBS presentation of Orson Welles
and the Mercury Theater on the Air in Alexander Dumas'
Count of Monte Cristo.
The performance will continue in just a moment.
This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
We continue now with the Count of Monte Cristo,
starring Orson Welles with the Mercury Theater on the Air.
In September 1834,
there arrived in Marseille a man of about 38 or 40
of a pallor that was almost livid.
He gave the impression of a man who had been enclosed
for a long time in a tomb.
Soon after landing, he inquired from a man by the name of Dante's.
And hearing that he'd been dead for the past 14 years,
he asked for a tailor called Caderus.
Are you Gaspard Caderus?
I am.
It's going inside, my friend.
I have to talk to you.
Well, what is it?
Mr. Caderus in the year 1814 or 15.
Did you know a young sailor with a name of Dante's?
Dante's?
Yes.
Why'd you ask?
Is he alive?
No, he died in prison.
Die, eh?
What did he die of?
What two young, strong men usually die of in prison?
He died of sorrow and a broken heart.
Before he died, he begged me to clear his name.
He gave the names that people here in Marseille would be his friends.
There are three, he said, besides my father and the girl I was betrothed to.
One of them is Caderus.
He said that?
The second is Dongla.
Dongla?
The third is Fennar Montego.
Montego?
You know these men?
No, them.
Where's in heaven's name of you being, my friend?
Who isn't a man in France who doesn't know them?
Dongla is a millionaire.
He has a banking house of his own.
There in Dongla, he calls himself now.
And Montego's account and the cabinet minister and an officer of the Legion of Honor
were the house in Paris a block wide.
I could tell you something about these two.
Not that it'll do much good now that he's dead.
Oh, that young fellow you were talking about, Dante's.
I have a good mind to tell you anyway.
Do you know who sent Edmund Dante's to prison?
Well, I do.
It was two men who were jealous of him.
One for love and one for ambition.
And you know who they were?
I'll tell you.
Montego and Dongla.
I thought they were his friends.
That's what he thought.
What did they do?
They denounced into the police as a traitor.
And was he a traitor?
No more than you were right.
Which of the two denounced him?
Both.
Monsieur.
It was Dengar who wrote the letter.
And Montego who put it in the post.
When was this that a written?
The car was air.
The night before the wedding.
How do you know?
Are you there?
I was at the next table.
They thought I was too drunk to hear.
I see. How about this girl, Dante's, was betrothed to him?
Yes.
Yes, that's a name.
What happened to her?
Well sir, that's a sad story.
When Dante's was arrested, he was nearly mad with grief.
Get it for him.
Six months went by and there was no news of him.
And every day there was her mother telling her he was dead
and telling her to marry Montego.
She came to see old Dante's.
Edmund is dead, he said to her.
If he wins, he would have returned to us.
Then the old man died and there it left her quite alone.
Still, she waited and still no word from him.
In the end of three years, she married Montego.
And now she's one of the greatest ladies in Paris.
A year.
She waited a year.
What did you say?
Nothing.
Nothing.
You say Edmund Dante's father died?
Yes.
Soon after his son disappeared.
What did he die of?
If he was me, he died of starvation.
Starvation?
The doctor had another name for it.
I know better.
He knocked himself up in his room and died of starvation.
Later that day, the stranger appeared at the Palais de Justice
and asked to see the prison records for the year 1815.
He obtained permission to go through the case of a certain Edmund Dante's.
In prison that year and subsequently reported his death.
He found everything arranged in due order the denunciation.
Examination in the magistrate's marginal notes.
He read the examination and noted with surprise that the name of François Noitier
to whom the fatal letter had been addressed.
Never once appeared in it.
There was a notation in the margin which Redis follows.
Edmund Dante's.
An inveterate criminal.
To be kept in complete solitary confinement.
And to be strictly watched and guarded.
It was signed a vehicle for him.
And he had to go through the case.
To be strictly watched and guarded.
It was signed a vehicle for him.
Below in another hand was written.
Prisoner killed while attempting to escape.
That night the stranger left Marseille going north.
Field for.
Monday go.
Dungler.
Field for Monday go.
Dungler find out everything there is to know about them.
Every move they've made.
Every word they've said.
Every line they've written.
Yes sir.
Find out about their homes.
Their wives, their children, their friends.
Yes sir.
Find out where they got their power.
How they made their money.
Whom they robbed.
Whom they cheated.
Whom they murdered.
One day in November, Baron Dungler.
Head of the banking house of that name received a visit.
From a new client.
Miss Ulyb Baron Dungler.
I have the honor of addressing the Count of Monte Cristo.
You have, sir.
Have you been in Paris long, sir?
Since this morning.
I have a letter here, sir, from the firm of Thompson and French in Rome.
A letter of credit in your name.
Good.
And I take it that, beginning today, my checks will be duly honored by your house.
In this letter, sir, there is one thing not quite clear.
Indeed.
According to this letter, the Count of Monte Cristo is to have unlimited credit on our house.
And what is there?
That simple fact that requires explanation.
Nearly the term unlimited.
Are you suggesting that Thompson and French are not looked upon as solvent bankers?
Oh, no, no.
It was not their solvency that I spoke of.
I see.
But the word unlimited in financial affairs is so extremely vague a term.
To me, Baron, the word means exactly what it says.
It means without limitation.
I assure you, sir, that up to the amount of a million.
I beg your pardon.
I said that should you be hard-pressed.
Were you even required a million?
A million?
I did, sir.
For a trifle like that, I assure you I should never trouble to open an account.
One million francs.
Excuse my smiling when you speak of a sum that I am in the habit of carrying in my pocketbook.
I admit I am hardly...
If you would prefer not to handle this account, Baron Dongler.
I have let a similar to yours address to Baron of London and Rothschild of the city.
Need have no scruples in declining.
I assure you I never...
No, no, no.
No, you merely wish to be convinced that your stockholders ran no risk.
Nothing more.
Very some, Baron Dongler.
I understand they include some of the greatest names in France.
Am I right?
The Duke de Mondeco?
The Baron de Villefort?
It is not generally known that these names are born.
Of course.
Of course.
Now we understand one another I should like to draw tomorrow the sum of shall we say.
Six million francs, half gold, half notes.
Six million francs.
As you say, sir.
If I should require more I shall let you know of other way, Baron Dongler.
Drive me tomorrow 10,000 shares of Austrian Commonwealth.
You have some information, sir, about this stuff.
You will find, sir.
But I never gamble.
Except uncertain is.
Rarely has Paris been more intrigued than it was that winter
by the mysterious Count de Monte Cristo.
This title, nothing was known, say that he derived it from a small uninhabited island
off the coast of Cossica.
The source of his fortune was equally obscure.
Yet his wealth seemed inexhaustible.
The paintings in his house in the Champs-Élysées were valued at three million francs
and it was known that for his carriage wheels alone he had paid one million francs
yet far from diminishing.
By the middle of December, successful speculation had increased his deposited Dongler's bank
from four to nearly six million francs.
The end of December, a bore was given by the Count and Count de Monte Cristo.
The End
The Crafts of the Real Ren心
The End
The End
The End
The End
The End
The End
The End
The End
The End
The End
The End
That's it is.
And I present the most talkative man in Paris.
A count of Monte Cristo, canister Monteca.
I am deeply honored.
What is it, Mercedes?
What is it, are you ill?
It's nothing, Fernand. Perhaps the hero's room.
It was kind of you to come, sir.
Will you give me your arm, count of Monte Cristo?
I am honored, but then.
He's a true count.
But everyone is saying about you in pairs that you've seen so much,
traveled so far, and suffered so deeply.
I have suffered deeply, Madame.
No, you are happy?
No doubt, since no one hears me complain.
Your present happiness.
Is it self in your heart?
My present happiness does not equal my past misery.
Are you not married?
I, married.
No, Madame.
You are alone, then.
I am alone.
You have no sister, no father.
I have none.
How do you exist thus without anyone to hold you to life?
Madame.
Long ago, I loved a girl.
It was on the point of marrying, Madame, when we were separated.
I thought she loved me well enough to wait for me,
and even to remain faithful to my grave.
When I returned, she was married.
Perhaps my heart was weaker than that of most,
and I suffered more than they would have.
In my place.
It's all, Madame.
You still preserve this love in your heart.
It is true one can love only one.
Did you ever see her again?
Never.
You have forgiven her for all she has made you suffer.
Yes, I have forgiven her.
But only her.
You still hate those who separated you.
You still want to punish them.
They will be punished, Madame.
But it is not I who will punish them.
It is their own past.
Changla, beautiful.
One day go.
What have you found out about these men?
Changla.
Changla, native of Maffe,
banker, three times bankrupt, convicted of using charity funds.
Recently suspected of plunging heavily with borrowed funds.
Yes.
Recently suspected of plunging heavily with borrowed funds.
Beer for.
Beer for?
Native of Marseille.
Formerly King's agent, that city,
where he acted as born a part of spy under the name of Francois Noache.
No one to accept bribes.
At present, Prosecutor General at King's Court
said to speculate heavily with Donglao's bank.
Mondago.
Mondago, Native of Marseille.
Dismissed from naval service for theft.
Tried for murder, 1816.
Deserted French Army, 1824.
1828 betrayed Ali Pasha to Turks for two million piasters.
Believed involved heavy losses, Donglao's bank.
Mr. Dongla.
He's in the private office.
They're on duty before.
Good morning, Beer for.
Hello, Mondago.
You're late, Beer for.
What is it, Donglao?
You sent for me in court.
I hope it's something good this time we need it.
Just arrived.
The private message.
To the counter-modern crystal from Thompson and French Rome.
They've never been wrong yet.
If you know you intercept this message as Donglao.
Who cares?
As I say.
Read it.
Secret treaties signed tonight.
Anglo-Italian due sharp rise.
Buy all available shares, Thompson and French.
Well, we are going to buy.
Donglao, I'm worried.
Everything you've touched has gone wrong lately.
Those Belgian bonds.
We lost half a million on them.
Who's fault was that?
On whose information?
Can I have a Donglao if the government changes my hand?
Gentlemen, gentlemen.
Our situation is desperate.
We've got to plunge.
Things have been going badly lately.
We have no choice.
If it weren't for Montecristo's deposits,
we'd been bankrupt three weeks ago.
If that money should be called to Dale tomorrow or the next day,
this bank is ruined.
Donglao, I don't see what that has to do with us.
Oh, you don't, don't you?
If I go, you go.
Make no mistake about that.
Gentlemen.
What do you propose to do about it, Donglao?
It's our only chance to get out.
I propose to buy every share of Anglo-Italian
that comes into this market.
What?
You saw Getterman.
The Count of Montecristo has six million France deposited in this bank.
And what about this message?
Does Montecristo get to see it?
This message, gentlemen,
was lost in transmission.
Richard, sayer of Anglo-Italian.
Wow~~~~
$150!
$107.
$110!
Wow!
$500!
$150!
$170!
$125!
Richard, sayer of Anglo-Italian.
$130!
$125!
$300!
$150!
$1070!
One hundred and sixty. One hundred and seventy five.
Well, 62,000 share. How much puffer does that sell?
So far, three quarters of a million. And it's only a beginning.
Who was selling? I don't know. I couldn't find out. Come in.
Well, well, what is it?
A bout of Monte Cristo to see you, sir. Tell him I'm not good afternoon.
And gentlemen.
I hope I don't intrude.
D'Angla.
Divir for? Monday go.
How fortunate.
Gentlemen, I'm here to say goodbye.
Goodbye.
I have decided to leave Paris for a while.
Perhaps forever.
Before I go, there are certain things I've left to do.
Mr. D'Angla.
I am in need of money for my journey.
My credit on your books as of tonight is six million francs.
Less about a million to cover certain stocks I sold short today.
Here is a check for five million francs made out of cash.
I carriage his outside.
I'll take half in notes.
Half in gold. But surely...
I beg your pardon.
Surely, sir, such a very large sum.
If you could conveniently wait for this money for twenty-four all for the most...
I told you.
Baron D'Angla.
I'm leaving Paris tonight.
By the way, Baron, you may be interested to learn.
Less than an hour ago, Anglo-Italian went into liquidation.
At this moment, that stock is worth less than the paper on which it's printed.
But the message from Compton and France.
That message was sent on my instructions three days ago.
You see, gentlemen.
I own Compton and France.
It is not true that the three days...
As far as I know, Mondego, there never was any question of the three days.
That it means...
That you, three gentlemen, are ruined.
It means that you, D'Angla, have robbed the poor and the helpless for the last time.
I'll prosecute you for this. I'll leave you a warrant for your arrest.
I don't think you will bear on to view for.
In the first place, that message was addressed to me.
In the second place, since noon today,
there has been in the hands of the Minister of Justice,
a complete record of the career of Francois Noir-Ké,
Baron de Villefort, spy, thief, forger, informer...
Who am I?
Still, you do not know.
I know you very well, Fernand Mondego.
And tomorrow, all Paris will know you for what you are.
Dessertor, traitor, murderer.
Why are you?
What have we done to you?
You condemned me to a slow, horrible death.
You killed my father. You deprived me of love, a freedom of happiness.
That's in God's name. Who are you?
I am the specter of a wretch. You buried in the dungeons, the shadow deep.
You guess it now, do you not?
Or rather, you remember it.
For notwithstanding all my sorrows and my tortures,
I show you now a face which has the happiness of revenge,
and which is young again.
A face you must often have seen your dreams
since your marriage, Mondego,
with Mercedes, my patrols.
Yes, Mondego.
I am Edmond Dante's.
Tonight, the Columbia Broadcasting System
through its affiliated station's Coast to Coast
and the network of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation
has brought you a performance of Alexander Dumas' great adventure story,
the Count of Monte Cristo,
as dramatized in the first person singular by Orson Wells
and played by the Mercury Theatre on the air.
In the cast this evening, Ray Collins as the Abbey Faria,
George Dolores as Missy Morell,
Edgar Barrier as the Ville Four,
Eustace Wyatt as Caderoos,
Paul Stewart as Old Anties,
Sidney Smith as front and Mondego,
Richard Wilson as the officer, William Allen as a merchant,
and the Stafford as Mercedes,
and Orson Wells as Edmond Dante as the Count of Monte Cristo.
The orchestra was directed by Alexander Semmer
and David Centella supervised the production for CBS,
Dan Seymour speaking.
Next week at the same time,
another great narrative brought to life by Orson Wells
and the Mercury Theatre on the air,
the man who was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton.
This is the Columbia Broadcasting System
and the Columbia Broadcasting System
and the Columbia Broadcasting System
and the Columbia Broadcasting System
and the Columbia Broadcasting System
and the Columbia Broadcasting System.
