Even though I know that I shouldn’t, I can’t help but love The Count of Monte Cristo. There might be one too many fight scenes for it to qualify as fine art, but the richness and breadth of Alexandre Dumas’ nineteenth-century tale of imprisonment and revenge (recently, the only way I could find to explain its appeal to a friend of mine was to exclaim, “IT HAS EVERYTHING!”) more than compensates for its occasional ridiculousness.
But the older I get—and the more opinions I develop upon prisoner’s rights—the more troubling my love becomes. In light of all the egregious suffering that American prisoners are subjected to (like endless solitary confinement, for example—which, ironically enough, is the exact same torment that was inflicted upon the Count), is it okay to like The Count of Monte Cristo? Even aside from the fact that a prisoner’s tribulations are used as fodder for adventure, the book is threaded with the suggestion that the Count’s quest for vengeance is misguided. Something about that just doesn’t seem right to me. Isn’t that blaming the victim? Shouldn’t the focus be upon the things that were done to him, and not the things that he did?
But when considered through the light of mercy (which is what we’re trying to do this summer, after all—and which, as Catholics, we should be trying to do for our entire lives), the story reads differently. It is true that the Works of Mercy ask us to ransom the captive. But there are differing forms of captivity. Clinging to old resentments only serves to mire us in strife and hardship. Through forgiveness, however, we ransom ourselves. When Christ instructs us to “turn the other cheek,” he isn’t telling us to submit to a toxic influence—but, rather, free ourselves by refusing to become embroiled in conflict.
Teresa de Mallorca is the pseudonym of a neophyte who just completed the RCIA program at Holy Name
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