I worked as private secretary to...
the enormously wealthy Count Enrique Spada.
Spada was a righteous man.
Sadly, a couple of years later, he died...
amidst rumours that he had hidden his limitless fortune.
- Two weeks later, I was arrested. - Why?
Napoleon wanted Spada's treasure.
He did not believe that I had no idea where it was.
So he had me thrown in here to refresh my memory.
And so here I've remained...
with only God for company...
until he sent me you.
God is no more real than your treasure, Priest.
Perhaps.
Hurry. Get it.
Compute this.
2,500 cubic centimetres of rock and dust a day...
for 365 days.
Equals three-and-a-half metres a year...
twelve feet, a foot a month.
Three inches a week.
In Italian.
Do not waste the light.
You were a soldier, Priest.
So you know weaponry.
Teach me.
Or dig alone.
This is ridiculous.
The stronger swordsman does not necessarily win.
It is speed!
Speed of hand.
Speed of mind.
Now, sweep your hand through the drops...
without getting wet.
Like this.
How long must I keep this up?
I am going down the tunnel.
Parry.
Up. Like that.
Economics is the science that deals with the production...
distribution and consumption of commodities.
Translation.
Thank you. Happy Christmas, Edmond.
Give or take a month or so.
- Danglars? Mondego? - Who do you think?
Good! Too good.
We have Newton's third law.
There is a reaction to every action...
in physics and in man.
Thus my quest for vengeance is a reaction to the actions of Danglars and Mondego.
Up, up. I want that seat.
You once told me that Villefort had you rearrested just after...
he had cleared you of all the charges.
You may go.
Yes, that's true.
Then why would he go through that charade...
unless he had reason to change his mind about letting you go?
- Think, Edmond. - I'm trying.
- What happened? - He asked me...
Did Napoleon tell you who was supposed to pick up this letter?
- I told him... - A Monsieur Clarion.
- And nothing more? - Nothing. He burnt the letter and said I could go.
Ah.
He burned the letter.
- Yes. - Strange that a chief magistrate...
would burn evidence of a treasonous conspiracy...
and then imprison the only man...
who was aware of Monsieur Clarion's connection...
to that conspiracy.
- He was protecting someone. - Ah.
- A dear friend perhaps? - No. No.
A politician like Villefort would have rid himself of such friends.
Clarion could be a relative.
A close relative, possibly...
No!
Villefort's father was a colonel in Napoleon's army.
Villefort wasn't protecting Clarion.
He was protecting himself.
Danglars, who falsely said he saw Napoleon give me that letter.
Mondego, who told Villefort I had it.
And Villefort himself, who sent me here.
Bravo, Edmond, bravo.
Oh, my God. Oh, oh.
Oh.
Edmond, light. Light. Quick. Light.
Oh, please, God. What is that? Look.
Look. Look! Roots. Plant roots.
If these are plant roots, then we are only months away.
Yes. Well done, Priest. I'll get my chisel.
Good. Good.
Priest!
In God's name, go on.
Go on. Go on!
Lungs are punctured.
- Don't talk. - Listen. - Don't talk.
There's not much time.
Under th-those books, there's loose rocks.
Quickly, quickly.
Open it. When I told them I did not know...
where the treasure of Spada was, I lied.
You lied?
I'm a priest, not a saint.
There, on that island off the Italian coast.
- Monte Cristo? - Yes, yes.
Use... Use your head.
- Follow the clues. - The tunnel's blocked.
- I can't escape. - Keep digging.
When you escape, use it for good, only for good.
No, I will surely use it for my revenge.
Do not commit...
Oh. Do not commit the crime...
for which you now serve the sentence.
- God said, "Vengeance is mine." - I don't believe in God.
That doesn't matter.
He believes in you.
Priest?
Plates out.
Let's have it.
Oh.
Oh, God.
He's always awake.
First time in 1 2 years he hasn't said "Thank you."
- Dead. - How?
Fell off his bed, didn't he?
- He's a bit dirty, isn't he? - They all are.
Well, let's sew him up...
and then see Dorleac.
One, two, three.
Right, let's get Dorleac.
Why'd you lock it? He's not going anywhere.
I don't know. Habit, I suppose.
Goodbye, Priest.
You're free now...
as I will never be.
Well, bring him along.
- Let's bury him, then. - You ready?
- Yeah. - One. That's it.
- Keep going. - Come on, come on. I haven't got all day.
Actually, I do.
I've got... I've got...
all the time in the world!
Come on.
Monsieur Dorleac!
Heavenly Father, we bequeath to you...
these remains of your humble servant.
Whatever his name was. God, I'm so bored.
Monsieur Dorleac!
Did he, in fact, have a map?
- No, gov. - Where's the, uh...
Stop!
Monsieur Dorleac!
What do you mean, after three? We throw him at three or before three?
- After three. - One, two...
- Monsieur Dorleac! - And th...
- Don't, Monsieur Dorleac! - One...
- Two... - Don't throw the body over the cliff!
three!
We could have handled that a bit better.
Thank you, Priest.
Thank you.
So, mi amice, I would ask who you are, but in view of your shredded clothes...
and the fact that the Chateau d'lf is two miles away...
what's the point?
As for me, I am Luigi Vampa...
a smuggler and a thief.
My men and I have come to this island to bury alive one of our number...
who attempted to keep some stolen gold for himself...
instead of, uh, sharing it with his comrades.
Interestingly enough, there are some of his more loyal friends...
who are insisting that I grant him mercy...
which, of course, I cannot do, for I would quickly lose control...
of the whole crew.
You provide me with a way to show a little mercy to Jacopo...
that maggot you see tied up over there...
while, at the same time, not appearing weak.
And as a special treat, the lads will get to see a little sport as well.
How do I accomplish all this?
lfJacopo wins, we welcome him back to the crew.
If you win, I have given Jacopo the chance to live...
even if he did not take advantage of it...
and you can take his place on the boat.
What if I win, and I don't want to be a smuggler?
Then we slit your throat, and we're a bit shorthanded.
to kill your friend, the maggot.
Perhaps you should get out more.
Release Jacopo and give him back his knife.
Then we let the games begin.
Get up, maggot.
Come on, come on!
As you hope to live, do not move an eyelash.
Senor Vampa, allow Jacopo to live.
He's already suffered enough with the prospect of being buried alive.
The men that wanted to see some sport have seen it.
Those who wanted mercy forJacopo will get it.
And by keeping me and Jacopo...
- It's a deal. - What is his name?
- You've got the devil, Jacopo! - His name?
We shall call him Zatarra.
Sounds fearsome.
It means "driftwood."
I swear on my dead relatives, even on the ones...
that are not feeling too good...
I am your man forever.
I know.
Eyes in the back of your head.
Have you never seen Marseilles before?
It was my home.
- But you do not join the others ashore. - Over here!
Yeah, that's right, over here!
Listen to me, Zatarra. Whatever happened to you...
you cannot make it right by staying here on this boat.
Go. It's up to you.
"We are kings or pawns," a man once said.
Si. Who told you this?
Napoleon Bonaparte.
Bonaparte?
Oh, Zatarra, the stories you tell.
A man is always in need of a good friend.
Truly.
Danglars, what's happened?
Captain Reynaud is dead, sir, and Edmond Dantes disobeyed my orders.
Zatarra, are you all right?
Everything's changed.
I want you to buy a boat, just something the two of us can handle.
Wait for me to return. I make my next visit alone.
Is... Is this the home of Monsieur Morell?
My grandfather isn't well, monsieur.
Even if he were, he would not receive visitors at 1 1:00 in the evening.
Perhaps he might make an exception for a man who is seeking E-Edmond Dantes.
I apologize for the hour.
Old people never sleep. Sit down, sit down. Julianne, some sherry.
So, Monsieur Zatarra...
you were a friend of Edmond?
- Monsieur Morell? - Yes?
You knew Edmond also?
Like a son.
Unfortunately, his father hanged himself...
after learning of Edmond's treason.
I see.
I see. And...
this treason you speak of...
- Who accused him? - Who knows?
Monsieur Villefort, the man who had Edmond arrested...
left for Paris soon after to take up the post of chief prosecutor.
Of course, the shock of his father's violent murder...
may also have spurred his departure.
They were strange times.
After Edmond's death, I reluctantly took on a partner.
One of my captains.
And then one day, Danglars forced me out.
My-My fate is nothing compared to Edmond's.
Perhaps your luck is about to change.
You mean the Countess Mondego?
- Countess? - Yes.
A month after poor Edmond was arrested...
Mercedes wed his best friend.
- Fernand. - Yes, that's right.
And with the death of his father and brother in the war...
Fernand became Count Mondego.
They live in Paris now.
Count and Countess Mondego.
Are you all right?
Yes. I must go.
- I'm sorry I was not more helpful. - Oh, no.
You told me what I needed to know.
Edmond Dantes is dead.
Zatarra. Zatarra, you will be so proud of me.
I found a nice little skiff. We couldn't afford a sloop.
Got a really good deal. Za-Zatarra? Zatarra.
Zatarra, the boat cannot hold no more...
and there are at least eight more boatloads down there!
Do you not understand?
You are wealthier than any man I have ever heard of.
Whatever your problems were, they are over.
What do you want to buy?
- Revenge. - Okay, revenge. Who?
Danglars, Villefort...
Fernand and Mercedes.
Right. We kill these people, then we spend the treasure.
No, we will study them, learn their weaknesses.
Why not just kill them? I'll do it.
I'll run up to Paris... bam, bam, bam, bam!
I'm back before week's end. We spend the treasure.
How is this a bad plan?
Death is too good for them.
They must suffer as I suffered.
They must see their world, all they hold dear...
ripped from them as it was ripped from me.
You will need a better name than Zatarra if you are to accomplish that.
Then I shall become a count.
I bid you good afternoon, sir.
I'm here to purchase your lovely home.
The very cheek! I shall have you horsewhipped!
Now, get off my property, you vagabond...
before I set the dogs on you, you hear?
Thank you.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great honour...
that I present to you His Grace...
the Count of Monte Cristo.
It's so beautiful.
Greetings.
My dear count, allow me to introduce to you my husband...
Monsieur Villefort, Chief Prosecutor.
- Very kind of you to think of us. - Oh, I am the one honoured with your presence.
Now, please, enjoy yourselves tonight.
- What do we know about him? - Not enough.
Where are they? Are you sure you invited them?
Yes, Your Grace.
But I just learned that Count Mondego has retired for the evening.
He has a morning appointment he cannot miss.
You're up early, my dear.
Is the Viscount Tourville dead?
Well, unless his heart is situated somewhere other than the left side of his chest...
I suspect he is.
God grant him peace.
He did no more than defend his family's honour.
Much good it did him.
His wife and I were happy in our passion. You were happy in your ignorance.
Now comes the viscount's valiant defence of his honour, and you are pained.
- She is ruined, and he is dead. - Don't flatter yourself, Fernand.
I was neither happy nor ignorant...
having known about the last three women before Madame Tourville.
I'm sorry you are humiliated.
And since my attempts at discretion have evidently failed...
there seems little point in keeping up pretences.
It's actually quite liberating.
Wouldn't you say?
- They're not even cheating him. - And have you looked into his shipping?
He got a bank loan for his own boat several years ago.
- Doesn't use Danglars at all. - Make sure we own that bank by tomorrow.
And tell the other shipping companies to stay away from Mondego.
I want to give him no choice but to crawl back to Danglars.
Now, tell the dealers... take it all.
Do try to understand.
I have a very large consignment of cotton ready to be sent...
and I shall make my payment on the ship as soon as it is delivered.
So obviously I need the vessel in order to deliver it.
Unfortunately, the bank can offer no further extensions, Count Mondego.
Well, well. To what do I owe the honour, Count Mondego?
Can't imagine why you've been avoiding me after all these years.
I'm prepared to overlook your faults and...
perhaps resume our dealings.
Business not going so well these days?
Zatarra?
- Jacopo. - Did you fall off the bed?
After 1 3 years of sleeping on a stone slab, I can't.
Mi Maria. Does that hurt?
Did you come here for a reason?
Mondego has a son.
- Albert wishes to talk with us. - Not now! Tell him I'm trying to protect his inheritance.
Are you afraid he's going to squander his as you have yours?
May I remind you, my love, that in Paris there are mistresses aplenty...
but you have only one son.
Come in, Albert.
- And, for God's sake, be brief. - I will, Father.
Several of my friends are going to Rome for two weeks during Carnival.
- I would like to accompany them. - Rome?
- And no chaperons? Albert, you're only 1 5. - Almost 1 6.
Make it my birthday present, Father, please.
- I won't get into trouble. - No. - Of course he can go.
I could do with some peace and quiet around here.
Rome!
Albert! Albert!
- Over here! Over here! - Over here!
Milady?
Can't hide forever. Milady?
- Who are you, and why are you doing this? - We are bad men, and for the money.
- My money is in my waistcoat. - Not any more.
Besides, it's not your money we're interested in.
You are the only son of Count Mondego, are you not?
Ransom? Send your note and be damned.
I wish it were that easy, but a note won't reach your father for at least two weeks...
and then there's the endless debates about whether we killed you already.
No, a note just doesn't have the impact. Perhaps if we send him your ring.
Yes. My ring bears the Mondego crest.
Listen to me, vermin. I am Albert...
son of Fernand, Count Mondego...
and you have had your last laugh at my expense.
- Do your worst. - If you insist. Peppone, the knife.
Cut this boy's ropes, or I will be forced...
to start cutting your miserable corpses.
Now!
Follow me, young man. You see the surface? Wait for me there.
- I don't know how to thank you. - Go. We'll talk later.
Well done, gentlemen.
Many thanks, Your Grace.
Albert.
Are you all right?
Sir, I owe you my life.
You've had quite an ordeal.