chapter 23. the island of monte cristo. thus, at length, by one of the unexpectedstrokes of fortune which sometimes befall those who have for a longtime been the victims of an evil destiny, dantes was about to secure theopportunity he wished for, by simple and natural means, and land on theisland without incurring any suspicion. one night more and he wouldbe on his way. the night was one of feverish distraction,and in its progress visions good and evil passed through dantes' mind.if he closed his eyes, he saw cardinal spada's letter written on the wallin characters of flame—if
he slept for a moment the wildest dreams hauntedhis brain. he ascended into grottos paved with emeralds, with panelsof rubies, and the roof glowing with diamond stalactites. pearlsfell drop by drop, as subterranean waters filter in their caves.edmond, amazed, wonderstruck, filled his pockets with the radiant gems andthen returned to daylight, when he discovered that his prizes had allchanged into common pebbles. he then endeavored to re-enter the marvellousgrottos, but they had suddenly receded, and now the path becamea labyrinth, and then the entrance vanished, and in vain did he taxhis memory for the magic and
mysterious word which opened the splendidcaverns of ali baba to the arabian fisherman. all was useless, the treasuredisappeared, and had again reverted to the genii from whom fora moment he had hoped to carry it off. the day came at length, and was almostas feverish as the night had been, but it brought reason to the aidof imagination, and dantes was then enabled to arrange a plan which hadhitherto been vague and unsettled in his brain. night came, and withit the preparation for departure, and these preparations served toconceal dantes' agitation. he had by degrees assumed such authority overhis companions that he was
almost like a commander on board; and as hisorders were always clear, distinct, and easy of execution, his comradesobeyed him with celerity and pleasure. the old patron did not interfere, for he toohad recognized the superiority of dantes over the crew and himself.he saw in the young man his natural successor, and regretted thathe had not a daughter, that he might have bound edmond to him by a moresecure alliance. at seven o'clock in the evening all was ready, andat ten minutes past seven they doubled the lighthouse just as the beaconwas kindled. the sea was calm,
and, with a fresh breeze from the south-east,they sailed beneath a bright blue sky, in which god also lightedup in turn his beacon lights, each of which is a world. dantes told themthat all hands might turn in, and he would take the helm. when the maltese(for so they called dantes) had said this, it was sufficient,and all went to their bunks contentedly. this frequently happened. dantes,cast from solitude into the world, frequently experienced an imperiousdesire for solitude; and what solitude is more complete, or more poetical,than that of a ship floating in isolation on the sea during theobscurity of the night, in
the silence of immensity, and under the eyeof heaven? now this solitude was peopled with his thoughts,the night lighted up by his illusions, and the silence animated byhis anticipations. when the patron awoke, the vessel was hurrying on withevery sail set, and every sail full with the breeze. they were makingnearly ten knots an hour. the island of monte cristo loomed large inthe horizon. edmond resigned the lugger to the master's care, and wentand lay down in his hammock; but, in spite of a sleepless night, he couldnot close his eyes for a moment. two hours afterwards he came on deck,as the boat was about
to double the island of elba. they were justabreast of mareciana, and beyond the flat but verdant island of la pianosa.the peak of monte cristo reddened by the burning sun, was seenagainst the azure sky. dantes ordered the helmsman to put down hishelm, in order to leave la pianosa to starboard, as he knew that he shouldshorten his course by two or three knots. about five o'clock inthe evening the island was distinct, and everything on it was plainlyperceptible, owing to that clearness of the atmosphere peculiar to thelight which the rays of the sun cast at its setting.
edmond gazed very earnestly at the mass ofrocks which gave out all the variety of twilight colors, from the brightestpink to the deepest blue; and from time to time his cheeks flushed,his brow darkened, and a mist passed over his eyes. never did a gamester,whose whole fortune is staked on one cast of the die, experience the anguishwhich edmond felt in his paroxysms of hope. night came, and at teno'clock they anchored. the young amelia was first at the rendezvous.in spite of his usual command over himself, dantes could not restrain hisimpetuosity. he was the first to jump on shore; and had he dared,he would, like lucius brutus,
have "kissed his mother earth." it was dark,but at eleven o'clock the moon rose in the midst of the ocean, whoseevery wave she silvered, and then, "ascending high," played in floodsof pale light on the rocky hills of this second pelion. the island was familiar to the crew of theyoung amelia,—it was one of her regular haunts. as to dantes, he had passedit on his voyage to and from the levant, but never touched at it.he questioned jacopo. "where shall we pass the night?" he inquired. "why, on board the tartan," replied the sailor.
"should we not do better in the grottos?" "what grottos?" "why, the grottos—caves of the island." "i do not know of any grottos," replied jacopo.the cold sweat sprang forth on dantes' brow. "what, are there no grottos at monte cristo?"he asked. "none." for a moment dantes was speechless; then heremembered that these caves might have been filled up by some accident,or even stopped up, for the
sake of greater security, by cardinal spada.the point was, then, to discover the hidden entrance. it was uselessto search at night, and dantes therefore delayed all investigationuntil the morning. besides, a signal made half a league out at sea, andto which the young amelia replied by a similar signal, indicated thatthe moment for business had come. the boat that now arrived, assured bythe answering signal that all was well, soon came in sight, white andsilent as a phantom, and cast anchor within a cable's length of shore. then the landing began. dantes reflected,as he worked, on the shout of
joy which, with a single word, he could evokefrom all these men, if he gave utterance to the one unchanging thoughtthat pervaded his heart; but, far from disclosing this precious secret,he almost feared that he had already said too much, and by his restlessnessand continual questions, his minute observations and evidentpre-occupation, aroused suspicions. fortunately, as regarded thiscircumstance at least, his painful past gave to his countenance an indeliblesadness, and the glimmerings of gayety seen beneath thiscloud were indeed but transitory.
no one had the slightest suspicion; and whennext day, taking a fowling-piece, powder, and shot, dantes declaredhis intention to go and kill some of the wild goats that were seenspringing from rock to rock, his wish was construed into a love of sport,or a desire for solitude. however, jacopo insisted on following him,and dantes did not oppose this, fearing if he did so that he might incurdistrust. scarcely, however, had they gone a quarter of a leaguewhen, having killed a kid, he begged jacopo to take it to his comrades,and request them to cook it, and when ready to let him know by firinga gun. this and some dried
fruits and a flask of monte pulciano, wasthe bill of fare. dantes went on, looking from time to time behindand around about him. having reached the summit of a rock, he saw, a thousandfeet beneath him, his companions, whom jacopo had rejoined, andwho were all busy preparing the repast which edmond's skill as a marksmanhad augmented with a capital dish. edmond looked at them for a moment with thesad and gentle smile of a man superior to his fellows. "in two hours'time," said he, "these persons will depart richer by fifty piastreseach, to go and risk their
lives again by endeavoring to gain fifty more;then they will return with a fortune of six hundred francs, andwaste this treasure in some city with the pride of sultans and the insolenceof nabobs. at this moment hope makes me despise their riches,which seem to me contemptible. yet perchance to-morrow deceptionwill so act on me, that i shall, on compulsion, consider such a contemptiblepossession as the utmost happiness. oh, no!" exclaimed edmond,"that will not be. the wise, unerring faria could not be mistakenin this one thing. besides, it were better to die than to continue tolead this low and wretched
life." thus dantes, who but three months beforehad no desire but liberty had now not liberty enough, and pantedfor wealth. the cause was not in dantes, but in providence, who, whilelimiting the power of man, has filled him with boundless desires. meanwhile, by a cleft between two walls ofrock, following a path worn by a torrent, and which, in all human probability,human foot had never before trod, dantes approached the spot wherehe supposed the grottos must have existed. keeping along the shore,and examining the smallest object with serious attention, he thoughthe could trace, on certain
rocks, marks made by the hand of man. time, which encrusts all physical substanceswith its mossy mantle, as it invests all things of the mind with forgetfulness,seemed to have respected these signs, which apparently hadbeen made with some degree of regularity, and probably with a definitepurpose. occasionally the marks were hidden under tufts of myrtle, whichspread into large bushes laden with blossoms, or beneath parasiticallichen. so edmond had to separate the branches or brush away themoss to know where the guide-marks were. the sight of marks renewededmond fondest hopes. might
it not have been the cardinal himself whohad first traced them, in order that they might serve as a guide forhis nephew in the event of a catastrophe, which he could not foreseewould have been so complete. this solitary place was precisely suited tothe requirements of a man desirous of burying treasure. only, mightnot these betraying marks have attracted other eyes than those for whom theywere made? and had the dark and wondrous island indeed faithfullyguarded its precious secret? it seemed, however, to edmond, who was hiddenfrom his comrades by the inequalities of the ground, that at sixtypaces from the harbor the
marks ceased; nor did they terminate at anygrotto. a large round rock, placed solidly on its base, was the only spotto which they seemed to lead. edmond concluded that perhaps insteadof having reached the end of the route he had only explored its beginning,and he therefore turned round and retraced his steps. meanwhile his comrades had prepared the repast,had got some water from a spring, spread out the fruit and bread,and cooked the kid. just at the moment when they were taking the daintyanimal from the spit, they saw edmond springing with the boldness ofa chamois from rock to rock,
and they fired the signal agreed upon. thesportsman instantly changed his direction, and ran quickly towards them.but even while they watched his daring progress, edmond's foot slipped,and they saw him stagger on the edge of a rock and disappear. they allrushed towards him, for all loved edmond in spite of his superiority;yet jacopo reached him first. he found edmond lying prone, bleeding, andalmost senseless. he had rolled down a declivity of twelve or fifteenfeet. they poured a little rum down his throat, and this remedy whichhad before been so beneficial to him, produced the same effect as formerly.edmond opened his eyes,
complained of great pain in his knee, a feelingof heaviness in his head, and severe pains in his loins. theywished to carry him to the shore; but when they touched him, althoughunder jacopo's directions, he declared, with heavy groans, that he couldnot bear to be moved. it may be supposed that dantes did not nowthink of his dinner, but he insisted that his comrades, who had not hisreasons for fasting, should have their meal. as for himself, he declaredthat he had only need of a little rest, and that when they returnedhe should be easier. the sailors did not require much urging. theywere hungry, and the smell of
the roasted kid was very savory, and yourtars are not very ceremonious. an hour afterwards they returned. all thatedmond had been able to do was to drag himself about a dozen pacesforward to lean against a moss-grown rock. but, instead of growing easier, dantes' painsappeared to increase in violence. the old patron, who was obligedto sail in the morning in order to land his cargo on the frontiers ofpiedmont and france, between nice and frejus, urged dantes to tryand rise. edmond made great exertions in order to comply; but at eacheffort he fell back, moaning
and turning pale. "he has broken his ribs," said the commander,in a low voice. "no matter; he is an excellent fellow, and wemust not leave him. we will try and carry him on board the tartan." dantesdeclared, however, that he would rather die where he was thanundergo the agony which the slightest movement cost him. "well," saidthe patron, "let what may happen, it shall never be said that we deserteda good comrade like you. we will not go till evening." this very muchastonished the sailors, although, not one opposed it. the patron wasso strict that this was the
first time they had ever seen him give upan enterprise, or even delay in its execution. dantes would not allow thatany such infraction of regular and proper rules should be made inhis favor. "no, no," he said to the patron, "i was awkward, and it is justthat i pay the penalty of my clumsiness. leave me a small supply ofbiscuit, a gun, powder, and balls, to kill the kids or defend myself atneed, and a pickaxe, that i may build a shelter if you delay in comingback for me." "but you'll die of hunger," said the patron. "i would rather do so," was edmond reply,"than suffer the inexpressible
agonies which the slightest movement causesme." the patron turned towards his vessel, which was rolling on theswell in the little harbor, and, with sails partly set, would be readyfor sea when her toilet should be completed. "what are we to do, maltese?" asked the captain."we cannot leave you here so, and yet we cannot stay." "go, go!" exclaimed dantes. "we shall be absent at least a week," saidthe patron, "and then we must run out of our course to come here and takeyou up again."
"why," said dantes, "if in two or three daysyou hail any fishing-boat, desire them to come here to me. i will paytwenty-five piastres for my passage back to leghorn. if you do not comeacross one, return for me." the patron shook his head. "listen, captain baldi; there's one way ofsettling this," said jacopo. "do you go, and i will stay and take careof the wounded man." "and give up your share of the venture," saidedmond, "to remain with me?" "yes," said jacopo, "and without any hesitation."
"you are a good fellow and a kind-heartedmessmate," replied edmond, "and heaven will recompense you for your generousintentions; but i do not wish any one to stay with me. a day ortwo of rest will set me up, and i hope i shall find among the rocks certainherbs most excellent for bruises." a peculiar smile passed over dantes' lips;he squeezed jacopo's hand warmly, but nothing could shake his determinationto remain—and remain alone. the smugglers left with edmond whathe had requested and set sail, but not without turning about severaltimes, and each time making
signs of a cordial farewell, to which edmondreplied with his hand only, as if he could not move the rest ofhis body. then, when they had disappeared, he said with a smile,—"'tisstrange that it should be among such men that we find proofs of friendshipand devotion." then he dragged himself cautiously to the top ofa rock, from which he had a full view of the sea, and thence he sawthe tartan complete her preparations for sailing, weigh anchor, and,balancing herself as gracefully as a water-fowl ere it takes tothe wing, set sail. at the end of an hour she was completely outof sight; at least, it was
impossible for the wounded man to see herany longer from the spot where he was. then dantes rose more agile and lightthan the kid among the myrtles and shrubs of these wild rocks, tookhis gun in one hand, his pickaxe in the other, and hastened towardsthe rock on which the marks he had noted terminated. "and now," he exclaimed,remembering the tale of the arabian fisherman, which faria hadrelated to him, "now, open sesame!" chapter 24. the secret cave. the sun had nearly reached the meridian, andhis scorching rays fell
full on the rocks, which seemed themselvessensible of the heat. thousands of grasshoppers, hidden in the bushes,chirped with a monotonous and dull note; the leaves of themyrtle and olive trees waved and rustled in the wind. at every step thatedmond took he disturbed the lizards glittering with the hues of theemerald; afar off he saw the wild goats bounding from crag to crag.in a word, the island was inhabited, yet edmond felt himself alone,guided by the hand of god. he felt an indescribable sensation somewhat akinto dread—that dread of the daylight which even in the desert makesus fear we are watched and
observed. this feeling was so strong thatat the moment when edmond was about to begin his labor, he stopped, laiddown his pickaxe, seized his gun, mounted to the summit of the highestrock, and from thence gazed round in every direction. but it was not upon corsica, the very housesof which he could distinguish; or on sardinia; or on the islandof elba, with its historical associations; or upon the almostimperceptible line that to the experienced eye of a sailor alone revealedthe coast of genoa the proud, and leghorn the commercial, thathe gazed. it was at the
brigantine that had left in the morning, andthe tartan that had just set sail, that edmond fixed his eyes. thefirst was just disappearing in the straits of bonifacio; the other, followingan opposite direction, was about to round the island of corsica.this sight reassured him. he then looked at the objects near him. he sawthat he was on the highest point of the island,—a statue on this vastpedestal of granite, nothing human appearing in sight, while the blue oceanbeat against the base of the island, and covered it with a fringe offoam. then he descended with cautious and slow step, for he dreaded lestan accident similar to that
he had so adroitly feigned should happen inreality. dantes, as we have said, had traced the marksalong the rocks, and he had noticed that they led to a small creek,which was hidden like the bath of some ancient nymph. this creek wassufficiently wide at its mouth, and deep in the centre, to admit ofthe entrance of a small vessel of the lugger class, which would beperfectly concealed from observation. then following the clew that, in the handsof the abbe faria, had been so skilfully used to guide him throughthe daedalian labyrinth of
probabilities, he thought that the cardinalspada, anxious not to be watched, had entered the creek, concealedhis little barque, followed the line marked by the notches in the rock,and at the end of it had buried his treasure. it was this idea thathad brought dantes back to the circular rock. one thing only perplexededmond, and destroyed his theory. how could this rock, which weighedseveral tons, have been lifted to this spot, without the aid of manymen? suddenly an idea flashed across his mind. instead of raisingit, thought he, they have lowered it. and he sprang from the rock inorder to inspect the base
on which it had formerly stood. he soon perceivedthat a slope had been formed, and the rock had slid along this untilit stopped at the spot it now occupied. a large stone had servedas a wedge; flints and pebbles had been inserted around it, so as to concealthe orifice; this species of masonry had been covered with earth, andgrass and weeds had grown there, moss had clung to the stones, myrtle-busheshad taken root, and the old rock seemed fixed to the earth. dantes dug away the earth carefully, and detected,or fancied he detected, the ingenious artifice. he attackedthis wall, cemented by the
hand of time, with his pickaxe. after tenminutes' labor the wall gave way, and a hole large enough to insert thearm was opened. dantes went and cut the strongest olive-tree he couldfind, stripped off its branches, inserted it in the hole, and usedit as a lever. but the rock was too heavy, and too firmly wedged, to bemoved by any one man, were he hercules himself. dantes saw that he mustattack the wedge. but how? he cast his eyes around, and saw thehorn full of powder which his friend jacopo had left him. he smiled;the infernal invention would serve him for this purpose. with the aid ofhis pickaxe, dantes, after
the manner of a labor-saving pioneer, duga mine between the upper rock and the one that supported it, filled it withpowder, then made a match by rolling his handkerchief in saltpetre.he lighted it and retired. the explosion soon followed; the upper rock waslifted from its base by the terrific force of the powder; the lower oneflew into pieces; thousands of insects escaped from the aperture danteshad previously formed, and a huge snake, like the guardian demon of thetreasure, rolled himself along in darkening coils, and disappeared. dantes approached the upper rock, which now,without any support, leaned
towards the sea. the intrepid treasure-seekerwalked round it, and, selecting the spot from whence it appearedmost susceptible to attack, placed his lever in one of the crevices, andstrained every nerve to move the mass. the rock, already shaken bythe explosion, tottered on its base. dantes redoubled his efforts;he seemed like one of the ancient titans, who uprooted the mountainsto hurl against the father of the gods. the rock yielded, rolled over,bounded from point to point, and finally disappeared in the ocean. on the spot it had occupied was a circularspace, exposing an iron ring
let into a square flag-stone. dantes uttereda cry of joy and surprise; never had a first attempt been crowned withmore perfect success. he would fain have continued, but his knees trembled,and his heart beat so violently, and his sight became so dim,that he was forced to pause. this feeling lasted but for a moment. edmondinserted his lever in the ring and exerted all his strength; the flag-stoneyielded, and disclosed steps that descended until they were lostin the obscurity of a subterraneous grotto. any one else would haverushed on with a cry of joy. dantes turned pale, hesitated, and reflected."come," said he to
himself, "be a man. i am accustomed to adversity.i must not be cast down by the discovery that i have been deceived.what, then, would be the use of all i have suffered? the heartbreaks when, after having been elated by flattering hopes, it sees all itsillusions destroyed. faria has dreamed this; the cardinal spada buriedno treasure here; perhaps he never came here, or if he did, caesar borgia,the intrepid adventurer, the stealthy and indefatigable plunderer,has followed him, discovered his traces, pursued them as i have done, raisedthe stone, and descending before me, has left me nothing."he remained motionless and
pensive, his eyes fixed on the gloomy aperturethat was open at his feet. "now that i expect nothing, now that i nolonger entertain the slightest hopes, the end of this adventure becomes simplya matter of curiosity." and he remained again motionless and thoughtful. "yes, yes; this is an adventure worthy a placein the varied career of that royal bandit. this fabulous event formedbut a link in a long chain of marvels. yes, borgia has been here, a torchin one hand, a sword in the other, and within twenty paces, at thefoot of this rock, perhaps
two guards kept watch on land and sea, whiletheir master descended, as i am about to descend, dispelling the darknessbefore his awe-inspiring progress." "but what was the fate of the guards who thuspossessed his secret?" asked dantes of himself. "the fate," replied he, smiling, "of thosewho buried alaric." "yet, had he come," thought dantes, "he wouldhave found the treasure, and borgia, he who compared italy to an artichoke,which he could devour leaf by leaf, knew too well the value of timeto waste it in replacing
this rock. i will go down." then he descended, a smile on his lips, andmurmuring that last word of human philosophy, "perhaps!" but instead ofthe darkness, and the thick and mephitic atmosphere he had expected tofind, dantes saw a dim and bluish light, which, as well as the air, entered,not merely by the aperture he had just formed, but by the intersticesand crevices of the rock which were visible from without,and through which he could distinguish the blue sky and the waving branchesof the evergreen oaks, and the tendrils of the creepers that grewfrom the rocks. after having
stood a few minutes in the cavern, the atmosphereof which was rather warm than damp, dantes' eye, habituated asit was to darkness, could pierce even to the remotest angles of thecavern, which was of granite that sparkled like diamonds. "alas," saidedmond, smiling, "these are the treasures the cardinal has left; and thegood abbe, seeing in a dream these glittering walls, has indulgedin fallacious hopes." but he called to mind the words of the will,which he knew by heart. "in the farthest angle of the second opening,"said the cardinal's will. he had only found the first grotto; he had nowto seek the second.
dantes continued his search. he reflectedthat this second grotto must penetrate deeper into the island; he examinedthe stones, and sounded one part of the wall where he fancied theopening existed, masked for precaution's sake. the pickaxe struck fora moment with a dull sound that drew out of dantes' forehead large dropsof perspiration. at last it seemed to him that one part of the wallgave forth a more hollow and deeper echo; he eagerly advanced, and withthe quickness of perception that no one but a prisoner possesses, sawthat there, in all probability, the opening must be.
however, he, like caesar borgia, knew thevalue of time; and, in order to avoid fruitless toil, he soundedall the other walls with his pickaxe, struck the earth with the butt ofhis gun, and finding nothing that appeared suspicious, returned to thatpart of the wall whence issued the consoling sound he had before heard.he again struck it, and with greater force. then a singular thingoccurred. as he struck the wall, pieces of stucco similar to that usedin the ground work of arabesques broke off, and fell to the groundin flakes, exposing a large white stone. the aperture of the rock hadbeen closed with stones, then
this stucco had been applied, and paintedto imitate granite. dantes struck with the sharp end of his pickaxe,which entered someway between the interstices. it was there he must dig.but by some strange play of emotion, in proportion as the proofs thatfaria, had not been deceived became stronger, so did his heartgive way, and a feeling of discouragement stole over him. this last proof,instead of giving him fresh strength, deprived him of it; the pickaxedescended, or rather fell; he placed it on the ground, passed hishand over his brow, and remounted the stairs, alleging to himself,as an excuse, a desire to
be assured that no one was watching him, butin reality because he felt that he was about to faint. the island wasdeserted, and the sun seemed to cover it with its fiery glance; afar off,a few small fishing boats studded the bosom of the blue ocean. dantes had tasted nothing, but he thoughtnot of hunger at such a moment; he hastily swallowed a few drops ofrum, and again entered the cavern. the pickaxe that had seemed so heavy,was now like a feather in his grasp; he seized it, and attacked thewall. after several blows he perceived that the stones were not cemented,but had been merely placed
one upon the other, and covered with stucco;he inserted the point of his pickaxe, and using the handle as a lever,with joy soon saw the stone turn as if on hinges, and fall at hisfeet. he had nothing more to do now, but with the iron tooth of thepickaxe to draw the stones towards him one by one. the aperture was alreadysufficiently large for him to enter, but by waiting, he could stillcling to hope, and retard the certainty of deception. at last, afterrenewed hesitation, dantes entered the second grotto. the second grottowas lower and more gloomy than the first; the air that could only enterby the newly formed
opening had the mephitic smell dantes wassurprised not to find in the outer cavern. he waited in order to allowpure air to displace the foul atmosphere, and then went on. at the leftof the opening was a dark and deep angle. but to dantes' eye there was nodarkness. he glanced around this second grotto; it was, like the first,empty. the treasure, if it existed, was buried inthis corner. the time had at length arrived; two feet of earth removed,and dantes' fate would be decided. he advanced towards the angle,and summoning all his resolution, attacked the ground with the pickaxe.at the fifth or sixth
blow the pickaxe struck against an iron substance.never did funeral knell, never did alarm-bell, produce a greatereffect on the hearer. had dantes found nothing he could not havebecome more ghastly pale. he again struck his pickaxe into the earth,and encountered the same resistance, but not the same sound. "it isa casket of wood bound with iron," thought he. at this moment a shadowpassed rapidly before the opening; dantes seized his gun, sprang throughthe opening, and mounted the stair. a wild goat had passed before themouth of the cave, and was feeding at a little distance. this would havebeen a favorable occasion
to secure his dinner; but dantes feared lestthe report of his gun should attract attention. he thought a moment, cut a branch of a resinoustree, lighted it at the fire at which the smugglers had prepared theirbreakfast, and descended with this torch. he wished to see everything.he approached the hole he had dug, and now, with the aid of the torch,saw that his pickaxe had in reality struck against iron and wood. he plantedhis torch in the ground and resumed his labor. in an instant a spacethree feet long by two feet broad was cleared, and dantes could see anoaken coffer, bound with cut
steel; in the middle of the lid he saw engravedon a silver plate, which was still untarnished, the arms of the spadafamily—viz., a sword, pale, on an oval shield, like all the italianarmorial bearings, and surmounted by a cardinal's hat; dantes easilyrecognized them, faria had so often drawn them for him. there was nolonger any doubt: the treasure was there—no one would have been at suchpains to conceal an empty casket. in an instant he had cleared everyobstacle away, and he saw successively the lock, placed between twopadlocks, and the two handles at each end, all carved as things were carvedat that epoch, when art
rendered the commonest metals precious. dantesseized the handles, and strove to lift the coffer; it was impossible.he sought to open it; lock and padlock were fastened; these faithfulguardians seemed unwilling to surrender their trust. dantes insertedthe sharp end of the pickaxe between the coffer and the lid, and pressingwith all his force on the handle, burst open the fastenings. the hingesyielded in their turn and fell, still holding in their grasp fragmentsof the wood, and the chest was open. edmond was seized with vertigo; he cockedhis gun and laid it beside
him. he then closed his eyes as children doin order that they may see in the resplendent night of their own imaginationmore stars than are visible in the firmament; then he re-openedthem, and stood motionless with amazement. three compartments dividedthe coffer. in the first, blazed piles of golden coin; in the second,were ranged bars of unpolished gold, which possessed nothing attractivesave their value; in the third, edmond grasped handfuls of diamonds,pearls, and rubies, which, as they fell on one another, soundedlike hail against glass. after having touched, felt, examined thesetreasures, edmond rushed
through the caverns like a man seized withfrenzy; he leaped on a rock, from whence he could behold the sea. he wasalone—alone with these countless, these unheard-of treasures! washe awake, or was it but a dream? he would fain have gazed upon his gold, andyet he had not strength enough; for an instant he leaned his headin his hands as if to prevent his senses from leaving him, and then rushedmadly about the rocks of monte cristo, terrifying the wild goats andscaring the sea-fowls with his wild cries and gestures; then he returned,and, still unable to
believe the evidence of his senses, rushedinto the grotto, and found himself before this mine of gold and jewels.this time he fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands convulsively,uttered a prayer intelligible to god alone. he soon becamecalmer and more happy, for only now did he begin to realize his felicity.he then set himself to work to count his fortune. there were a thousandingots of gold, each weighing from two to three pounds; then hepiled up twenty-five thousand crowns, each worth about eighty francs ofour money, and bearing the effigies of alexander vi. and his predecessors;and he saw that the
complement was not half empty. and he measuredten double handfuls of pearls, diamonds, and other gems, many ofwhich, mounted by the most famous workmen, were valuable beyond theirintrinsic worth. dantes saw the light gradually disappear, and fearingto be surprised in the cavern, left it, his gun in his hand. a pieceof biscuit and a small quantity of rum formed his supper, and hesnatched a few hours' sleep, lying over the mouth of the cave. it was a night of joy and terror, such asthis man of stupendous emotions had already experienced twice orthrice in his lifetime.
chapter 25. the unknown. day, for which dantes had so eagerly and impatientlywaited with open eyes, again dawned. with the first light dantesresumed his search. again he climbed the rocky height he had ascendedthe previous evening, and strained his view to catch every peculiarityof the landscape; but it wore the same wild, barren aspect whenseen by the rays of the morning sun which it had done when surveyedby the fading glimmer of eve. descending into the grotto, he liftedthe stone, filled his pockets with gems, put the box together as well andsecurely as he could,
sprinkled fresh sand over the spot from whichit had been taken, and then carefully trod down the earth to giveit everywhere a uniform appearance; then, quitting the grotto, hereplaced the stone, heaping on it broken masses of rocks and rough fragmentsof crumbling granite, filling the interstices with earth, into whichhe deftly inserted rapidly growing plants, such as the wild myrtleand flowering thorn, then carefully watering these new plantations,he scrupulously effaced every trace of footsteps, leaving the approachto the cavern as savage-looking and untrodden as he had foundit. this done, he
impatiently awaited the return of his companions.to wait at monte cristo for the purpose of watching like adragon over the almost incalculable riches that had thus fallen intohis possession satisfied not the cravings of his heart, which yearnedto return to dwell among mankind, and to assume the rank, power, andinfluence which are always accorded to wealth—that first and greatestof all the forces within the grasp of man. on the sixth day, the smugglers returned.from a distance dantes recognized the rig and handling of the youngamelia, and dragging
himself with affected difficulty towards thelanding-place, he met his companions with an assurance that, althoughconsiderably better than when they quitted him, he still suffered acutelyfrom his late accident. he then inquired how they had fared in theirtrip. to this question the smugglers replied that, although successfulin landing their cargo in safety, they had scarcely done so when theyreceived intelligence that a guard-ship had just quitted the port of toulonand was crowding all sail towards them. this obliged them to makeall the speed they could to evade the enemy, when they could but lamentthe absence of dantes, whose
superior skill in the management of a vesselwould have availed them so materially. in fact, the pursuing vessel hadalmost overtaken them when, fortunately, night came on, and enabledthem to double the cape of corsica, and so elude all further pursuit.upon the whole, however, the trip had been sufficiently successful to satisfyall concerned; while the crew, and particularly jacopo, expressedgreat regrets that dantes had not been an equal sharer with themselvesin the profits, which amounted to no less a sum than fifty piastreseach. edmond preserved the most admirable self-command,not suffering the
faintest indication of a smile to escape himat the enumeration of all the benefits he would have reaped had he beenable to quit the island; but as the young amelia had merely come tomonte cristo to fetch him away, he embarked that same evening, and proceededwith the captain to leghorn. arrived at leghorn, he repaired tothe house of a jew, a dealer in precious stones, to whom he disposed offour of his smallest diamonds for five thousand francs each. dantes halffeared that such valuable jewels in the hands of a poor sailor likehimself might excite suspicion; but the cunning purchaser askedno troublesome questions
concerning a bargain by which he gained around profit of at least eighty per cent. the following day dantes presented jacopowith an entirely new vessel, accompanying the gift by a donation of onehundred piastres, that he might provide himself with a suitable crewand other requisites for his outfit, upon condition that he would go atonce to marseilles for the purpose of inquiring after an old man namedlouis dantes, residing in the allees de meillan, and also a youngwoman called mercedes, an inhabitant of the catalan village. jacopocould scarcely believe his
senses at receiving this magnificent present,which dantes hastened to account for by saying that he had merely beena sailor from whim and a desire to spite his family, who did not allowhim as much money as he liked to spend; but that on his arrival atleghorn he had come into possession of a large fortune, left him byan uncle, whose sole heir he was. the superior education of dantes gavean air of such extreme probability to this statement that it neveronce occurred to jacopo to doubt its accuracy. the term for which edmondhad engaged to serve on board the young amelia having expired, dantestook leave of the captain,
who at first tried all his powers of persuasionto induce him to remain as one of the crew, but having been told thehistory of the legacy, he ceased to importune him further. the followingmorning jacopo set sail for marseilles, with directions from dantesto join him at the island of monte cristo. having seen jacopo fairly out of the harbor,dantes proceeded to make his final adieus on board the young amelia,distributing so liberal a gratuity among her crew as to secure for himthe good wishes of all, and expressions of cordial interest in allthat concerned him. to the
captain he promised to write when he had madeup his mind as to his future plans. then dantes departed for genoa.at the moment of his arrival a small yacht was under trial in thebay; this yacht had been built by order of an englishman, who, havingheard that the genoese excelled all other builders along the shoresof the mediterranean in the construction of fast-sailing vessels,was desirous of possessing a specimen of their skill; the price agreedupon between the englishman and the genoese builder was forty thousandfrancs. dantes, struck with the beauty and capability of the little vessel,applied to its owner to
transfer it to him, offering sixty thousandfrancs, upon condition that he should be allowed to take immediate possession.the proposal was too advantageous to be refused, the more so asthe person for whom the yacht was intended had gone upon a tour throughswitzerland, and was not expected back in less than three weeksor a month, by which time the builder reckoned upon being able to completeanother. a bargain was therefore struck. dantes led the owner ofthe yacht to the dwelling of a jew; retired with the latter for a few minutesto a small back parlor, and upon their return the jew counted outto the shipbuilder the sum of
sixty thousand francs in bright gold pieces. the delighted builder then offered his servicesin providing a suitable crew for the little vessel, but this dantesdeclined with many thanks, saying he was accustomed to cruise about quitealone, and his principal pleasure consisted in managing his yacht himself;the only thing the builder could oblige him in would be to contrivea sort of secret closet in the cabin at his bed's head, the closetto contain three divisions, so constructed as to be concealed from allbut himself. the builder cheerfully undertook the commission, and promisedto have these secret
places completed by the next day, dantes furnishingthe dimensions and plan in accordance with which they were tobe constructed. the following day dantes sailed with his yachtfrom genoa, under the inspection of an immense crowd drawn togetherby curiosity to see the rich spanish nobleman who preferred managinghis own yacht. but their wonder was soon changed to admiration at seeingthe perfect skill with which dantes handled the helm. the boat, indeed,seemed to be animated with almost human intelligence, so promptlydid it obey the slightest touch; and dantes required but a short trialof his beautiful craft to
acknowledge that the genoese had not withoutreason attained their high reputation in the art of shipbuilding.the spectators followed the little vessel with their eyes as long as itremained visible; they then turned their conjectures upon her probabledestination. some insisted she was making for corsica, others the islandof elba; bets were offered to any amount that she was bound for spain;while africa was positively reported by many persons as her intended course;but no one thought of monte cristo. yet thither it was that dantesguided his vessel, and at monte cristo he arrived at the close of thesecond day; his boat had
proved herself a first-class sailer, and hadcome the distance from genoa in thirty-five hours. dantes had carefullynoted the general appearance of the shore, and, instead of landingat the usual place, he dropped anchor in the little creek. the islandwas utterly deserted, and bore no evidence of having been visited sincehe went away; his treasure was just as he had left it. early on the followingmorning he commenced the removal of his riches, and ere nightfallthe whole of his immense wealth was safely deposited in the compartmentsof the secret locker. a week passed by. dantes employed it in manoeuvringhis yacht round the
island, studying it as a skilful horsemanwould the animal he destined for some important service, till at the endof that time he was perfectly conversant with its good and badqualities. the former dantes proposed to augment, the latter to remedy. upon the eighth day he discerned a small vesselunder full sail approaching monte cristo. as it drew near,he recognized it as the boat he had given to jacopo. he immediately signalledit. his signal was returned, and in two hours afterwards thenew-comer lay at anchor beside the yacht. a mournful answer awaited eachof edmond's eager inquiries
as to the information jacopo had obtained.old dantes was dead, and mercedes had disappeared. dantes listenedto these melancholy tidings with outward calmness; but, leaping lightlyashore, he signified his desire to be quite alone. in a couple of hourshe returned. two of the men from jacopo's boat came on board the yachtto assist in navigating it, and he gave orders that she should besteered direct to marseilles. for his father's death he was in some mannerprepared; but he knew not how to account for the mysterious disappearanceof mercedes. without divulging his secret, dantes couldnot give sufficiently clear
instructions to an agent. there were, besides,other particulars he was desirous of ascertaining, and those wereof a nature he alone could investigate in a manner satisfactory to himself.his looking-glass had assured him, during his stay at leghorn,that he ran no risk of recognition; moreover, he had now the meansof adopting any disguise he thought proper. one fine morning, then,his yacht, followed by the little fishing-boat, boldly entered the portof marseilles, and anchored exactly opposite the spot from whence, onthe never-to-be-forgotten night of his departure for the chateau d'if,he had been put on board
the boat destined to convey him thither. stilldantes could not view without a shudder the approach of a gendarmewho accompanied the officers deputed to demand his bill of healthere the yacht was permitted to hold communication with the shore;but with that perfect self-possession he had acquired during hisacquaintance with faria, dantes coolly presented an english passporthe had obtained from leghorn, and as this gave him a standing whicha french passport would not have afforded, he was informed that thereexisted no obstacle to his immediate debarkation.
the first person to attract the attentionof dantes, as he landed on the canebiere, was one of the crew belonging tothe pharaon. edmond welcomed the meeting with this fellow—who had beenone of his own sailors—as a sure means of testing the extent of the changewhich time had worked in his own appearance. going straight towardshim, he propounded a variety of questions on different subjects, carefullywatching the man's countenance as he did so; but not a word orlook implied that he had the slightest idea of ever having seen beforethe person with whom he was then conversing. giving the sailor a pieceof money in return for his
civility, dantes proceeded onwards; but erehe had gone many steps he heard the man loudly calling him to stop.dantes instantly turned to meet him. "i beg your pardon, sir," said thehonest fellow, in almost breathless haste, "but i believe you madea mistake; you intended to give me a two-franc piece, and see, you gaveme a double napoleon." "thank you, my good friend. i see that i havemade a trifling mistake, as you say; but by way of rewarding your honestyi give you another double napoleon, that you may drink to myhealth, and be able to ask your messmates to join you."
so extreme was the surprise of the sailor,that he was unable even to thank edmond, whose receding figure hecontinued to gaze after in speechless astonishment. "some nabob fromindia," was his comment. dantes, meanwhile, went on his way. each stephe trod oppressed his heart with fresh emotion; his first and mostindelible recollections were there; not a tree, not a street, thathe passed but seemed filled with dear and cherished memories. and thushe proceeded onwards till he arrived at the end of the rue de noailles,from whence a full view of the allees de meillan was obtained. at thisspot, so pregnant with fond
and filial remembrances, his heart beat almostto bursting, his knees tottered under him, a mist floated over hissight, and had he not clung for support to one of the trees, he wouldinevitably have fallen to the ground and been crushed beneath the many vehiclescontinually passing there. recovering himself, however, he wipedthe perspiration from his brows, and stopped not again till he foundhimself at the door of the house in which his father had lived. the nasturtiums and other plants, which hisfather had delighted to train before his window, had all disappearedfrom the upper part of the
house. leaning against the tree, he gazedthoughtfully for a time at the upper stories of the shabby little house.then he advanced to the door, and asked whether there were any rooms tobe let. though answered in the negative, he begged so earnestly to be permittedto visit those on the fifth floor, that, in despite of the oft-repeatedassurance of the concierge that they were occupied, dantessucceeded in inducing the man to go up to the tenants, and ask permissionfor a gentleman to be allowed to look at them. the tenants of the humble lodging were a youngcouple who had been
scarcely married a week; and seeing them,dantes sighed heavily. nothing in the two small chambers forming the apartmentsremained as it had been in the time of the elder dantes; the verypaper was different, while the articles of antiquated furniture with whichthe rooms had been filled in edmond's time had all disappeared; the fourwalls alone remained as he had left them. the bed belonging to the presentoccupants was placed as the former owner of the chamber had been accustomedto have his; and, in spite of his efforts to prevent it, the eyesof edmond were suffused in tears as he reflected that on that spotthe old man had breathed
his last, vainly calling for his son. theyoung couple gazed with astonishment at the sight of their visitor'semotion, and wondered to see the large tears silently chasing eachother down his otherwise stern and immovable features; but they felt thesacredness of his grief, and kindly refrained from questioning himas to its cause, while, with instinctive delicacy, they left him to indulgehis sorrow alone. when he withdrew from the scene of his painfulrecollections, they both accompanied him downstairs, reiterating theirhope that he would come again whenever he pleased, and assuring himthat their poor dwelling
would ever be open to him. as edmond passedthe door on the fourth floor, he paused to inquire whether caderoussethe tailor still dwelt there; but he received, for reply, that theperson in question had got into difficulties, and at the present timekept a small inn on the route from bellegarde to beaucaire. having obtained the address of the personto whom the house in the allees de meillan belonged, dantes next proceededthither, and, under the name of lord wilmore (the name and titleinscribed on his passport), purchased the small dwelling for the sum oftwenty-five thousand francs,
at least ten thousand more than it was worth;but had its owner asked half a million, it would unhesitatingly havebeen given. the very same day the occupants of the apartments on thefifth floor of the house, now become the property of dantes, were duly informedby the notary who had arranged the necessary transfer of deeds,etc., that the new landlord gave them their choice of any of the roomsin the house, without the least augmentation of rent, upon conditionof their giving instant possession of the two small chambers theyat present inhabited. this strange event aroused great wonder andcuriosity in the
neighborhood of the allees de meillan, anda multitude of theories were afloat, none of which was anywhere nearthe truth. but what raised public astonishment to a climax, and set allconjecture at defiance, was the knowledge that the same stranger who hadin the morning visited the allees de meillan had been seen in the eveningwalking in the little village of the catalans, and afterwards observedto enter a poor fisherman's hut, and to pass more than anhour in inquiring after persons who had either been dead or gone awayfor more than fifteen or sixteen years. but on the following day thefamily from whom all these
particulars had been asked received a handsomepresent, consisting of an entirely new fishing-boat, with two seinesand a tender. the delighted recipients of these munificent gifts wouldgladly have poured out their thanks to their generous benefactor,but they had seen him, upon quitting the hut, merely give some ordersto a sailor, and then springing lightly on horseback, leave marseillesby the porte d'aix. chapter 26. the pont du gard inn. such of my readers as have made a pedestrianexcursion to the south of france may perchance have noticed, aboutmidway between the town of
beaucaire and the village of bellegarde,—alittle nearer to the former than to the latter,—a small roadside inn,from the front of which hung, creaking and flapping in the wind, asheet of tin covered with a grotesque representation of the pont dugard. this modern place of entertainment stood on the left-hand sideof the post road, and backed upon the rhone. it also boasted of what inlanguedoc is styled a garden, consisting of a small plot of ground, on theside opposite to the main entrance reserved for the reception of guests.a few dingy olives and stunted fig-trees struggled hard for existence,but their withered dusty
foliage abundantly proved how unequal wasthe conflict. between these sickly shrubs grew a scanty supply of garlic,tomatoes, and eschalots; while, lone and solitary, like a forgottensentinel, a tall pine raised its melancholy head in one of the cornersof this unattractive spot, and displayed its flexible stem and fan-shapedsummit dried and cracked by the fierce heat of the sub-tropical sun. in the surrounding plain, which more resembleda dusty lake than solid ground, were scattered a few miserable stalksof wheat, the effect, no doubt, of a curious desire on the partof the agriculturists of the
country to see whether such a thing as theraising of grain in those parched regions was practicable. each stalkserved as a perch for a grasshopper, which regaled the passers bythrough this egyptian scene with its strident, monotonous note. for about seven or eight years the littletavern had been kept by a man and his wife, with two servants,—a chambermaidnamed trinette, and a hostler called pecaud. this small staffwas quite equal to all the requirements, for a canal between beaucaireand aiguemortes had revolutionized transportation by substitutingboats for the cart and
the stagecoach. and, as though to add to thedaily misery which this prosperous canal inflicted on the unfortunateinn-keeper, whose utter ruin it was fast accomplishing, it was situatedbetween the rhone from which it had its source and the post-roadit had depleted, not a hundred steps from the inn, of which we havegiven a brief but faithful description. the inn-keeper himself was a man of from fortyto fifty-five years of age, tall, strong, and bony, a perfect specimenof the natives of those southern latitudes; he had dark, sparkling,and deep-set eyes, hooked
nose, and teeth white as those of a carnivorousanimal; his hair, like his beard, which he wore under his chin, wasthick and curly, and in spite of his age but slightly interspersedwith a few silvery threads. his naturally dark complexion had assumeda still further shade of brown from the habit the unfortunate man had acquiredof stationing himself from morning till eve at the threshold ofhis door, on the lookout for guests who seldom came, yet there he stood,day after day, exposed to the meridional rays of a burning sun, withno other protection for his head than a red handkerchief twisted aroundit, after the manner of
the spanish muleteers. this man was our oldacquaintance, gaspard caderousse. his wife, on the contrary, whosemaiden name had been madeleine radelle, was pale, meagre, and sickly-looking.born in the neighborhood of arles, she had shared in thebeauty for which its women are proverbial; but that beauty had graduallywithered beneath the devastating influence of the slow fever soprevalent among dwellers by the ponds of aiguemortes and the marshesof camargue. she remained nearly always in her second-floor chamber,shivering in her chair, or stretched languid and feeble on her bed, whileher husband kept his
daily watch at the door—a duty he performedwith so much the greater willingness, as it saved him the necessityof listening to the endless plaints and murmurs of his helpmate, who neversaw him without breaking out into bitter invectives against fate; toall of which her husband would calmly return an unvarying reply, inthese philosophic words:— "hush, la carconte. it is god's pleasure thatthings should be so." the sobriquet of la carconte had been bestowedon madeleine radelle from the fact that she had been born in avillage, so called, situated between salon and lambesc; and as a customexisted among the inhabitants
of that part of france where caderousse livedof styling every person by some particular and distinctive appellation,her husband had bestowed on her the name of la carconte in place of hersweet and euphonious name of madeleine, which, in all probability, hisrude gutteral language would not have enabled him to pronounce. still,let it not be supposed that amid this affected resignation to thewill of providence, the unfortunate inn-keeper did not writhe underthe double misery of seeing the hateful canal carry off his customersand his profits, and the daily infliction of his peevish partner's murmursand lamentations.
like other dwellers in the south, he was aman of sober habits and moderate desires, but fond of external show,vain, and addicted to display. during the days of his prosperity,not a festivity took place without himself and wife being among the spectators.he dressed in the picturesque costume worn upon grand occasionsby the inhabitants of the south of france, bearing equal resemblanceto the style adopted both by the catalans and andalusians; while la carcontedisplayed the charming fashion prevalent among the women of arles,a mode of attire borrowed equally from greece and arabia. but, by degrees,watch-chains,
necklaces, parti-colored scarfs, embroideredbodices, velvet vests, elegantly worked stockings, striped gaiters,and silver buckles for the shoes, all disappeared; and gaspard caderousse,unable to appear abroad in his pristine splendor, had given up anyfurther participation in the pomps and vanities, both for himself and wife,although a bitter feeling of envious discontent filled his mind as thesound of mirth and merry music from the joyous revellers reached eventhe miserable hostelry to which he still clung, more for the shelterthan the profit it afforded. caderousse, then, was, as usual, at his placeof observation before
the door, his eyes glancing listlessly froma piece of closely shaven grass—on which some fowls were industriously,though fruitlessly, endeavoring to turn up some grain or insectsuited to their palate—to the deserted road, which led away to the northand south, when he was aroused by the shrill voice of his wife, andgrumbling to himself as he went, he mounted to her chamber, first takingcare, however, to set the entrance door wide open, as an invitationto any chance traveller who might be passing. at the moment caderousse quitted his sentry-likewatch before the door,
the road on which he so eagerly strained hissight was void and lonely as a desert at mid-day. there it laystretching out into one interminable line of dust and sand, with itssides bordered by tall, meagre trees, altogether presenting so uninvitingan appearance, that no one in his senses could have imagined thatany traveller, at liberty to regulate his hours for journeying, wouldchoose to expose himself in such a formidable sahara. nevertheless, hadcaderousse but retained his post a few minutes longer, he might havecaught a dim outline of something approaching from the direction ofbellegarde; as the moving
object drew nearer, he would easily have perceivedthat it consisted of a man and horse, between whom the kindestand most amiable understanding appeared to exist. the horse was of hungarianbreed, and ambled along at an easy pace. his rider was a priest, dressedin black, and wearing a three-cornered hat; and, spite of the ardentrays of a noonday sun, the pair came on with a fair degree of rapidity. having arrived before the pont du gard, thehorse stopped, but whether for his own pleasure or that of his riderwould have been difficult to say. however that might have been, thepriest, dismounting, led his
steed by the bridle in search of some placeto which he could secure him. availing himself of a handle that projectedfrom a half-fallen door, he tied the animal safely and havingdrawn a red cotton handkerchief, from his pocket, wiped awaythe perspiration that streamed from his brow, then, advancing to the door,struck thrice with the end of his iron-shod stick. at this unusual sound,a huge black dog came rushing to meet the daring assailant of hisordinarily tranquil abode, snarling and displaying his sharp whiteteeth with a determined hostility that abundantly proved how littlehe was accustomed to
society. at that moment a heavy footstep washeard descending the wooden staircase that led from the upper floor,and, with many bows and courteous smiles, mine host of the pont dugard besought his guest to enter. "you are welcome, sir, most welcome!" repeatedthe astonished caderousse. "now, then, margotin," cried he,speaking to the dog, "will you be quiet? pray don't heed him, sir!—heonly barks, he never bites. i make no doubt a glass of good wine wouldbe acceptable this dreadfully hot day." then perceiving for the first timethe garb of the traveller
he had to entertain, caderousse hastily exclaimed:"a thousand pardons! i really did not observe whom i had the honorto receive under my poor roof. what would the abbe please to have?what refreshment can i offer? all i have is at his service." the priest gazed on the person addressinghim with a long and searching gaze—there even seemed a disposition onhis part to court a similar scrutiny on the part of the inn-keeper; then,observing in the countenance of the latter no other expressionthan extreme surprise at his own want of attention to an inquiry socourteously worded, he deemed
it as well to terminate this dumb show, andtherefore said, speaking with a strong italian accent, "you are, ipresume, m. caderousse?" "yes, sir," answered the host, even more surprisedat the question than he had been by the silence which hadpreceded it; "i am gaspard caderousse, at your service." "gaspard caderousse," rejoined the priest."yes,—christian and surname are the same. you formerly lived, i believein the allees de meillan, on the fourth floor?" "i did."
"and you followed the business of a tailor?" "true, i was a tailor, till the trade felloff. it is so hot at marseilles, that really i believe that therespectable inhabitants will in time go without any clothing whatever.but talking of heat, is there nothing i can offer you by way of refreshment?" "yes; let me have a bottle of your best wine,and then, with your permission, we will resume our conversationfrom where we left off." "as you please, sir," said caderousse, who,anxious not to lose the present opportunity of finding a customerfor one of the few bottles of
cahors still remaining in his possession,hastily raised a trap-door in the floor of the apartment they were in, whichserved both as parlor and kitchen. upon issuing forth from his subterraneanretreat at the expiration of five minutes, he found the abbeseated upon a wooden stool, leaning his elbow on a table, whilemargotin, whose animosity seemed appeased by the unusual command ofthe traveller for refreshments, had crept up to him, and hadestablished himself very comfortably between his knees, his long, skinnyneck resting on his lap, while his dim eye was fixed earnestly on thetraveller's face.
"are you quite alone?" inquired the guest,as caderousse placed before him the bottle of wine and a glass. "quite, quite alone," replied the man—"or,at least, practically so, for my poor wife, who is the only person inthe house besides myself, is laid up with illness, and unable to renderme the least assistance, poor thing!" "you are married, then?" said the priest,with a show of interest, glancing round as he spoke at the scanty furnishingsof the apartment. "ah, sir," said caderousse with a sigh, "itis easy to perceive i am not
a rich man; but in this world a man does notthrive the better for being honest." the abbe fixed on him a searching,penetrating glance. "yes, honest—i can certainly say that muchfor myself," continued the inn-keeper, fairly sustaining the scrutinyof the abbe's gaze; "i can boast with truth of being an honest man;and," continued he significantly, with a hand on his breast andshaking his head, "that is more than every one can say nowadays." "so much the better for you, if what you assertbe true," said the abbe; "for i am firmly persuaded that, sooneror later, the good will be
rewarded, and the wicked punished." "such words as those belong to your profession,"answered caderousse, "and you do well to repeat them; but," addedhe, with a bitter expression of countenance, "one is free tobelieve them or not, as one pleases." "you are wrong to speak thus," said the abbe;"and perhaps i may, in my own person, be able to prove to you how completelyyou are in error." "what mean you?" inquired caderousse witha look of surprise. "in the first place, i must be satisfied thatyou are the person i am in
search of." "what proofs do you require?" "did you, in the year 1814 or 1815, know anythingof a young sailor named dantes?" "dantes? did i know poor dear edmond? why,edmond dantes and myself were intimate friends!" exclaimed caderousse,whose countenance flushed darkly as he caught the penetrating gaze ofthe abbe fixed on him, while the clear, calm eye of the questioner seemedto dilate with feverish scrutiny.
"you remind me," said the priest, "that theyoung man concerning whom i asked you was said to bear the name of edmond." "said to bear the name!" repeated caderousse,becoming excited and eager. "why, he was so called as truly asi myself bore the appellation of gaspard caderousse; but tell me, i pray,what has become of poor edmond? did you know him? is he alive andat liberty? is he prosperous and happy?" "he died a more wretched, hopeless, heart-brokenprisoner than the felons who pay the penalty of their crimesat the galleys of toulon."
a deadly pallor followed the flush on thecountenance of caderousse, who turned away, and the priest saw him wipingthe tears from his eyes with the corner of the red handkerchief twistedround his head. "poor fellow, poor fellow!" murmured caderousse."well, there, sir, is another proof that good people are never rewardedon this earth, and that none but the wicked prosper. ah," continuedcaderousse, speaking in the highly colored language of the south,"the world grows worse and worse. why does not god, if he really hatesthe wicked, as he is said to do, send down brimstone and fire, and consumethem altogether?"
"you speak as though you had loved this youngdantes," observed the abbe, without taking any notice of his companion'svehemence. "and so i did," replied caderousse; "thoughonce, i confess, i envied him his good fortune. but i swear to you,sir, i swear to you, by everything a man holds dear, i have, sincethen, deeply and sincerely lamented his unhappy fate." there was a briefsilence, during which the fixed, searching eye of the abbe was employedin scrutinizing the agitated features of the inn-keeper. "you knew the poor lad, then?" continued caderousse.
"i was called to see him on his dying bed,that i might administer to him the consolations of religion." "and of what did he die?" asked caderoussein a choking voice. "of what, think you, do young and strong mendie in prison, when they have scarcely numbered their thirtiethyear, unless it be of imprisonment?" caderousse wiped away the largebeads of perspiration that gathered on his brow. "but the strangest part of the story is,"resumed the abbe, "that dantes, even in his dying moments, swore byhis crucified redeemer, that
he was utterly ignorant of the cause of hisdetention." "and so he was," murmured caderousse. "howshould he have been otherwise? ah, sir, the poor fellow told youthe truth." "and for that reason, he besought me to tryand clear up a mystery he had never been able to penetrate, and to clearhis memory should any foul spot or stain have fallen on it." and here the look of the abbe, becoming moreand more fixed, seemed to rest with ill-concealed satisfaction on thegloomy depression which was rapidly spreading over the countenance ofcaderousse.
"a rich englishman," continued the abbe, "whohad been his companion in misfortune, but had been released fromprison during the second restoration, was possessed of a diamond ofimmense value; this jewel he bestowed on dantes upon himself quitting theprison, as a mark of his gratitude for the kindness and brotherly carewith which dantes had nursed him in a severe illness he underwentduring his confinement. instead of employing this diamond in attemptingto bribe his jailers, who might only have taken it and then betrayedhim to the governor, dantes carefully preserved it, that in theevent of his getting out of
prison he might have wherewithal to live,for the sale of such a diamond would have quite sufficed to make his fortune." "then, i suppose," asked caderousse, witheager, glowing looks, "that it was a stone of immense value?" "why, everything is relative," answered theabbe. "to one in edmond's position the diamond certainly was of greatvalue. it was estimated at fifty thousand francs." "bless me!" exclaimed caderousse, "fifty thousandfrancs! surely the diamond was as large as a nut to be worthall that."
"no," replied the abbe, "it was not of sucha size as that; but you shall judge for yourself. i have it with me." the sharp gaze of caderousse was instantlydirected towards the priest's garments, as though hoping to discover thelocation of the treasure. calmly drawing forth from his pocket a smallbox covered with black shagreen, the abbe opened it, and displayedto the dazzled eyes of caderousse the sparkling jewel it contained,set in a ring of admirable workmanship. "and that diamond," cried caderousse,almost breathless with eager admiration, "you say, is worthfifty thousand francs?"
"it is, without the setting, which is alsovaluable," replied the abbe, as he closed the box, and returned it to hispocket, while its brilliant hues seemed still to dance before the eyesof the fascinated inn-keeper. "but how comes the diamond in your possession,sir? did edmond make you his heir?" "no, merely his testamentary executor. 'ionce possessed four dear and faithful friends, besides the maiden to whomi was betrothed' he said; 'and i feel convinced they have all unfeignedlygrieved over my loss. the name of one of the four friends is caderousse.'"the inn-keeper
shivered. "'another of the number,'" continued the abbe,without seeming to notice the emotion of caderousse, "'is called danglars;and the third, in spite of being my rival, entertained a very sincereaffection for me.'" a fiendish smile played over the features ofcaderousse, who was about to break in upon the abbe's speech, when thelatter, waving his hand, said, "allow me to finish first, and then if youhave any observations to make, you can do so afterwards. 'the thirdof my friends, although my rival, was much attached to me,—his namewas fernand; that of my
betrothed was'—stay, stay," continued theabbe, "i have forgotten what he called her." "mercedes," said caderousse eagerly. "true," said the abbe, with a stifled sigh,"mercedes it was." "go on," urged caderousse. "bring me a carafe of water," said the abbe. caderousse quickly performed the stranger'sbidding; and after pouring some into a glass, and slowly swallowing itscontents, the abbe, resuming his usual placidity of manner, said,as he placed his empty
glass on the table,—"where did we leaveoff?" "the name of edmond's betrothed was mercedes." "to be sure. 'you will go to marseilles,'said dantes,—for you understand, i repeat his words just as heuttered them. do you understand?" "perfectly." "'you will sell this diamond; you will dividethe money into five equal parts, and give an equal portion to thesegood friends, the only persons who have loved me upon earth.'"
"but why into five parts?" asked caderousse;"you only mentioned four persons." "because the fifth is dead, as i hear. thefifth sharer in edmond's bequest, was his own father." "too true, too true!" ejaculated caderousse,almost suffocated by the contending passions which assailed him, "thepoor old man did die." "i learned so much at marseilles," repliedthe abbe, making a strong effort to appear indifferent; "but from thelength of time that has elapsed since the death of the elder dantes,i was unable to obtain any
particulars of his end. can you enlightenme on that point?" "i do not know who could if i could not,"said caderousse. "why, i lived almost on the same floor with the poor oldman. ah, yes, about a year after the disappearance of his son the poorold man died." "of what did he die?" "why, the doctors called his complaint gastro-enteritis,i believe; his acquaintances say he died of grief; buti, who saw him in his dying moments, i say he died of"—caderousse paused. "of what?" asked the priest, anxiously andeagerly.
"why, of downright starvation." "starvation!" exclaimed the abbe, springingfrom his seat. "why, the vilest animals are not suffered to die bysuch a death as that. the very dogs that wander houseless and homeless inthe streets find some pitying hand to cast them a mouthful of bread; andthat a man, a christian, should be allowed to perish of hunger in themidst of other men who call themselves christians, is too horriblefor belief. oh, it is impossible—utterly impossible!" "what i have said, i have said," answeredcaderousse.
"and you are a fool for having said anythingabout it," said a voice from the top of the stairs. "why should youmeddle with what does not concern you?" the two men turned quickly, and saw the sicklycountenance of la carconte peering between the baluster rails;attracted by the sound of voices, she had feebly dragged herself downthe stairs, and, seated on the lower step, head on knees, she hadlistened to the foregoing conversation. "mind your own business, wife,"replied caderousse sharply. "this gentleman asks me for information,which common
politeness will not permit me to refuse." "politeness, you simpleton!" retorted la carconte."what have you to do with politeness, i should like to know?better study a little common prudence. how do you know the motives thatperson may have for trying to extract all he can from you?" "i pledge you my word, madam," said the abbe,"that my intentions are good; and that you husband can incur no risk,provided he answers me candidly." "ah, that's all very fine," retorted the woman."nothing is easier than
to begin with fair promises and assurancesof nothing to fear; but when poor, silly folks, like my husband there,have been persuaded to tell all they know, the promises and assurancesof safety are quickly forgotten; and at some moment when nobodyis expecting it, behold trouble and misery, and all sorts of persecutions,are heaped on the unfortunate wretches, who cannot even seewhence all their afflictions come." "nay, nay, my good woman, make yourself perfectlyeasy, i beg of you. whatever evils may befall you, they willnot be occasioned by my
instrumentality, that i solemnly promise you." la carconte muttered a few inarticulate words,then let her head again drop upon her knees, and went into a fit ofague, leaving the two speakers to resume the conversation, but remainingso as to be able to hear every word they uttered. again the abbehad been obliged to swallow a draught of water to calm the emotions thatthreatened to overpower him. when he had sufficiently recovered himself,he said, "it appears, then, that the miserable old man you weretelling me of was forsaken by every one. surely, had not such been thecase, he would not have
perished by so dreadful a death." "why, he was not altogether forsaken," continuedcaderousse, "for mercedes the catalan and monsieur morrel werevery kind to him; but somehow the poor old man had contracteda profound hatred for fernand—the very person," added caderoussewith a bitter smile, "that you named just now as being one of dantes'faithful and attached friends." "and was he not so?" asked the abbe. "gaspard, gaspard!" murmured the woman, fromher seat on the stairs,
"mind what you are saying!" caderousse madeno reply to these words, though evidently irritated and annoyed bythe interruption, but, addressing the abbe, said, "can a man be faithfulto another whose wife he covets and desires for himself? but danteswas so honorable and true in his own nature, that he believed everybody'sprofessions of friendship. poor edmond, he was cruelly deceived;but it was fortunate that he never knew, or he might have foundit more difficult, when on his deathbed, to pardon his enemies. and,whatever people may say," continued caderousse, in his native language,which was not altogether
devoid of rude poetry, "i cannot help beingmore frightened at the idea of the malediction of the dead than the hatredof the living." "imbecile!" exclaimed la carconte. "do you, then, know in what manner fernandinjured dantes?" inquired the abbe of caderousse. "do i? no one better." "speak out then, say what it was!" "gaspard!" cried la carconte, "do as you will;you are master—but if you take my advice you'll hold your tongue."
"well, wife," replied caderousse, "i don'tknow but what you're right!" "so you will say nothing?" asked the abbe. "why, what good would it do?" asked caderousse."if the poor lad were living, and came to me and begged that i wouldcandidly tell which were his true and which his false friends,why, perhaps, i should not hesitate. but you tell me he is no more, andtherefore can have nothing to do with hatred or revenge, so let all suchfeeling be buried with him." "you prefer, then," said the abbe, "that ishould bestow on men you say
are false and treacherous, the reward intendedfor faithful friendship?" "that is true enough," returned caderousse."you say truly, the gift of poor edmond was not meant for such traitorsas fernand and danglars; besides, what would it be to them? no morethan a drop of water in the ocean." "remember," chimed in la carconte, "thosetwo could crush you at a single blow!" "how so?" inquired the abbe. "are these persons,then, so rich and powerful?"
"do you not know their history?" "i do not. pray relate it to me!" caderousseseemed to reflect for a few moments, then said, "no, truly, it would takeup too much time." "well, my good friend," returned the abbe,in a tone that indicated utter indifference on his part, "you are atliberty, either to speak or be silent, just as you please; for my ownpart, i respect your scruples and admire your sentiments; so let the matterend. i shall do my duty as conscientiously as i can, and fulfil mypromise to the dying man. my first business will be to dispose of thisdiamond." so saying, the abbe
again draw the small box from his pocket,opened it, and contrived to hold it in such a light, that a bright flashof brilliant hues passed before the dazzled gaze of caderousse. "wife, wife!" cried he in a hoarse voice,"come here!" "diamond!" exclaimed la carconte, rising anddescending to the chamber with a tolerably firm step; "what diamondare you talking about?" "why, did you not hear all we said?" inquiredcaderousse. "it is a beautiful diamond left by poor edmond dantes,to be sold, and the money divided between his father, mercedes, hisbetrothed bride, fernand,
danglars, and myself. the jewel is worth atleast fifty thousand francs." "oh, what a magnificent jewel!" cried theastonished woman. "the fifth part of the profits from this stonebelongs to us then, does it not?" asked caderousse. "it does," replied the abbe; "with the additionof an equal division of that part intended for the elder dantes,which i believe myself at liberty to divide equally with the four survivors." "and why among us four?" inquired caderousse.
"as being the friends edmond esteemed mostfaithful and devoted to him." "i don't call those friends who betray andruin you," murmured the wife in her turn, in a low, muttering voice. "of course not!" rejoined caderousse quickly;"no more do i, and that was what i was observing to this gentlemanjust now. i said i looked upon it as a sacrilegious profanation to rewardtreachery, perhaps crime." "remember," answered the abbe calmly, as hereplaced the jewel and its case in the pocket of his cassock, "it isyour fault, not mine, that i
do so. you will have the goodness to furnishme with the address of both fernand and danglars, in order that i mayexecute edmond's last wishes." the agitation of caderousse becameextreme, and large drops of perspiration rolled from his heated brow.as he saw the abbe rise from his seat and go towards the door, as thoughto ascertain if his horse were sufficiently refreshed to continue hisjourney, caderousse and his wife exchanged looks of deep meaning. "there, you see, wife," said the former, "thissplendid diamond might all be ours, if we chose!"
"do you believe it?" "why, surely a man of his holy professionwould not deceive us!" "well," replied la carconte, "do as you like.for my part, i wash my hands of the affair." so saying, she oncemore climbed the staircase leading to her chamber, her body convulsedwith chills, and her teeth rattling in her head, in spite of the intenseheat of the weather. arrived at the top stair, she turned round,and called out, in a warning tone, to her husband, "gaspard, consider wellwhat you are about to do!" "i have both reflected and decided," answeredhe. la carconte then
entered her chamber, the flooring of whichcreaked beneath her heavy, uncertain tread, as she proceeded towardsher arm-chair, into which she fell as though exhausted. "well," asked the abbe, as he returned tothe apartment below, "what have you made up your mind to do?" "to tell you all i know," was the reply. "i certainly think you act wisely in so doing,"said the priest. "not because i have the least desire to learn anythingyou may please to conceal from me, but simply that if, throughyour assistance, i could
distribute the legacy according to the wishesof the testator, why, so much the better, that is all." "i hope it may be so," replied caderousse,his face flushed with cupidity. "i am all attention," said the abbe. "stop a minute," answered caderousse; "wemight be interrupted in the most interesting part of my story, which wouldbe a pity; and it is as well that your visit hither should be madeknown only to ourselves." with these words he went stealthily to thedoor, which he closed, and,
by way of still greater precaution, boltedand barred it, as he was accustomed to do at night. during this timethe abbe had chosen his place for listening at his ease. he removedhis seat into a corner of the room, where he himself would be in deepshadow, while the light would be fully thrown on the narrator; then,with head bent down and hands clasped, or rather clinched together,he prepared to give his whole attention to caderousse, who seatedhimself on the little stool, exactly opposite to him. "remember, this is no affair of mine," saidthe trembling voice of la
carconte, as though through the flooring ofher chamber she viewed the scene that was enacting below. "enough, enough!" replied caderousse; "sayno more about it; i will take all the consequences upon myself." and hebegan his story. chapter 27. the story. "first, sir," said caderousse, "you must makeme a promise." "what is that?" inquired the abbe. "why, if you ever make use of the detailsi am about to give you, that you will never let any one know that it wasi who supplied them; for the
persons of whom i am about to talk are richand powerful, and if they only laid the tips of their fingers on me,i should break to pieces like glass." "make yourself easy, my friend," replied theabbe. "i am a priest, and confessions die in my breast. recollect, ouronly desire is to carry out, in a fitting manner, the last wishesof our friend. speak, then, without reserve, as without hatred; tell thetruth, the whole truth; i do not know, never may know, the persons ofwhom you are about to speak; besides, i am an italian, and not a frenchman,and belong to god, and
not to man, and i shall shortly retire tomy convent, which i have only quitted to fulfil the last wishes ofa dying man." this positive assurance seemed to give caderousse a littlecourage. "well, then, under these circumstances," saidcaderousse, "i will, i even believe i ought to undeceive you as tothe friendship which poor edmond thought so sincere and unquestionable." "begin with his father, if you please." saidthe abbe; "edmond talked to me a great deal about the old man for whomhe had the deepest love." "the history is a sad one, sir," said caderousse,shaking his head;
"perhaps you know all the earlier part ofit?" "yes." answered the abbe; "edmond relatedto me everything until the moment when he was arrested in a small cabaretclose to marseilles." "at la reserve! oh, yes; i can see it allbefore me this moment." "was it not his betrothal feast?" "it was and the feast that began so gaylyhad a very sorrowful ending; a police commissary, followed by four soldiers,entered, and dantes was arrested." "yes, and up to this point i know all," saidthe priest. "dantes himself
only knew that which personally concernedhim, for he never beheld again the five persons i have named to you, or heardmention of any one of them." "well, when dantes was arrested, monsieurmorrel hastened to obtain the particulars, and they were very sad. the oldman returned alone to his home, folded up his wedding suit with tearsin his eyes, and paced up and down his chamber the whole day, and wouldnot go to bed at all, for i was underneath him and heard him walkingthe whole night; and for myself, i assure you i could not sleep either,for the grief of the poor
father gave me great uneasiness, and everystep he took went to my heart as really as if his foot had pressed againstmy breast. the next day mercedes came to implore the protection ofm. de villefort; she did not obtain it, however, and went to visit theold man; when she saw him so miserable and heart-broken, having passeda sleepless night, and not touched food since the previous day, she wishedhim to go with her that she might take care of him; but the old manwould not consent. 'no,' was the old man's reply, 'i will not leave thishouse, for my poor dear boy loves me better than anything in the world;and if he gets out of prison
he will come and see me the first thing, andwhat would he think if i did not wait here for him?' i heard all thisfrom the window, for i was anxious that mercedes should persuade theold man to accompany her, for his footsteps over my head night and day didnot leave me a moment's repose." "but did you not go up-stairs and try to consolethe poor old man?" asked the abbe. "ah, sir," replied caderousse, "we cannotconsole those who will not be consoled, and he was one of these; besides,i know not why, but he
seemed to dislike seeing me. one night, however,i heard his sobs, and i could not resist my desire to go up to him,but when i reached his door he was no longer weeping but praying. i cannotnow repeat to you, sir, all the eloquent words and imploring languagehe made use of; it was more than piety, it was more than grief, andi, who am no canter, and hate the jesuits, said then to myself, 'itis really well, and i am very glad that i have not any children; for ifi were a father and felt such excessive grief as the old man does, and didnot find in my memory or heart all he is now saying, i should throwmyself into the sea at once,
for i could not bear it.'" "poor father!" murmured the priest. "from day to day he lived on alone, and moreand more solitary. m. morrel and mercedes came to see him, but hisdoor was closed; and, although i was certain he was at home, hewould not make any answer. one day, when, contrary to his custom, hehad admitted mercedes, and the poor girl, in spite of her own grief and despair,endeavored to console him, he said to her,—'be assured, my deardaughter, he is dead; and instead of expecting him, it is he who isawaiting us; i am quite happy,
for i am the oldest, and of course shall seehim first.' however well disposed a person may be, why you see we leaveoff after a time seeing persons who are in sorrow, they make one melancholy;and so at last old dantes was left all to himself, and ionly saw from time to time strangers go up to him and come down againwith some bundle they tried to hide; but i guessed what these bundleswere, and that he sold by degrees what he had to pay for his subsistence.at length the poor old fellow reached the end of all he had; he owedthree quarters' rent, and they threatened to turn him out; he beggedfor another week, which was
granted to him. i know this, because the landlordcame into my apartment when he left his. for the first three daysi heard him walking about as usual, but, on the fourth i heard nothing.i then resolved to go up to him at all risks. the door was closed, buti looked through the keyhole, and saw him so pale and haggard, that believinghim very ill, i went and told m. morrel and then ran on to mercedes.they both came immediately, m. morrel bringing a doctor, and the doctorsaid it was inflammation of the bowels, and ordered him a limited diet.i was there, too, and i never shall forget the old man's smile atthis prescription. from that
time he received all who came; he had an excusefor not eating any more; the doctor had put him on a diet." the abbeuttered a kind of groan. "the story interests you, does it not, sir?"inquired caderousse. "yes," replied the abbe, "it is very affecting." "mercedes came again, and she found him soaltered that she was even more anxious than before to have him takento her own home. this was m. morrel's wish also, who would fain have conveyedthe old man against his consent; but the old man resisted, and criedso that they were actually frightened. mercedes remained, therefore,by his bedside, and m. morrel
went away, making a sign to the catalan thathe had left his purse on the chimney-piece. but availing himself ofthe doctor's order, the old man would not take any sustenance; at length(after nine days of despair and fasting), the old man died, cursing thosewho had caused his misery, and saying to mercedes, 'if you ever see myedmond again, tell him i die blessing him.'" the abbe rose from his chair,made two turns round the chamber, and pressed his trembling hand againsthis parched throat. "and you believe he died"— "of hunger, sir, of hunger," said caderousse."i am as certain of it as
that we two are christians." the abbe, with a shaking hand, seized a glassof water that was standing by him half-full, swallowed it at one gulp,and then resumed his seat, with red eyes and pale cheeks. "this was,indeed, a horrid event." said he in a hoarse voice. "the more so, sir, as it was men's and notgod's doing." "tell me of those men," said the abbe, "andremember too," he added in an almost menacing tone, "you have promisedto tell me everything. tell me, therefore, who are these men who killedthe son with despair, and
the father with famine?" "two men jealous of him, sir; one from love,and the other from ambition,—fernand and danglars." "how was this jealousy manifested? speak on." "they denounced edmond as a bonapartist agent." "which of the two denounced him? which wasthe real delinquent?" "both, sir; one with a letter, and the otherput it in the post." "and where was this letter written?" "at la reserve, the day before the betrothalfeast."
"'twas so, then—'twas so, then," murmuredthe abbe. "oh, faria, faria, how well did you judge men and things!" "what did you please to say, sir?" asked caderousse. "nothing, nothing," replied the priest; "goon." "it was danglars who wrote the denunciationwith his left hand, that his writing might not be recognized, and fernandwho put it in the post." "but," exclaimed the abbe suddenly, "you werethere yourself." "i!" said caderousse, astonished; "who toldyou i was there?" the abbe saw he had overshot the mark, andhe added quickly,—"no one;
but in order to have known everything so well,you must have been an eye-witness." "true, true!" said caderousse in a chokingvoice, "i was there." "and did you not remonstrate against suchinfamy?" asked the abbe; "if not, you were an accomplice." "sir," replied caderousse, "they had mademe drink to such an excess that i nearly lost all perception.i had only an indistinct understanding of what was passing around me.i said all that a man in such a state could say; but they both assuredme that it was a jest they
were carrying on, and perfectly harmless." "next day—next day, sir, you must have seenplain enough what they had been doing, yet you said nothing, though youwere present when dantes was arrested." "yes, sir, i was there, and very anxious tospeak; but danglars restrained me. 'if he should really be guilty,'said he, 'and did really put in to the island of elba; if he is reallycharged with a letter for the bonapartist committee at paris, and ifthey find this letter upon him, those who have supported him will passfor his accomplices.' i
confess i had my fears, in the state in whichpolitics then were, and i held my tongue. it was cowardly, i confess,but it was not criminal." "i understand—you allowed matters to taketheir course, that was all." "yes, sir," answered caderousse; "and remorsepreys on me night and day. i often ask pardon of god, i swear to you,because this action, the only one with which i have seriously to reproachmyself in all my life, is no doubt the cause of my abject condition.i am expiating a moment of selfishness, and so i always say to la carconte,when she complains, 'hold your tongue, woman; it is the will ofgod.'" and caderousse bowed
his head with every sign of real repentance. "well, sir," said the abbe, "you have spokenunreservedly; and thus to accuse yourself is to deserve pardon." "unfortunately, edmond is dead, and has notpardoned me." "he did not know," said the abbe. "but he knows it all now," interrupted caderousse;"they say the dead know everything." there was a brief silence;the abbe rose and paced up and down pensively, and then resumed his seat."you have two or three times mentioned a m. morrel," he said; "whowas he?"
"the owner of the pharaon and patron of dantes." "and what part did he play in this sad drama?"inquired the abbe. "the part of an honest man, full of courageand real regard. twenty times he interceded for edmond. when the emperorreturned, he wrote, implored, threatened, and so energetically,that on the second restoration he was persecuted as a bonapartist.ten times, as i told you, he came to see dantes' father, and offeredto receive him in his own house; and the night or two before hisdeath, as i have already said, he left his purse on the mantelpiece,with which they paid the old
man's debts, and buried him decently; andso edmond's father died, as he had lived, without doing harm to any one.i have the purse still by me—a large one, made of red silk." "and," asked the abbe, "is m. morrel stillalive?" "yes," replied caderousse. "in that case," replied the abbe, "he shouldbe rich, happy." caderousse smiled bitterly. "yes, happy asmyself," said he. "what! m. morrel unhappy?" exclaimed the abbe. "he is reduced almost to the last extremity—nay,he is almost at the
point of dishonor." "how?" "yes," continued caderousse, "so it is; afterfive and twenty years of labor, after having acquired a most honorablename in the trade of marseilles, m. morrel is utterly ruined; hehas lost five ships in two years, has suffered by the bankruptcy of threelarge houses, and his only hope now is in that very pharaon whichpoor dantes commanded, and which is expected from the indies with a cargoof cochineal and indigo. if this ship founders, like the others, heis a ruined man."
"and has the unfortunate man wife or children?"inquired the abbe. "yes, he has a wife, who through everythinghas behaved like an angel; he has a daughter, who was about to marrythe man she loved, but whose family now will not allow him to wed the daughterof a ruined man; he has, besides, a son, a lieutenant in the army;and, as you may suppose, all this, instead of lessening, only augmentshis sorrows. if he were alone in the world he would blow out his brains,and there would be an end." "horrible!" ejaculated the priest.
"and it is thus heaven recompenses virtue,sir," added caderousse. "you see, i, who never did a bad action but thati have told you of—am in destitution, with my poor wife dying of feverbefore my very eyes, and i unable to do anything in the world for her;i shall die of hunger, as old dantes did, while fernand and danglarsare rolling in wealth." "how is that?" "because their deeds have brought them goodfortune, while honest men have been reduced to misery." "what has become of danglars, the instigator,and therefore the most
guilty?" "what has become of him? why, he left marseilles,and was taken, on the recommendation of m. morrel, who did not knowhis crime, as cashier into a spanish bank. during the war with spainhe was employed in the commissariat of the french army, and madea fortune; then with that money he speculated in the funds, and trebledor quadrupled his capital; and, having first married his banker's daughter,who left him a widower, he has married a second time, a widow, a madamede nargonne, daughter of m. de servieux, the king's chamberlain, whois in high favor at court.
he is a millionaire, and they have made hima baron, and now he is the baron danglars, with a fine residence in therue de mont-blanc, with ten horses in his stables, six footmen in hisante-chamber, and i know not how many millions in his strongbox." "ah!" said the abbe, in a peculiar tone, "heis happy." "happy? who can answer for that? happinessor unhappiness is the secret known but to one's self and the walls—wallshave ears but no tongue; but if a large fortune produces happiness,danglars is happy." "and fernand?"
"fernand? why, much the same story." "but how could a poor catalan fisher-boy,without education or resources, make a fortune? i confess thisstaggers me." "and it has staggered everybody. there musthave been in his life some strange secret that no one knows." "but, then, by what visible steps has he attainedthis high fortune or high position?" "both, sir—he has both fortune and position—both." "this must be impossible!"
"it would seem so; but listen, and you willunderstand. some days before the return of the emperor, fernand was drafted.the bourbons left him quietly enough at the catalans, but napoleonreturned, a special levy was made, and fernand was compelled to join.i went too; but as i was older than fernand, and had just married mypoor wife, i was only sent to the coast. fernand was enrolled in theactive troop, went to the frontier with his regiment, and was at thebattle of ligny. the night after that battle he was sentry at the doorof a general who carried on a secret correspondence with the enemy. thatsame night the general
was to go over to the english. he proposedto fernand to accompany him; fernand agreed to do so, deserted his post,and followed the general. fernand would have been court-martialed ifnapoleon had remained on the throne, but his action was rewarded bythe bourbons. he returned to france with the epaulet of sub-lieutenant,and as the protection of the general, who is in the highest favor,was accorded to him, he was a captain in 1823, during the spanish war—thatis to say, at the time when danglars made his early speculations.fernand was a spaniard, and being sent to spain to ascertain the feelingof his fellow-countrymen,
found danglars there, got on very intimateterms with him, won over the support of the royalists at the capital andin the provinces, received promises and made pledges on his own part,guided his regiment by paths known to himself alone through the mountaingorges which were held by the royalists, and, in fact, rendered suchservices in this brief campaign that, after the taking of trocadero,he was made colonel, and received the title of count and the crossof an officer of the legion of honor." "destiny! destiny!" murmured the abbe.
"yes, but listen: this was not all. the warwith spain being ended, fernand's career was checked by the long peacewhich seemed likely to endure throughout europe. greece only hadrisen against turkey, and had begun her war of independence; all eyes wereturned towards athens—it was the fashion to pity and support the greeks.the french government, without protecting them openly, as you know,gave countenance to volunteer assistance. fernand sought and obtainedleave to go and serve in greece, still having his name kept on thearmy roll. some time after, it was stated that the comte de morcerf (thiswas the name he bore) had
entered the service of ali pasha with therank of instructor-general. ali pasha was killed, as you know, but beforehe died he recompensed the services of fernand by leaving him a considerablesum, with which he returned to france, when he was gazetted lieutenant-general." "so that now?"—inquired the abbe. "so that now," continued caderousse, "he ownsa magnificent house—no. 27, rue du helder, paris." the abbe openedhis mouth, hesitated for a moment, then, making an effort at self-control,he said, "and mercedes—they tell me that she has disappeared?"
"disappeared," said caderousse, "yes, as thesun disappears, to rise the next day with still more splendor." "has she made a fortune also?" inquired theabbe, with an ironical smile. "mercedes is at this moment one of the greatestladies in paris," replied caderousse. "go on," said the abbe; "it seems as if iwere listening to the story of a dream. but i have seen things so extraordinary,that what you tell me seems less astonishing than it otherwise might."
"mercedes was at first in the deepest despairat the blow which deprived her of edmond. i have told you of her attemptsto propitiate m. de villefort, her devotion to the elder dantes.in the midst of her despair, a new affliction overtook her. thiswas the departure of fernand—of fernand, whose crime she didnot know, and whom she regarded as her brother. fernand went, and mercedesremained alone. three months passed and still she wept—no news of edmond,no news of fernand, no companionship save that of an old man whowas dying with despair. one evening, after a day of accustomed vigil atthe angle of two roads
leading to marseilles from the catalans, shereturned to her home more depressed than ever. suddenly she hearda step she knew, turned anxiously around, the door opened, and fernand,dressed in the uniform of a sub-lieutenant, stood before her. itwas not the one she wished for most, but it seemed as if a part of her pastlife had returned to her. mercedes seized fernand's hands with a transportwhich he took for love, but which was only joy at being no longeralone in the world, and seeing at last a friend, after long hours of solitarysorrow. and then, it must be confessed, fernand had never been hated—hewas only not precisely
loved. another possessed all mercedes' heart;that other was absent, had disappeared, perhaps was dead. at this lastthought mercedes burst into a flood of tears, and wrung her hands in agony;but the thought, which she had always repelled before when it wassuggested to her by another, came now in full force upon her mind; andthen, too, old dantes incessantly said to her, 'our edmond is dead;if he were not, he would return to us.' the old man died, as i havetold you; had he lived, mercedes, perchance, had not become the wifeof another, for he would have been there to reproach her infidelity.fernand saw this, and when
he learned of the old man's death he returned.he was now a lieutenant. at his first coming he had not said a wordof love to mercedes; at the second he reminded her that he loved her.mercedes begged for six months more in which to await and mourn for edmond." "so that," said the abbe, with a bitter smile,"that makes eighteen months in all. what more could the most devotedlover desire?" then he murmured the words of the english poet, "'frailty,thy name is woman.'" "six months afterwards," continued caderousse,"the marriage took place in the church of accoules."
"the very church in which she was to havemarried edmond," murmured the priest; "there was only a change of bride-grooms." "well, mercedes was married," proceeded caderousse;"but although in the eyes of the world she appeared calm, she nearlyfainted as she passed la reserve, where, eighteen months before,the betrothal had been celebrated with him whom she might have knownshe still loved had she looked to the bottom of her heart. fernand,more happy, but not more at his ease—for i saw at this time he was inconstant dread of edmond's return—fernand was very anxious to get hiswife away, and to depart
himself. there were too many unpleasant possibilitiesassociated with the catalans, and eight days after the weddingthey left marseilles." "did you ever see mercedes again?" inquiredthe priest. "yes, during the spanish war, at perpignan,where fernand had left her; she was attending to the education of herson." the abbe started. "her son?" said he. "yes," replied caderousse, "little albert." "but, then, to be able to instruct her child,"continued the abbe, "she must have received an education herself. iunderstood from edmond that
she was the daughter of a simple fisherman,beautiful but uneducated." "oh," replied caderousse, "did he know solittle of his lovely betrothed? mercedes might have been a queen,sir, if the crown were to be placed on the heads of the loveliest andmost intelligent. fernand's fortune was already waxing great, and shedeveloped with his growing fortune. she learned drawing, music—everything.besides, i believe, between ourselves, she did this in order todistract her mind, that she might forget; and she only filled her headin order to alleviate the weight on her heart. but now her positionin life is assured," continued
caderousse; "no doubt fortune and honors havecomforted her; she is rich, a countess, and yet"—caderousse paused. "and yet what?" asked the abbe. "yet, i am sure, she is not happy," said caderousse. "what makes you believe this?" "why, when i found myself utterly destitute,i thought my old friends would, perhaps, assist me. so i went to danglars,who would not even receive me. i called on fernand, who sentme a hundred francs by his valet-de-chambre."
"then you did not see either of them?" "no, but madame de morcerf saw me." "how was that?" "as i went away a purse fell at my feet—itcontained five and twenty louis; i raised my head quickly, and saw mercedes,who at once shut the blind." "and m. de villefort?" asked the abbe. "oh, he never was a friend of mine, i didnot know him, and i had nothing to ask of him."
"do you not know what became of him, and theshare he had in edmond's misfortunes?" "no; i only know that some time after edmond'sarrest, he married mademoiselle de saint-meran, and soon afterleft marseilles; no doubt he has been as lucky as the rest; no doubthe is as rich as danglars, as high in station as fernand. i only, asyou see, have remained poor, wretched, and forgotten." "you are mistaken, my friend," replied theabbe; "god may seem sometimes to forget for a time, while his justice reposes,but there always comes
a moment when he remembers—and behold—aproof!" as he spoke, the abbe took the diamond from his pocket, andgiving it to caderousse, said,—"here, my friend, take this diamond,it is yours." "what, for me only?" cried caderousse, "ah,sir, do not jest with me!" "this diamond was to have been shared amonghis friends. edmond had one friend only, and thus it cannot be divided.take the diamond, then, and sell it; it is worth fifty thousand francs,and i repeat my wish that this sum may suffice to release you from yourwretchedness." "oh, sir," said caderousse, putting out onehand timidly, and with the
other wiping away the perspiration which bedewedhis brow,—"oh, sir, do not make a jest of the happiness or despairof a man." "i know what happiness and what despair are,and i never make a jest of such feelings. take it, then, but in exchange—" caderousse, who touched the diamond, withdrewhis hand. the abbe smiled. "in exchange," he continued, "give me thered silk purse that m. morrel left on old dantes' chimney-piece, and whichyou tell me is still in your hands." caderousse, more and more astonished,went toward a large oaken cupboard, opened it, and gave the abbea long purse of faded red
silk, round which were two copper runnersthat had once been gilt. the abbe took it, and in return gave caderoussethe diamond. "oh, you are a man of god, sir," cried caderousse;"for no one knew that edmond had given you this diamond, and youmight have kept it." "which," said the abbe to himself, "you wouldhave done." the abbe rose, took his hat and gloves. "well," hesaid, "all you have told me is perfectly true, then, and i may believe itin every particular." "see, sir," replied caderousse, "in this corneris a crucifix in holy wood—here on this shelf is my wife's testament;open this book, and i
will swear upon it with my hand on the crucifix.i will swear to you by my soul's salvation, my faith as a christian,i have told everything to you as it occurred, and as the recording angelwill tell it to the ear of god at the day of the last judgment!" "'tis well," said the abbe, convinced by hismanner and tone that caderousse spoke the truth. "'tis well, andmay this money profit you! adieu; i go far from men who thus so bitterlyinjure each other." the abbe with difficulty got away from theenthusiastic thanks of caderousse, opened the door himself, got outand mounted his horse, once
more saluted the innkeeper, who kept utteringhis loud farewells, and then returned by the road he had travelledin coming. when caderousse turned around, he saw behind him la carconte,paler and trembling more than ever. "is, then, all that i have heardreally true?" she inquired. "what? that he has given the diamond to usonly?" inquired caderousse, half bewildered with joy; "yes, nothing moretrue! see, here it is." the woman gazed at it a moment, and then said,in a gloomy voice, "suppose it's false?" caderousse started and turnedpale. "false!" he muttered. "false! why should that man give me a falsediamond?"
"to get your secret without paying for it,you blockhead!" caderousse remained for a moment aghast underthe weight of such an idea. "oh!" he said, taking up his hat, whichhe placed on the red handkerchief tied round his head, "we willsoon find out." "in what way?" "why, the fair is on at beaucaire, there arealways jewellers from paris there, and i will show it to them. look afterthe house, wife, and i shall be back in two hours," and caderousseleft the house in haste, and ran rapidly in the direction oppositeto that which the priest had
taken. "fifty thousand francs!" muttered lacarconte when left alone; "it is a large sum of money, but it is nota fortune." end of chapter 27�