The Count of Monte Cristo E-Book

Dumas Alexandre

• Herausgeber: David De Angelis
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Spanisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

"On what slender threads do life and fortune hang"

Thrown in prison for a crime he has not committed, Edmond Dantes is confined to the grim fortress of If. There he learns of a great hoard of treasure hidden on the Isle of Monte Cristo and he becomes determined not only to escape, but also to unearth the treasure and use it to plot the destruction of the three men responsible for his incarceration. Dumas’ epic tale of suffering and retribution, inspired by a real-life case of wrongful imprisonment, was a huge popular success when it was first serialized in the 1840s.

Leseprobe

THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO

By

Alexandre Dumas

Edition by David De Angelis 2017 – all rights reserved

Contents

VOLUME ONE

Chapter 1. Marseilles—The Arrival

Chapter 2. Father and Son

Chapter 3. The Catalans

Chapter 4. Conspiracy

Chapter 5. The Marriage Feast

Chapter 6. The Deputy Procureur du Roi

Chapter 7. The Examination

Chapter 8. The Château d’If

Chapter 9. The Evening of the Betrothal

Chapter 10. The King’s Closet at the Tuileries

Chapter 11. The Corsican Ogre

Chapter 12. Father and Son

Chapter 13. The Hundred Days

Chapter 14. The Two Prisoners

Chapter 15. Number 34 and Number 27

Chapter 16. A Learned Italian

Chapter 17. The Abbé’s Chamber

Chapter 18. The Treasure

Chapter 19. The Third Attack

Chapter 20. The Cemetery of the Château d’If

Chapter 21. The Island of Tiboulen

Chapter 22. The Smugglers

Chapter 23. The Island of Monte Cristo

Chapter 24. The Secret Cave

Chapter 25. The Unknown

Chapter 26. The Pont du Gard Inn

Chapter 27. The Story

VOLUME TWO

Chapter 28. The Prison Register

Chapter 29. The House of Morrel & Son

Chapter 30. The Fifth of September

Chapter 31. Italy: Sinbad the Sailor

Chapter 32. The Waking

Chapter 33. Roman Bandits

Chapter 34. The Colosseum

Chapter 35. La Mazzolata

Chapter 36. The Carnival at Rome

Chapter 37. The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian

Chapter 38. The Rendezvous

Chapter 39. The Guests

Chapter 40. The Breakfast

Chapter 41. The Presentation

Chapter 42. Monsieur Bertuccio

Chapter 43. The House at Auteuil

Chapter 44. The Vendetta

Chapter 45. The Rain of Blood

Chapter 46. Unlimited Credit

Chapter 47. The Dappled Grays

VOLUME THREE

Chapter 48. Ideology

Chapter 49. Haydée

Chapter 50. The Morrel Family

Chapter 51. Pyramus and Thisbe

Chapter 52. Toxicology

Chapter 53. Robert le Diable

Chapter 54. A Flurry in Stocks

Chapter 55. Major Cavalcanti

Chapter 56. Andrea Cavalcanti

Chapter 57. In the Lucern Patch

Chapter 58. M. Noirtier de Villefort

Chapter 59. The Will

Chapter 60. The Telegraph

Chapter 61. How a Gardener May Get Rid of the Dormice that Eat His Peaches

Chapter 62. Ghosts

Chapter 63. The Dinner

Chapter 64. The Beggar

Chapter 65. A Conjugal Scene

Chapter 67. The Office of the King’s Attorney

Chapter 68. A Summer Ball

Chapter 69. The Inquiry

Chapter 70. The Ball

Chapter 71. Bread and Salt

Chapter 72. Madame de Saint-Méran

Chapter 73. The Promise

VOLUME FOUR

Chapter 74. The Villefort Family Vault

Chapter 75. A Signed Statement

Chapter 76. Progress of Cavalcanti the Younger

Chapter 77. Haydée

Chapter 78. We hear From Yanina

Chapter 79. The Lemonade

Chapter 80. The Accusation

Chapter 81. The Room of the Retired Baker

Chapter 82. The Burglary

Chapter 83. The Hand of God

Chapter 84. Beauchamp

Chapter 85. The Journey

Chapter 86. The Trial

Chapter 87. The Challenge

Chapter 88. The Insult

Chapter 89. The Night

Chapter 90. The Meeting

Chapter 91. Mother and Son

Chapter 92. The Suicide

Chapter 93. Valentine

Chapter 94. Maximilian’s Avowal

Chapter 95. Father and Daughter

VOLUME FIVE

Chapter 96. The Contract

Chapter 97. The Departure for Belgium

Chapter 98. The Bell and Bottle Tavern

Chapter 99. The Law

Chapter 100. The Apparition

Chapter 101. Locusta

Chapter 102. Valentine

Chapter 103. Maximilian

Chapter 104. Danglars’ Signature

Chapter 105. The Cemetery of Père-Lachaise

Chapter 106. Dividing the Proceeds

Chapter 107. The Lions’ Den

Chapter 108. The Judge

Chapter 109. The Assizes

Chapter 110. The Indictment

Chapter 111. Expiation

Chapter 112. The Departure

Chapter 113. The Past

Chapter 114. Peppino

Chapter 115. Luigi Vampa’s Bill of Fare

Chapter 116. The Pardon

Chapter 117. The Fifth of October

VOLUME ONE

Chapter 1. Marseilles—The Arrival

On the 24th of February, 1815, the look-out at Notre-Dame de la Gardesignalled the three-master, the Pharaon from Smyrna, Trieste, andNaples.

As usual, a pilot put off immediately, and rounding the Château d’If,got on board the vessel between Cape Morgiou and Rion island.

Immediately, and according to custom, the ramparts of Fort Saint-Jeanwere covered with spectators; it is always an event at Marseilles for aship to come into port, especially when this ship, like the Pharaon, hasbeen built, rigged, and laden at the old Phocee docks, and belongs to anowner of the city.

The ship drew on and had safely passed the strait, which some volcanic

shock has made between the Calasareigne and Jaros islands; had doubled

Pomègue, and approached the harbor under topsails, jib, and spanker, but

so slowly and sedately that the idlers, with that instinct which is the

forerunner of evil, asked one another what misfortune could have

happened on board. However, those experienced in navigation saw plainly

that if any accident had occurred, it was not to the vessel herself, for

she bore down with all the evidence of being skilfully handled, the

anchor a-cockbill, the jib-boom guys already eased off, and standing by

the side of the pilot, who was steering the Pharaon towards the narrow

entrance of the inner port, was a young man, who, with activity and

vigilant eye, watched every motion of the ship, and repeated each

direction of the pilot.

The vague disquietude which prevailed among the spectators had so much

affected one of the crowd that he did not await the arrival of the

vessel in harbor, but jumping into a small skiff, desired to be pulled

alongside the Pharaon, which he reached as she rounded into La Réserve

basin.

When the young man on board saw this person approach, he left his

station by the pilot, and, hat in hand, leaned over the ship’s bulwarks.

He was a fine, tall, slim young fellow of eighteen or twenty, with black

eyes, and hair as dark as a raven’s wing; and his whole appearance

bespoke that calmness and resolution peculiar to men accustomed from

their cradle to contend with danger.

“Ah, is it you, Dantès?” cried the man in the skiff. “What’s the matter?

and why have you such an air of sadness aboard?”

“A great misfortune, M. Morrel,” replied the young man, “a great

misfortune, for me especially! Off Civita Vecchia we lost our brave

Captain Leclere.”

“And the cargo?” inquired the owner, eagerly.

“Is all safe, M. Morrel; and I think you will be satisfied on that head.

But poor Captain Leclere——”

“What happened to him?” asked the owner, with an air of considerable

resignation. “What happened to the worthy captain?”

“He died.”

“Fell into the sea?”

“No, sir, he died of brain-fever in dreadful agony.” Then turning to the

crew, he said, “Bear a hand there, to take in sail!”

All hands obeyed, and at once the eight or ten seamen who composed the

crew, sprang to their respective stations at the spanker brails and

outhaul, topsail sheets and halyards, the jib downhaul, and the topsail

clewlines and buntlines. The young sailor gave a look to see that his

orders were promptly and accurately obeyed, and then turned again to the

owner.

“And how did this misfortune occur?” inquired the latter, resuming the

interrupted conversation.

“Alas, sir, in the most unexpected manner. After a long talk with the

harbor-master, Captain Leclere left Naples greatly disturbed in mind. In

twenty-four hours he was attacked by a fever, and died three days

afterwards. We performed the usual burial service, and he is at his

rest, sewn up in his hammock with a thirty-six-pound shot at his head

and his heels, off El Giglio island. We bring to his widow his sword and

cross of honor. It was worth while, truly,” added the young man with a

melancholy smile, “to make war against the English for ten years, and to

die in his bed at last, like everybody else.”

“Why, you see, Edmond,” replied the owner, who appeared more comforted

at every moment, “we are all mortal, and the old must make way for the

young. If not, why, there would be no promotion; and since you assure me

that the cargo——”

“Is all safe and sound, M. Morrel, take my word for it; and I advise you

not to take 25,000 francs for the profits of the voyage.”

Then, as they were just passing the Round Tower, the young man shouted:

“Stand by there to lower the topsails and jib; brail up the spanker!”

The order was executed as promptly as it would have been on board a man-

of-war.

“Let go—and clue up!” At this last command all the sails were lowered,

and the vessel moved almost imperceptibly onwards.

“Now, if you will come on board, M. Morrel,” said Dantès, observing the

owner’s impatience, “here is your supercargo, M. Danglars, coming out of

his cabin, who will furnish you with every particular. As for me, I must

look after the anchoring, and dress the ship in mourning.”

The owner did not wait for a second invitation. He seized a rope which

Dantès flung to him, and with an activity that would have done credit to

a sailor, climbed up the side of the ship, while the young man, going to

his task, left the conversation to Danglars, who now came towards the

owner. He was a man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, of

unprepossessing countenance, obsequious to his superiors, insolent to

his subordinates; and this, in addition to his position as responsible

agent on board, which is always obnoxious to the sailors, made him as

much disliked by the crew as Edmond Dantès was beloved by them.

“Well, M. Morrel,” said Danglars, “you have heard of the misfortune that

has befallen us?”

“Yes—yes: poor Captain Leclere! He was a brave and an honest man.”

“And a first-rate seaman, one who had seen long and honorable service,

as became a man charged with the interests of a house so important as

that of Morrel & Son,” replied Danglars.

“But,” replied the owner, glancing after Dantès, who was watching the

anchoring of his vessel, “it seems to me that a sailor needs not be so

old as you say, Danglars, to understand his business, for our friend

Edmond seems to understand it thoroughly, and not to require instruction

from anyone.”

“Yes,” said Danglars, darting at Edmond a look gleaming with hate. “Yes,

he is young, and youth is invariably self-confident. Scarcely was the

captain’s breath out of his body when he assumed the command without

consulting anyone, and he caused us to lose a day and a half at the

Island of Elba, instead of making for Marseilles direct.”

“As to taking command of the vessel,” replied Morrel, “that was his duty

as captain’s mate; as to losing a day and a half off the Island of Elba,

he was wrong, unless the vessel needed repairs.”

“The vessel was in as good condition as I am, and as, I hope you are, M.

Morrel, and this day and a half was lost from pure whim, for the

pleasure of going ashore, and nothing else.”

“Dantès,” said the shipowner, turning towards the young man, “come this

way!”

“In a moment, sir,” answered Dantès, “and I’m with you.” Then calling to

the crew, he said, “Let go!”

The anchor was instantly dropped, and the chain ran rattling through the

port-hole. Dantès continued at his post in spite of the presence of the

pilot, until this manœuvre was completed, and then he added, “Half-mast

the colors, and square the yards!”

“You see,” said Danglars, “he fancies himself captain already, upon my

word.”

“And so, in fact, he is,” said the owner.

“Except your signature and your partner’s, M. Morrel.”

“And why should he not have this?” asked the owner; “he is young, it is

true, but he seems to me a thorough seaman, and of full experience.”

A cloud passed over Danglars’ brow.

“Your pardon, M. Morrel,” said Dantès, approaching, “the vessel now

rides at anchor, and I am at your service. You hailed me, I think?”

Danglars retreated a step or two. “I wished to inquire why you stopped

at the Island of Elba?”

“I do not know, sir; it was to fulfil the last instructions of Captain

Leclere, who, when dying, gave me a packet for Marshal Bertrand.”

“Then did you see him, Edmond?”

“Who?”

“The marshal.”

“Yes.”

Morrel looked around him, and then, drawing Dantès on one side, he said

suddenly—

“And how is the emperor?”

“Very well, as far as I could judge from the sight of him.”

“You saw the emperor, then?”

“He entered the marshal’s apartment while I was there.”

“And you spoke to him?”

“Why, it was he who spoke to me, sir,” said Dantès, with a smile.

“And what did he say to you?”

“Asked me questions about the vessel, the time she left Marseilles, the

course she had taken, and what was her cargo. I believe, if she had not

been laden, and I had been her master, he would have bought her. But I

told him I was only mate, and that she belonged to the firm of Morrel &

Son. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, ‘I know them. The Morrels have been shipowners

from father to son; and there was a Morrel who served in the same

regiment with me when I was in garrison at Valence.’”

“Pardieu! and that is true!” cried the owner, greatly delighted. “And

that was Policar Morrel, my uncle, who was afterwards a captain. Dantès,

you must tell my uncle that the emperor remembered him, and you will see

it will bring tears into the old soldier’s eyes. Come, come,” continued

he, patting Edmond’s shoulder kindly, “you did very right, Dantès, to

follow Captain Leclere’s instructions, and touch at Elba, although if it

were known that you had conveyed a packet to the marshal, and had

conversed with the emperor, it might bring you into trouble.”

“How could that bring me into trouble, sir?” asked Dantès; “for I did

not even know of what I was the bearer; and the emperor merely made such

inquiries as he would of the first comer. But, pardon me, here are the

health officers and the customs inspectors coming alongside.” And the

young man went to the gangway. As he departed, Danglars approached, and

said,—

“Well, it appears that he has given you satisfactory reasons for his

landing at Porto-Ferrajo?”

“Yes, most satisfactory, my dear Danglars.”

“Well, so much the better,” said the supercargo; “for it is not pleasant

to think that a comrade has not done his duty.”

“Dantès has done his,” replied the owner, “and that is not saying much.

It was Captain Leclere who gave orders for this delay.”

“Talking of Captain Leclere, has not Dantès given you a letter from

him?”

“To me?—no—was there one?”

“I believe that, besides the packet, Captain Leclere confided a letter

to his care.”

“Of what packet are you speaking, Danglars?”

“Why, that which Dantès left at Porto-Ferrajo.”

“How do you know he had a packet to leave at Porto-Ferrajo?”

Danglars turned very red.

“I was passing close to the door of the captain’s cabin, which was half

open, and I saw him give the packet and letter to Dantès.”

“He did not speak to me of it,” replied the shipowner; “but if there be

any letter he will give it to me.”

Danglars reflected for a moment. “Then, M. Morrel, I beg of you,” said

he, “not to say a word to Dantès on the subject. I may have been

mistaken.”

At this moment the young man returned; Danglars withdrew.

“Well, my dear Dantès, are you now free?” inquired the owner.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have not been long detained.”

“No. I gave the custom-house officers a copy of our bill of lading; and

as to the other papers, they sent a man off with the pilot, to whom I

gave them.”

“Then you have nothing more to do here?”

“No—everything is all right now.”

“Then you can come and dine with me?”

“I really must ask you to excuse me, M. Morrel. My first visit is due to

my father, though I am not the less grateful for the honor you have done

me.”

“Right, Dantès, quite right. I always knew you were a good son.”

“And,” inquired Dantès, with some hesitation, “do you know how my father

is?”

“Well, I believe, my dear Edmond, though I have not seen him lately.”

“Yes, he likes to keep himself shut up in his little room.”

“That proves, at least, that he has wanted for nothing during your

absence.”

Dantès smiled. “My father is proud, sir, and if he had not a meal left,

I doubt if he would have asked anything from anyone, except from

Heaven.”

“Well, then, after this first visit has been made we shall count on

you.”

“I must again excuse myself, M. Morrel, for after this first visit has

been paid I have another which I am most anxious to pay.”

“True, Dantès, I forgot that there was at the Catalans someone who

expects you no less impatiently than your father—the lovely Mercédès.”

Dantès blushed.

“Ah, ha,” said the shipowner, “I am not in the least surprised, for she

has been to me three times, inquiring if there were any news of the

Pharaon. Peste! Edmond, you have a very handsome mistress!”

“She is not my mistress,” replied the young sailor, gravely; “she is my

betrothed.”

“Sometimes one and the same thing,” said Morrel, with a smile.

“Not with us, sir,” replied Dantès.

“Well, well, my dear Edmond,” continued the owner, “don’t let me detain

you. You have managed my affairs so well that I ought to allow you all

the time you require for your own. Do you want any money?”

“No, sir; I have all my pay to take—nearly three months’ wages.”

“You are a careful fellow, Edmond.”

“Say I have a poor father, sir.”

“Yes, yes, I know how good a son you are, so now hasten away to see your

father. I have a son too, and I should be very wroth with those who

detained him from me after a three months’ voyage.”

“Then I have your leave, sir?”

“Yes, if you have nothing more to say to me.”

“Nothing.”

“Captain Leclere did not, before he died, give you a letter for me?”

“He was unable to write, sir. But that reminds me that I must ask your

leave of absence for some days.”

“To get married?”

“Yes, first, and then to go to Paris.”

“Very good; have what time you require, Dantès. It will take quite six

weeks to unload the cargo, and we cannot get you ready for sea until

three months after that; only be back again in three months, for the

Pharaon,” added the owner, patting the young sailor on the back, “cannot

sail without her captain.”

“Without her captain!” cried Dantès, his eyes sparkling with animation;

“pray mind what you say, for you are touching on the most secret wishes

of my heart. Is it really your intention to make me captain of the

Pharaon?”

“If I were sole owner we’d shake hands on it now, my dear Dantès, and

call it settled; but I have a partner, and you know the Italian

proverb—Chi ha compagno ha padrone—‘He who has a partner has a master.’

But the thing is at least half done, as you have one out of two votes.

Rely on me to procure you the other; I will do my best.”

“Ah, M. Morrel,” exclaimed the young seaman, with tears in his eyes, and

grasping the owner’s hand, “M. Morrel, I thank you in the name of my

father and of Mercédès.”

“That’s all right, Edmond. There’s a providence that watches over the

deserving. Go to your father; go and see Mercédès, and afterwards come

to me.”

“Shall I row you ashore?”

“No, thank you; I shall remain and look over the accounts with Danglars.

Have you been satisfied with him this voyage?”

“That is according to the sense you attach to the question, sir. Do you

mean is he a good comrade? No, for I think he never liked me since the

day when I was silly enough, after a little quarrel we had, to propose

to him to stop for ten minutes at the island of Monte Cristo to settle

the dispute—a proposition which I was wrong to suggest, and he quite

right to refuse. If you mean as responsible agent when you ask me the

question, I believe there is nothing to say against him, and that you

will be content with the way in which he has performed his duty.”

“But tell me, Dantès, if you had command of the Pharaon should you be

glad to see Danglars remain?”

“Captain or mate, M. Morrel, I shall always have the greatest respect

for those who possess the owners’ confidence.”

“That’s right, that’s right, Dantès! I see you are a thoroughly good

fellow, and will detain you no longer. Go, for I see how impatient you

are.”

“Then I have leave?”

“Go, I tell you.”

“May I have the use of your skiff?”

“Certainly.”

“Then, for the present, M. Morrel, farewell, and a thousand thanks!”

“I hope soon to see you again, my dear Edmond. Good luck to you.”

The young sailor jumped into the skiff, and sat down in the stern

sheets, with the order that he be put ashore at La Canebière. The two

oarsmen bent to their work, and the little boat glided away as rapidly

as possible in the midst of the thousand vessels which choke up the

narrow way which leads between the two rows of ships from the mouth of

the harbor to the Quai d’Orléans.

The shipowner, smiling, followed him with his eyes until he saw him

spring out on the quay and disappear in the midst of the throng, which

from five o’clock in the morning until nine o’clock at night, swarms in

the famous street of La Canebière,—a street of which the modern Phocéens

are so proud that they say with all the gravity in the world, and with

that accent which gives so much character to what is said, “If Paris had

La Canebière, Paris would be a second Marseilles.” On turning round the

owner saw Danglars behind him, apparently awaiting orders, but in

reality also watching the young sailor,—but there was a great difference

in the expression of the two men who thus followed the movements of

Edmond Dantès.

Chapter 2. Father and Son

We will leave Danglars struggling with the demon of hatred, and

endeavoring to insinuate in the ear of the shipowner some evil

suspicions against his comrade, and follow Dantès, who, after having

traversed La Canebière, took the Rue de Noailles, and entering a small

house, on the left of the Allées de Meilhan, rapidly ascended four

flights of a dark staircase, holding the baluster with one hand, while

with the other he repressed the beatings of his heart, and paused before

a half-open door, from which he could see the whole of a small room.

This room was occupied by Dantès’ father. The news of the arrival of the

Pharaon had not yet reached the old man, who, mounted on a chair, was

amusing himself by training with trembling hand the nasturtiums and

sprays of clematis that clambered over the trellis at his window.

Suddenly, he felt an arm thrown around his body, and a well-known voice

behind him exclaimed, “Father—dear father!”

The old man uttered a cry, and turned round; then, seeing his son, he

fell into his arms, pale and trembling.

“What ails you, my dearest father? Are you ill?” inquired the young man,

much alarmed.

“No, no, my dear Edmond—my boy—my son!—no; but I did not expect you; and

joy, the surprise of seeing you so suddenly—Ah, I feel as if I were

going to die.”

“Come, come, cheer up, my dear father! ’Tis I—really I! They say joy

never hurts, and so I came to you without any warning. Come now, do

smile, instead of looking at me so solemnly. Here I am back again, and

we are going to be happy.”

“Yes, yes, my boy, so we will—so we will,” replied the old man; “but how

shall we be happy? Shall you never leave me again? Come, tell me all the

good fortune that has befallen you.”

“God forgive me,” said the young man, “for rejoicing at happiness

derived from the misery of others, but, Heaven knows, I did not seek

this good fortune; it has happened, and I really cannot pretend to

lament it. The good Captain Leclere is dead, father, and it is probable

that, with the aid of M. Morrel, I shall have his place. Do you

understand, father? Only imagine me a captain at twenty, with a hundred

louis pay, and a share in the profits! Is this not more than a poor

sailor like me could have hoped for?”

“Yes, my dear boy,” replied the old man, “it is very fortunate.”

“Well, then, with the first money I touch, I mean you to have a small

house, with a garden in which to plant clematis, nasturtiums, and

honeysuckle. But what ails you, father? Are you not well?”

“’Tis nothing, nothing; it will soon pass away”—and as he said so the

old man’s strength failed him, and he fell backwards.

“Come, come,” said the young man, “a glass of wine, father, will revive

you. Where do you keep your wine?”

“No, no; thanks. You need not look for it; I do not want it,” said the

old man.

“Yes, yes, father, tell me where it is,” and he opened two or three

cupboards.

“It is no use,” said the old man, “there is no wine.”

“What, no wine?” said Dantès, turning pale, and looking alternately at

the hollow cheeks of the old man and the empty cupboards. “What, no

wine? Have you wanted money, father?”

“I want nothing now that I have you,” said the old man.

“Yet,” stammered Dantès, wiping the perspiration from his brow,—“yet I

gave you two hundred francs when I left, three months ago.”

“Yes, yes, Edmond, that is true, but you forgot at that time a little

debt to our neighbor, Caderousse. He reminded me of it, telling me if I

did not pay for you, he would be paid by M. Morrel; and so, you see,

lest he might do you an injury——”

“Well?”

“Why, I paid him.”

“But,” cried Dantès, “it was a hundred and forty francs I owed

Caderousse.”

“Yes,” stammered the old man.

“And you paid him out of the two hundred francs I left you?”

The old man nodded.

“So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs,” muttered

Edmond.

“You know how little I require,” said the old man.

“Heaven pardon me,” cried Edmond, falling on his knees before his

father.

“What are you doing?”

“You have wounded me to the heart.”

“Never mind it, for I see you once more,” said the old man; “and now

it’s all over—everything is all right again.”

“Yes, here I am,” said the young man, “with a promising future and a

little money. Here, father, here!” he said, “take this—take it, and send

for something immediately.” And he emptied his pockets on the table, the

contents consisting of a dozen gold pieces, five or six five-franc

pieces, and some smaller coin. The countenance of old Dantès brightened.

“Whom does this belong to?” he inquired.

“To me, to you, to us! Take it; buy some provisions; be happy, and

tomorrow we shall have more.”

“Gently, gently,” said the old man, with a smile; “and by your leave I

will use your purse moderately, for they would say, if they saw me buy

too many things at a time, that I had been obliged to await your return,

in order to be able to purchase them.”

“Do as you please; but, first of all, pray have a servant, father. I

will not have you left alone so long. I have some smuggled coffee and

most capital tobacco, in a small chest in the hold, which you shall have

tomorrow. But, hush, here comes somebody.”

“’Tis Caderousse, who has heard of your arrival, and no doubt comes to

congratulate you on your fortunate return.”

“Ah, lips that say one thing, while the heart thinks another,” murmured

Edmond. “But, never mind, he is a neighbor who has done us a service on

a time, so he’s welcome.”

As Edmond paused, the black and bearded head of Caderousse appeared at

the door. He was a man of twenty-five or six, and held a piece of cloth,

which, being a tailor, he was about to make into a coat-lining.

“What, is it you, Edmond, back again?” said he, with a broad

Marseillaise accent, and a grin that displayed his ivory-white teeth.

“Yes, as you see, neighbor Caderousse; and ready to be agreeable to you

in any and every way,” replied Dantès, but ill-concealing his coldness

under this cloak of civility.

“Thanks—thanks; but, fortunately, I do not want for anything; and it

chances that at times there are others who have need of me.” Dantès made

a gesture. “I do not allude to you, my boy. No!—no! I lent you money,

and you returned it; that’s like good neighbors, and we are quits.”

“We are never quits with those who oblige us,” was Dantès’ reply; “for

when we do not owe them money, we owe them gratitude.”

“What’s the use of mentioning that? What is done is done. Let us talk of

your happy return, my boy. I had gone on the quay to match a piece of

mulberry cloth, when I met friend Danglars. ‘You at Marseilles?’—‘Yes,’

says he.

“‘I thought you were at Smyrna.’—‘I was; but am now back again.’

“‘And where is the dear boy, our little Edmond?’

“‘Why, with his father, no doubt,’ replied Danglars. And so I came,”

added Caderousse, “as fast as I could to have the pleasure of shaking

hands with a friend.”

“Worthy Caderousse!” said the old man, “he is so much attached to us.”

“Yes, to be sure I am. I love and esteem you, because honest folks are

so rare. But it seems you have come back rich, my boy,” continued the

tailor, looking askance at the handful of gold and silver which Dantès

had thrown on the table.

The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the dark eyes of

his neighbor. “Eh,” he said, negligently, “this money is not mine. I was

expressing to my father my fears that he had wanted many things in my

absence, and to convince me he emptied his purse on the table. Come,

father” added Dantès, “put this money back in your box—unless neighbor

Caderousse wants anything, and in that case it is at his service.”

“No, my boy, no,” said Caderousse. “I am not in any want, thank God, my

living is suited to my means. Keep your money—keep it, I say;—one never

has too much;—but, at the same time, my boy, I am as much obliged by

your offer as if I took advantage of it.”

“It was offered with good will,” said Dantès.

“No doubt, my boy; no doubt. Well, you stand well with M. Morrel I

hear,—you insinuating dog, you!”

“M. Morrel has always been exceedingly kind to me,” replied Dantès.

“Then you were wrong to refuse to dine with him.”

“What, did you refuse to dine with him?” said old Dantès; “and did he

invite you to dine?”

“Yes, my dear father,” replied Edmond, smiling at his father’s

astonishment at the excessive honor paid to his son.

“And why did you refuse, my son?” inquired the old man.

“That I might the sooner see you again, my dear father,” replied the

young man. “I was most anxious to see you.”

“But it must have vexed M. Morrel, good, worthy man,” said Caderousse.

“And when you are looking forward to be captain, it was wrong to annoy

the owner.”

“But I explained to him the cause of my refusal,” replied Dantès, “and I

hope he fully understood it.”

“Yes, but to be captain one must do a little flattery to one’s patrons.”

“I hope to be captain without that,” said Dantès.

“So much the better—so much the better! Nothing will give greater

pleasure to all your old friends; and I know one down there behind the

Saint Nicolas citadel who will not be sorry to hear it.”

“Mercédès?” said the old man.

“Yes, my dear father, and with your permission, now I have seen you, and

know you are well and have all you require, I will ask your consent to

go and pay a visit to the Catalans.”

“Go, my dear boy,” said old Dantès; “and Heaven bless you in your wife,

as it has blessed me in my son!”

“His wife!” said Caderousse; “why, how fast you go on, father Dantès;

she is not his wife yet, as it seems to me.”

“No, but according to all probability she soon will be,” replied Edmond.

“Yes—yes,” said Caderousse; “but you were right to return as soon as

possible, my boy.”

“And why?”

“Because Mercédès is a very fine girl, and fine girls never lack

followers; she particularly has them by dozens.”

“Really?” answered Edmond, with a smile which had in it traces of slight

uneasiness.

“Ah, yes,” continued Caderousse, “and capital offers, too; but you know,

you will be captain, and who could refuse you then?”

“Meaning to say,” replied Dantès, with a smile which but ill-concealed

his trouble, “that if I were not a captain——”

“Eh—eh!” said Caderousse, shaking his head.

“Come, come,” said the sailor, “I have a better opinion than you of

women in general, and of Mercédès in particular; and I am certain that,

captain or not, she will remain ever faithful to me.”

“So much the better—so much the better,” said Caderousse. “When one is

going to be married, there is nothing like implicit confidence; but

never mind that, my boy,—go and announce your arrival, and let her know

all your hopes and prospects.”

“I will go directly,” was Edmond’s reply; and, embracing his father, and

nodding to Caderousse, he left the apartment.

Caderousse lingered for a moment, then taking leave of old Dantès, he

went downstairs to rejoin Danglars, who awaited him at the corner of the

Rue Senac.

“Well,” said Danglars, “did you see him?”

“I have just left him,” answered Caderousse.

“Did he allude to his hope of being captain?”

“He spoke of it as a thing already decided.”

“Indeed!” said Danglars, “he is in too much hurry, it appears to me.”

“Why, it seems M. Morrel has promised him the thing.”

“So that he is quite elated about it?”

“Why, yes, he is actually insolent over the matter—has already offered

me his patronage, as if he were a grand personage, and proffered me a

loan of money, as though he were a banker.”

“Which you refused?”

“Most assuredly; although I might easily have accepted it, for it was I

who put into his hands the first silver he ever earned; but now M.

Dantès has no longer any occasion for assistance—he is about to become a

captain.”

“Pooh!” said Danglars, “he is not one yet.”

“Ma foi! it will be as well if he is not,” answered Caderousse; “for if

he should be, there will be really no speaking to him.”

“If we choose,” replied Danglars, “he will remain what he is; and

perhaps become even less than he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing—I was speaking to myself. And is he still in love with the

Catalane?”

“Over head and ears; but, unless I am much mistaken, there will be a

storm in that quarter.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Why should I?”

“It is more important than you think, perhaps. You do not like Dantès?”

“I never like upstarts.”

“Then tell me all you know about the Catalane.”

“I know nothing for certain; only I have seen things which induce me to

believe, as I told you, that the future captain will find some annoyance

in the vicinity of the Vieilles Infirmeries.”

“What have you seen?—come, tell me!”

“Well, every time I have seen Mercédès come into the city she has been

accompanied by a tall, strapping, black-eyed Catalan, with a red

complexion, brown skin, and fierce air, whom she calls cousin.”

“Really; and you think this cousin pays her attentions?”

“I only suppose so. What else can a strapping chap of twenty-one mean

with a fine wench of seventeen?”

“And you say that Dantès has gone to the Catalans?”

“He went before I came down.”

“Let us go the same way; we will stop at La Réserve, and we can drink a

glass of La Malgue, whilst we wait for news.”

“Come along,” said Caderousse; “but you pay the score.”

“Of course,” replied Danglars; and going quickly to the designated

place, they called for a bottle of wine, and two glasses.

Père Pamphile had seen Dantès pass not ten minutes before; and assured

that he was at the Catalans, they sat down under the budding foliage of

the planes and sycamores, in the branches of which the birds were

singing their welcome to one of the first days of spring.

Chapter 3. The Catalans

Beyond a bare, weather-worn wall, about a hundred paces from the spot

where the two friends sat looking and listening as they drank their

wine, was the village of the Catalans. Long ago this mysterious colony

quitted Spain, and settled on the tongue of land on which it is to this

day. Whence it came no one knew, and it spoke an unknown tongue. One of

its chiefs, who understood Provençal, begged the commune of Marseilles

to give them this bare and barren promontory, where, like the sailors of

old, they had run their boats ashore. The request was granted; and three