The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated

by Alexandre Dumas

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  Chapter 23. The Island of Monte Cristo

  Thus, at length, by one of the unexpected strokes of fortune whichsometimes befall those who have for a long time been the victims of anevil destiny, Dantès was about to secure the opportunity he wished for,by simple and natural means, and land on the island without incurringany suspicion. One night more and he would be on his way.

  The night was one of feverish distraction, and in its progress visions,good and evil, passed through Dantès’ mind. If he closed his eyes, hesaw Cardinal Spada’s letter written on the wall in characters offlame—if he slept for a moment the wildest dreams haunted his brain. Heascended into grottos paved with emeralds, with panels of rubies, andthe roof glowing with diamond stalactites. Pearls fell drop by drop, assubterranean waters filter in their caves. Edmond, amazed, wonderstruck,filled his pockets with the radiant gems and then returned to daylight,when he discovered that his prizes had all changed into common pebbles.He then endeavored to re-enter the marvellous grottos, but they hadsuddenly receded, and now the path became a labyrinth, and then theentrance vanished, and in vain did he tax his memory for the magic andmysterious word which opened the splendid caverns of Ali Baba to theArabian fisherman. All was useless, the treasure disappeared, and hadagain reverted to the genii from whom for a moment he had hoped to carryit off.

  The day came at length, and was almost as feverish as the night hadbeen, but it brought reason to the aid of imagination, and Dantès wasthen enabled to arrange a plan which had hitherto been vague andunsettled in his brain. Night came, and with it the preparation fordeparture, and these preparations served to conceal Dantès’ agitation.He had by degrees assumed such authority over his companions that he wasalmost like a commander on board; and as his orders were always clear,distinct, and easy of execution, his comrades obeyed him with celerityand pleasure.

  The old patron did not interfere, for he too had recognized thesuperiority of Dantès over the crew and himself. He saw in the young manhis natural successor, and regretted that he had not a daughter, that hemight have bound Edmond to him by a more secure alliance. At seveno’clock in the evening all was ready, and at ten minutes past seven theydoubled the lighthouse just as the beacon was kindled. The sea was calm,and, with a fresh breeze from the south-east, they sailed beneath abright blue sky, in which God also lighted up in turn his beacon lights,each of which is a world. Dantès told them that all hands might turn in,and he would take the helm. When the Maltese (for so they called Dantès)had said this, it was sufficient, and all went to their bunkscontentedly.

  This frequently happened. Dantès, cast from solitude into the world,frequently experienced an imperious desire for solitude; and whatsolitude is more complete, or more poetical, than that of a shipfloating in isolation on the sea during the obscurity of the night, inthe silence of immensity, and under the eye of Heaven?

  Now this solitude was peopled with his thoughts, the night lighted up byhis illusions, and the silence animated by his anticipations. When thepatron awoke, the vessel was hurrying on with every sail set, and everysail full with the breeze. They were making nearly ten knots an hour.The Island of Monte Cristo loomed large in the horizon. Edmond resignedthe lugger to the master’s care, and went and lay down in his hammock;but, in spite of a sleepless night, he could not close his eyes for amoment.

  Two hours afterwards he came on deck, as the boat was about to doublethe Island of Elba. They were just abreast of Mareciana, and beyond theflat but verdant Island of La Pianosa. The peak of Monte Cristo reddenedby the burning sun, was seen against the azure sky. Dantès ordered thehelmsman to put down his helm, in order to leave La Pianosa tostarboard, as he knew that he should shorten his course by two or threeknots. About five o’clock in the evening the island was distinct, andeverything on it was plainly perceptible, owing to that clearness of theatmosphere peculiar to the light which the rays of the sun cast at itssetting.

  Edmond gazed very earnestly at the mass of rocks which gave out all thevariety of twilight colors, from the brightest pink to the deepest blue;and from time to time his cheeks flushed, his brow darkened, and a mistpassed over his eyes. Never did a gamester, whose whole fortune isstaked on one cast of the die, experience the anguish which Edmond feltin his paroxysms of hope.

  Night came, and at ten o’clock they anchored. La Jeune Amélie was firstat the rendezvous. In spite of his usual command over himself, Dantèscould not restrain his impetuosity. He was the first to jump on shore;and had he dared, he would, like Lucius Brutus, have “kissed his motherearth.” It was dark, but at eleven o’clock the moon rose in the midst ofthe ocean, whose every wave she silvered, and then, “ascending high,”played in floods of pale light on the rocky hills of this second Pelion.

  The island was familiar to the crew of La Jeune Amélie,—it was one ofher regular haunts. As to Dantès, he had passed it on his voyage to andfrom 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 Dantès’ brow.

  “What, are there no grottos at Monte Cristo?” he asked.

  “None.”

  For a moment Dantès was speechless; then he remembered that these cavesmight have been filled up by some accident, or even stopped up, for thesake of greater security, by Cardinal Spada. The point was, then, todiscover the hidden entrance. It was useless to search at night, andDantès therefore delayed all investigation until the morning. Besides, asignal made half a league out at sea, and to which La Jeune Améliereplied by a similar signal, indicated that the moment for business hadcome.

  The boat that now arrived, assured by the answering signal that all waswell, soon came in sight, white and silent as a phantom, and cast anchorwithin a cable’s length of shore.

  Then the landing began. Dantès reflected, as he worked, on the shout ofjoy which, with a single word, he could evoke from all these men, if hegave utterance to the one unchanging thought that pervaded his heart;but, far from disclosing this precious secret, he almost feared that hehad already said too much, and by his restlessness and continualquestions, his minute observations and evident preoccupation, arousedsuspicions. Fortunately, as regarded this circumstance at least, hispainful past gave to his countenance an indelible sadness, and theglimmerings of gayety seen beneath this cloud were indeed buttransitory.

  No one had the slightest suspicion; and when next day, taking a fowling-piece, powder, and shot, Dantès declared his intention to go and killsome of the wild goats that were seen springing from rock to rock, hiswish was construed into a love of sport, or a desire for solitude.However, Jacopo insisted on following him, and Dantès did not opposethis, fearing if he did so that he might incur distrust. Scarcely,however, had they gone a quarter of a league when, having killed a kid,he begged Jacopo to take it to his comrades, and request them to cookit, and when ready to let him know by firing a gun. This and some driedfruits and a flask of Monte Pulciano, was the bill of fare.

  Dantès went on, looking from time to time behind and around about him.Having reached the summit of a rock, he saw, a thousand feet beneathhim, his companions, whom Jacopo had rejoined, and who were all busypreparing the repast which Edmond’s skill as a marksman had augmentedwith a capital dish.

  Edmond looked at them for a moment with the sad and gentle smile of aman superior to his fellows.

  “In two hours’ time,” said he, “these persons will depart richer byfifty piastres each, to go and risk their lives again by endeavoring togain fifty more; then they will return with a fortune of six hundredfrancs, and waste this treasure in some city with the pride of sultansand the insolence of nabobs. At this moment hope makes me despise theirriches,
which seem to me contemptible. Yet perchance tomorrow deceptionwill so act on me, that I shall, on compulsion, consider such acontemptible possession as the utmost happiness. Oh, no!” exclaimedEdmond, “that will not be. The wise, unerring Faria could not bemistaken in this one thing. Besides, it were better to die than tocontinue to lead this low and wretched life.”

  Thus Dantès, who but three months before had no desire but liberty hadnow not liberty enough, and panted for wealth. The cause was not inDantès, but in Providence, who, while limiting the power of man, hasfilled him with boundless desires.

  Meanwhile, by a cleft between two walls of rock, following a path wornby a torrent, and which, in all human probability, human foot had neverbefore trod, Dantès approached the spot where he supposed the grottosmust have existed. Keeping along the shore, and examining the smallestobject with serious attention, he thought he could trace, on certainrocks, marks made by the hand of man.

  Time, which encrusts all physical substances with its mossy mantle, asit invests all things of the mind with forgetfulness, seemed to haverespected these signs, which apparently had been made with some degreeof regularity, and probably with a definite purpose. Occasionally themarks were hidden under tufts of myrtle, which spread into large bushesladen with blossoms, or beneath parasitical lichen. So Edmond had toseparate the branches or brush away the moss to know where the guide-marks were. The sight of marks renewed Edmond fondest hopes. Might itnot have been the cardinal himself who had first traced them, in orderthat they might serve as a guide for his nephew in the event of acatastrophe, which he could not foresee would have been so complete.This solitary place was precisely suited to the requirements of a mandesirous of burying treasure. Only, might not these betraying marks haveattracted other eyes than those for whom they were made? and had thedark and wondrous island indeed faithfully guarded its precious secret?

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  It seemed, however, to Edmond, who was hidden from his comrades by theinequalities of the ground, that at sixty paces from the harbor themarks ceased; nor did they terminate at any grotto. A large round rock,placed solidly on its base, was the only spot to which they seemed tolead. Edmond concluded that perhaps instead of having reached the end ofthe route he had only explored its beginning, and he therefore turnedround and retraced his steps.

  Meanwhile his comrades had prepared the repast, had got some water froma spring, spread out the fruit and bread, and cooked the kid. Just atthe moment when they were taking the dainty animal from the spit, theysaw Edmond springing with the boldness of a chamois from rock to rock,and they fired the signal agreed upon. The sportsman instantly changedhis direction, and ran quickly towards them. But even while they watchedhis daring progress, Edmond’s foot slipped, and they saw him stagger onthe edge of a rock and disappear. They all rushed towards him, for allloved Edmond in spite of his superiority; yet Jacopo reached him first.

  He found Edmond lying prone, bleeding, and almost senseless. He hadrolled down a declivity of twelve or fifteen feet. They poured a littlerum down his throat, and this remedy which had before been so beneficialto him, produced the same effect as formerly. Edmond opened his eyes,complained of great pain in his knee, a feeling of heaviness in hishead, and severe pains in his loins. They wished to carry him to theshore; but when they touched him, although under Jacopo’s directions, hedeclared, with heavy groans, that he could not bear to be moved.

  It may be supposed that Dantès did not now think of his dinner, but heinsisted that his comrades, who had not his reasons for fasting, shouldhave their meal. As for himself, he declared that he had only need of alittle rest, and that when they returned he should be easier. Thesailors did not require much urging. They were hungry, and the smell ofthe roasted kid was very savory, and your tars are not very ceremonious.An hour afterwards they returned. All that Edmond had been able to dowas to drag himself about a dozen paces forward to lean against a moss-grown rock.

  But, instead of growing easier, Dantès’ pains appeared to increase inviolence. The old patron, who was obliged to sail in the morning inorder to land his cargo on the frontiers of Piedmont and France, betweenNice and Fréjus, urged Dantès to try and rise. Edmond made greatexertions in order to comply; but at each effort he fell back, moaningand turning pale.

  “He has broken his ribs,” said the commander, in a low voice. “Nomatter; he is an excellent fellow, and we must not leave him. We willtry and carry him on board the tartan.”

  Dantès declared, however, that he would rather die where he was thanundergo the agony which the slightest movement cost him.

  “Well,” said the patron, “let what may happen, it shall never be saidthat we deserted a good comrade like you. We will not go till evening.”

  This very much astonished the sailors, although, not one opposed it. Thepatron was so strict that this was the first time they had ever seen himgive up an enterprise, or even delay in its execution. Dantès would notallow that any such infraction of regular and proper rules should bemade in his favor.

  “No, no,” he said to the patron, “I was awkward, and it is just that Ipay the penalty of my clumsiness. Leave me a small supply of biscuit, agun, powder, and balls, to kill the kids or defend myself at need, and apickaxe, that I may build a shelter if you delay in coming back for me.”

  “But you’ll die of hunger,” said the patron.

  “I would rather do so,” was Edmond’s reply, “than suffer theinexpressible agonies which the slightest movement causes me.”

  The patron turned towards his vessel, which was rolling on the swell inthe little harbor, and, with sails partly set, would be ready for seawhen her toilet should be completed.

  “What are we to do, Maltese?” asked the captain. “We cannot leave youhere so, and yet we cannot stay.”

  “Go, go!” exclaimed Dantès.

  “We shall be absent at least a week,” said the patron, “and then we mustrun out of our course to come here and take you up again.”

  “Why,” said Dantès, “if in two or three days you hail any fishing-boat,desire them to come here to me. I will pay twenty-five piastres for mypassage back to Leghorn. If you do not come across one, return for me.”The patron shook his head.

  “Listen, Captain Baldi; there’s one way of settling this,” said Jacopo.“Do you go, and I will stay and take care of the wounded man.”

  “And give up your share of the venture,” said Edmond, “to remain withme?”

  “Yes,” said Jacopo, “and without any hesitation.”

  “You are a good fellow and a kind-hearted messmate,” replied Edmond,“and heaven will recompense you for your generous intentions; but I donot wish anyone to stay with me. A day or two of rest will set me up,and I hope I shall find among the rocks certain herbs most excellent forbruises.”

  A peculiar smile passed over Dantès’ lips; he squeezed Jacopo’s handwarmly, but nothing could shake his determination to remain—and remainalone.

  The smugglers left with Edmond what he had requested and set sail, butnot without turning about several times, and each time making signs of acordial farewell, to which Edmond replied with his hand only, as if hecould not move the rest of his body.

  Then, when they had disappeared, he said with a smile,—“’Tis strangethat it should be among such men that we find proofs of friendship anddevotion.” Then he dragged himself cautiously to the top of a rock, fromwhich he had a full view of the sea, and thence he saw the tartancomplete her preparations for sailing, weigh anchor, and, balancingherself as gracefully as a water-fowl ere it takes to the wing, setsail.

  At the end of an hour she was completely out of sight; at least, it wasimpossible for the wounded man to see her any longer from the spot wherehe was. Then Dantès rose more agile and light than the kid among themyrtles and shrubs of these wild rocks, took his gun in one hand, hispickaxe in the other, and hastened towards the rock on which the markshe had noted terminated.

  “And now,” he exclaimed, remembering the tale of the Arabian fisherman,whi
ch Faria had related to him, “now, Open Sesame!”