Chapter 32. The Waking
When Franz returned to himself, he seemed still to be in a dream. Hethought himself in a sepulchre, into which a ray of sunlight in pityscarcely penetrated. He stretched forth his hand, and touched stone; herose to his seat, and found himself lying on his bournous in a bed ofdry heather, very soft and odoriferous. The vision had fled; and as ifthe statues had been but shadows from the tomb, they had vanished at hiswaking.
He advanced several paces towards the point whence the light came, andto all the excitement of his dream succeeded the calmness of reality. Hefound that he was in a grotto, went towards the opening, and through akind of fanlight saw a blue sea and an azure sky. The air and water wereshining in the beams of the morning sun; on the shore the sailors weresitting, chatting and laughing; and at ten yards from them the boat wasat anchor, undulating gracefully on the water.
There for some time he enjoyed the fresh breeze which played on hisbrow, and listened to the dash of the waves on the beach, that leftagainst the rocks a lace of foam as white as silver. He was for sometime without reflection or thought for the divine charm which is in thethings of nature, specially after a fantastic dream; then gradually thisview of the outer world, so calm, so pure, so grand, reminded him of theillusiveness of his vision, and once more awakened memory. He recalledhis arrival on the island, his presentation to a smuggler chief, asubterranean palace full of splendor, an excellent supper, and aspoonful of hashish.
It seemed, however, even in the very face of open day, that at least ayear had elapsed since all these things had passed, so deep was theimpression made in his mind by the dream, and so strong a hold had ittaken of his imagination. Thus every now and then he saw in fancy amidthe sailors, seated on a rock, or undulating in the vessel, one of theshadows which had shared his dream with looks and kisses. Otherwise, hishead was perfectly clear, and his body refreshed; he was free from theslightest headache; on the contrary, he felt a certain degree oflightness, a faculty for absorbing the pure air, and enjoying the brightsunshine more vividly than ever.
He went gayly up to the sailors, who rose as soon as they perceived him;and the patron, accosting him, said:
“The Signor Sinbad has left his compliments for your excellency, anddesires us to express the regret he feels at not being able to take hisleave in person; but he trusts you will excuse him, as very importantbusiness calls him to Malaga.”
“So, then, Gaetano,” said Franz, “this is, then, all reality; thereexists a man who has received me in this island, entertained me rightroyally, and has departed while I was asleep?”
“He exists as certainly as that you may see his small yacht with all hersails spread; and if you will use your glass, you will, in allprobability, recognize your host in the midst of his crew.”
So saying, Gaetano pointed in a direction in which a small vessel wasmaking sail towards the southern point of Corsica. Franz adjusted histelescope, and directed it towards the yacht. Gaetano was not mistaken.At the stern the mysterious stranger was standing up looking towards theshore, and holding a spy-glass in his hand. He was attired as he hadbeen on the previous evening, and waved his pocket-handkerchief to hisguest in token of adieu. Franz returned the salute by shaking hishandkerchief as an exchange of signals. After a second, a slight cloudof smoke was seen at the stern of the vessel, which rose gracefully asit expanded in the air, and then Franz heard a slight report.
“There, do you hear?” observed Gaetano; “he is bidding you adieu.”
The young man took his carbine and fired it in the air, but without anyidea that the noise could be heard at the distance which separated theyacht from the shore.
“What are your excellency’s orders?” inquired Gaetano.
“In the first place, light me a torch.”
“Ah, yes, I understand,” replied the patron, “to find the entrance tothe enchanted apartment. With much pleasure, your excellency, if itwould amuse you; and I will get you the torch you ask for. But I toohave had the idea you have, and two or three times the same fancy hascome over me; but I have always given it up. Giovanni, light a torch,”he added, “and give it to his excellency.”
Giovanni obeyed. Franz took the lamp, and entered the subterraneangrotto, followed by Gaetano. He recognized the place where he had awakedby the bed of heather that was there; but it was in vain that he carriedhis torch all round the exterior surface of the grotto. He saw nothing,unless that, by traces of smoke, others had before him attempted thesame thing, and, like him, in vain. Yet he did not leave a foot of thisgranite wall, as impenetrable as futurity, without strict scrutiny; hedid not see a fissure without introducing the blade of his hunting swordinto it, or a projecting point on which he did not lean and press in thehopes it would give way. All was vain; and he lost two hours in hisattempts, which were at last utterly useless. At the end of this time hegave up his search, and Gaetano smiled.
When Franz appeared again on the shore, the yacht only seemed like asmall white speck on the horizon. He looked again through his glass, buteven then he could not distinguish anything.
Gaetano reminded him that he had come for the purpose of shooting goats,which he had utterly forgotten. He took his fowling-piece, and began tohunt over the island with the air of a man who is fulfilling a duty,rather than enjoying a pleasure; and at the end of a quarter of an hourhe had killed a goat and two kids. These animals, though wild and agileas chamois, were too much like domestic goats, and Franz could notconsider them as game. Moreover, other ideas, much more enthralling,occupied his mind. Since, the evening before, he had really been thehero of one of the tales of the Thousand and One Nights, and he wasirresistibly attracted towards the grotto.
Then, in spite of the failure of his first search, he began a second,after having told Gaetano to roast one of the two kids. The second visitwas a long one, and when he returned the kid was roasted and the repastready. Franz was sitting on the spot where he was on the previousevening when his mysterious host had invited him to supper; and he sawthe little yacht, now like a sea-gull on the wave, continuing her flighttowards Corsica.
“Why,” he remarked to Gaetano, “you told me that Signor Sinbad was goingto Malaga, while it seems he is in the direction of Porto-Vecchio.”
“Don’t you remember,” said the patron, “I told you that among the crewthere were two Corsican brigands?”
“True; and he is going to land them,” added Franz.
“Precisely so,” replied Gaetano. “Ah, he is one who fears neither Godnor Satan, they say, and would at any time run fifty leagues out of hiscourse to do a poor devil a service.”
20093m
“But such services as these might involve him with the authorities ofthe country in which he practices this kind of philanthropy,” saidFranz.
“And what cares he for that,” replied Gaetano with a laugh, “or anyauthorities? He smiles at them. Let them try to pursue him! Why, in thefirst place, his yacht is not a ship, but a bird, and he would beat anyfrigate three knots in every nine; and if he were to throw himself onthe coast, why, is he not certain of finding friends everywhere?”
It was perfectly clear that the Signor Sinbad, Franz’s host, had thehonor of being on excellent terms with the smugglers and bandits alongthe whole coast of the Mediterranean, and so enjoyed exceptionalprivileges. As to Franz, he had no longer any inducement to remain atMonte Cristo. He had lost all hope of detecting the secret of thegrotto; he consequently despatched his breakfast, and, his boat beingready, he hastened on board, and they were soon under way. At the momentthe boat began her course they lost sight of the yacht, as itdisappeared in the gulf of Porto-Vecchio. With it was effaced the lasttrace of the preceding night; and then supper, Sinbad, hashish,statues,—all became a dream for Franz.
The boat sailed on all day and all night, and next morning, when the sunrose, they had lost sight of Monte Cristo.
When Franz had once again set foot on shore, he forgot, for the momentat least, the events which had just passed, while he fini
shed hisaffairs of pleasure at Florence, and then thought of nothing but how heshould rejoin his companion, who was awaiting him at Rome.
He set out, and on the Saturday evening reached the Place de la Douaneby the mail-coach. An apartment, as we have said, had been retainedbeforehand, and thus he had but to go to Signor Pastrini’s hotel. Butthis was not so easy a matter, for the streets were thronged withpeople, and Rome was already a prey to that low and feverish murmurwhich precedes all great events; and at Rome there are four great eventsin every year,—the Carnival, Holy Week, Corpus Christi, and the Feast ofSt. Peter.
All the rest of the year the city is in that state of dull apathy,between life and death, which renders it similar to a kind of stationbetween this world and the next—a sublime spot, a resting-place full ofpoetry and character, and at which Franz had already halted five or sixtimes, and at each time found it more marvellous and striking.
At last he made his way through the mob, which was continuallyincreasing and getting more and more turbulent, and reached the hotel.On his first inquiry he was told, with the impertinence peculiar tohired hackney-coachmen and innkeepers with their houses full, that therewas no room for him at the Hôtel de Londres. Then he sent his card toSignor Pastrini, and asked for Albert de Morcerf. This plan succeeded;and Signor Pastrini himself ran to him, excusing himself for having madehis excellency wait, scolding the waiters, taking the candlestick fromthe porter, who was ready to pounce on the traveller and was about tolead him to Albert, when Morcerf himself appeared.
The apartment consisted of two small rooms and a parlor. The two roomslooked on to the street—a fact which Signor Pastrini commented upon asan inappreciable advantage. The rest of the floor was hired by a veryrich gentleman who was supposed to be a Sicilian or Maltese; but thehost was unable to decide to which of the two nations the travellerbelonged.
“Very good, signor Pastrini,” said Franz; “but we must have some supperinstantly, and a carriage for tomorrow and the following days.”
“As to supper,” replied the landlord, “you shall be served immediately;but as for the carriage——”
“What as to the carriage?” exclaimed Albert. “Come, come, SignorPastrini, no joking; we must have a carriage.”
“Sir,” replied the host, “we will do all in our power to procure youone—this is all I can say.”
“And when shall we know?” inquired Franz.
“Tomorrow morning,” answered the innkeeper.
“Oh, the deuce! then we shall pay the more, that’s all, I see plainlyenough. At Drake’s or Aaron’s one pays twenty-five lire for common days,and thirty or thirty-five lire a day more for Sundays and feast days;add five lire a day more for extras, that will make forty, and there’san end of it.”
“I am afraid if we offer them double that we shall not procure acarriage.”
“Then they must put horses to mine. It is a little worse for thejourney, but that’s no matter.”
“There are no horses.”
Albert looked at Franz like a man who hears a reply he does notunderstand.
“Do you understand that, my dear Franz—no horses?” he said, “but can’twe have post-horses?”
“They have been all hired this fortnight, and there are none left butthose absolutely requisite for posting.”
“What are we to say to this?” asked Franz.
“I say, that when a thing completely surpasses my comprehension, I amaccustomed not to dwell on that thing, but to pass to another. Is supperready, Signor Pastrini?”
“Yes, your excellency.”
“Well, then, let us sup.”
“But the carriage and horses?” said Franz.
“Be easy, my dear boy; they will come in due season; it is only aquestion of how much shall be charged for them.” Morcerf then, with thatdelighted philosophy which believes that nothing is impossible to a fullpurse or well-lined pocketbook, supped, went to bed, slept soundly, anddreamed he was racing all over Rome at Carnival time in a coach with sixhorses.
The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated Page 33