respond to the voice of those who are left on earth; if after death the
soul ever revisit the places where we have lived and suffered,--then,
noble heart, sublime soul, then I conjure thee by the paternal love thou
didst bear me, by the filial obedience I vowed to thee, grant me some
sign, some revelation! Remove from me the remains of doubt, which, if
it change not to conviction, must become remorse!" The count bowed his
head, and clasped his hands together.
"Here, sir," said a voice behind him.
Monte Cristo shuddered, and arose. The concierge held out the strips of
cloth upon which the Abbe Faria had spread the riches of his mind. The
manuscript was the great work by the Abbe Faria upon the kingdoms of
Italy. The count seized it hastily, his eyes immediately fell upon the
epigraph, and he read, "'Thou shalt tear out the dragons' teeth, and
shall trample the lions under foot, saith the Lord.'"
"Ah," he exclaimed, "here is my answer. Thanks, father, thanks."
And feeling in his pocket, he took thence a small pocket-book, which
contained ten bank-notes, each of 1,000. francs.
"Here," he said, "take this pocket-book."
"Do you give it to me?"
"Yes; but only on condition that you will not open it till I am gone;"
and placing in his breast the treasure he had just found, which was more
valuable to him than the richest jewel, he rushed out of the corridor,
and reaching his boat, cried, "To Marseilles!" Then, as he departed, he
fixed his eyes upon the gloomy prison. "Woe," he cried, "to those who
confined me in that wretched prison; and woe to those who forgot that
I was there!" As he repassed the Catalans, the count turned around and
burying his head in his cloak murmured the name of a woman. The victory
was complete; twice he had overcome his doubts. The name he pronounced,
in a voice of tenderness, amounting almost to love, was that of Haidee.
On landing, the count turned towards the cemetery, where he felt sure of
finding Morrel. He, too, ten years ago, had piously sought out a tomb,
and sought it vainly. He, who returned to France with millions, had been
unable to find the grave of his father, who had perished from hunger.
Morrel had indeed placed a cross over the spot, but it had fallen down
and the grave-digger had burnt it, as he did all the old wood in the
churchyard. The worthy merchant had been more fortunate. Dying in the
arms of his children, he had been by them laid by the side of his
wife, who had preceded him in eternity by two years. Two large slabs of
marble, on which were inscribed their names, were placed on either side
of a little enclosure, railed in, and shaded by four cypress-trees.
Morrel was leaning against one of these, mechanically fixing his eyes
on the graves. His grief was so profound that he was nearly unconscious.
"Maximilian," said the count, "you should not look on the graves, but
there;" and he pointed upwards.
"The dead are everywhere," said Morrel; "did you not yourself tell me so
as we left Paris?"
"Maximilian," said the count, "you asked me during the journey to allow
you to remain some days at Marseilles. Do you still wish to do so?"
"I have no wishes, count; only I fancy I could pass the time less
painfully here than anywhere else."
"So much the better, for I must leave you; but I carry your word with
me, do I not?"
"Ah, count, I shall forget it."
"No, you will not forget it, because you are a man of honor, Morrel,
because you have taken an oath, and are about to do so again."
"Oh, count, have pity upon me. I am so unhappy."
"I have known a man much more unfortunate than you, Morrel."
"Impossible!"
"Alas," said Monte Cristo, "it is the infirmity of our nature always to
believe ourselves much more unhappy than those who groan by our sides!"
"What can be more wretched than the man who has lost all he loved and
desired in the world?"
"Listen, Morrel, and pay attention to what I am about to tell you. I
knew a man who like you had fixed all his hopes of happiness upon a
woman. He was young, he had an old father whom he loved, a betrothed
bride whom he adored. He was about to marry her, when one of the
caprices of fate,--which would almost make us doubt the goodness of
providence, if that providence did not afterwards reveal itself by
proving that all is but a means of conducting to an end,--one of those
caprices deprived him of his mistress, of the future of which he had
dreamed (for in his blindness he forgot he could only read the present),
and cast him into a dungeon."
"Ah," said Morrel, "one quits a dungeon in a week, a month, or a year."
"He remained there fourteen years, Morrel," said the count, placing his
hand on the young man's shoulder. Maximilian shuddered.
"Fourteen years!" he muttered--"Fourteen years!" repeated the count.
"During that time he had many moments of despair. He also, Morrel, like
you, considered himself the unhappiest of men."
"Well?" asked Morrel.
"Well, at the height of his despair God assisted him through human
means. At first, perhaps, he did not recognize the infinite mercy of the
Lord, but at last he took patience and waited. One day he miraculously
left the prison, transformed, rich, powerful. His first cry was for his
father; but that father was dead."
"My father, too, is dead," said Morrel.
"Yes; but your father died in your arms, happy, respected, rich, and
full of years; his father died poor, despairing, almost doubtful of
providence; and when his son sought his grave ten years afterwards, his
tomb had disappeared, and no one could say, 'There sleeps the father you
so well loved.'"
"Oh!" exclaimed Morrel.
"He was, then, a more unhappy son than you, Morrel, for he could not
even find his father's grave."
"But then he had the woman he loved still remaining?"
"You are deceived, Morrel, that woman"--
"She was dead?"
"Worse than that, she was faithless, and had married one of the
persecutors of her betrothed. You see, then, Morrel, that he was a more
unhappy lover than you."
"And has he found consolation?"
"He has at least found peace."
"And does he ever expect to be happy?"
"He hopes so, Maximilian." The young man's head fell on his breast.
"You have my promise," he said, after a minute's pause, extending his
hand to Monte Cristo. "Only remember"--
"On the 5th of October, Morrel, I shall expect you at the Island of
Monte Cristo. On the 4th a yacht will wait for you in the port of
Bastia, it will be called the Eurus. You will give your name to the
captain, who will bring you to me. It is understood--is it not?"
"But, count, do you remember that the 5th of October"--
"Child," replied the count, "not to know the value of a man's word! I
have told you twenty times that if you wish to die on that day, I will
assist you. Morrel, farewell!"
"Do you leave me?"
"Yes; I have business in Italy. I leave you alone with your misfortunes,
and with hope, Maximilian."
"When do you leave?"
"Immediately; the steamer waits, and in an hour I shall be far from you.
Will you accompany me to the harbor, Maximilian?"
"I am entirely yours, count." Morrel accompanied the count to the
harbor. The white steam was ascending like a plume of feathers from the
black chimney. The steamer soon disappeared, and in an hour afterwards,
as the count had said, was scarcely distinguishable in the horizon
amidst the fogs of the night.
Chapter 114. Peppino.
At the same time that the steamer disappeared behind Cape Morgion, a man
travelling post on the road from Florence to Rome had just passed the
little town of Aquapendente. He was travelling fast enough to cover a
great deal of ground without exciting suspicion. This man was dressed
in a greatcoat, or rather a surtout, a little worse for the journey,
but which exhibited the ribbon of the Legion of Honor still fresh and
brilliant, a decoration which also ornamented the under coat. He might
be recognized, not only by these signs, but also from the accent with
which he spoke to the postilion, as a Frenchman. Another proof that he
was a native of the universal country was apparent in the fact of his
knowing no other Italian words than the terms used in music, and
which like the "goddam" of Figaro, served all possible linguistic
requirements. "Allegro!" he called out to the postilions at every
ascent. "Moderato!" he cried as they descended. And heaven knows there
are hills enough between Rome and Florence by the way of Aquapendente!
These two words greatly amused the men to whom they were addressed. On
reaching La Storta, the point from whence Rome is first visible, the
traveller evinced none of the enthusiastic curiosity which usually leads
strangers to stand up and endeavor to catch sight of the dome of
St. Peter's, which may be seen long before any other object is
distinguishable. No, he merely drew a pocketbook from his pocket, and
took from it a paper folded in four, and after having examined it in a
manner almost reverential, he said--"Good! I have it still!"
The carriage entered by the Porto del Popolo, turned to the left, and
stopped at the Hotel d'Espagne. Old Pastrini, our former acquaintance,
received the traveller at the door, hat in hand. The traveller alighted,
ordered a good dinner, and inquired the address of the house of Thomson
& French, which was immediately given to him, as it was one of the most
celebrated in Rome. It was situated in the Via dei Banchi, near St.
Peter's. In Rome, as everywhere else, the arrival of a post-chaise is an
event. Ten young descendants of Marius and the Gracchi, barefooted and
out at elbows, with one hand resting on the hip and the other gracefully
curved above the head, stared at the traveller, the post-chaise, and the
horses; to these were added about fifty little vagabonds from the Papal
States, who earned a pittance by diving into the Tiber at high water
from the bridge of St. Angelo. Now, as these street Arabs of Rome,
more fortunate than those of Paris, understand every language, more
especially the French, they heard the traveller order an apartment, a
dinner, and finally inquire the way to the house of Thomson & French.
The result was that when the new-comer left the hotel with the cicerone,
a man detached himself from the rest of the idlers, and without having
been seen by the traveller, and appearing to excite no attention from
the guide, followed the stranger with as much skill as a Parisian police
agent would have used.
The Frenchman had been so impatient to reach the house of Thomson &
French that he would not wait for the horses to be harnessed, but left
word for the carriage to overtake him on the road, or to wait for him
at the bankers' door. He reached it before the carriage arrived. The
Frenchman entered, leaving in the anteroom his guide, who immediately
entered into conversation with two or three of the industrious idlers
who are always to be found in Rome at the doors of banking-houses,
churches, museums, or theatres. With the Frenchman, the man who had
followed him entered too; the Frenchman knocked at the inner door, and
entered the first room; his shadow did the same.
"Messrs. Thomson & French?" inquired the stranger.
An attendant arose at a sign from a confidential clerk at the first
desk. "Whom shall I announce?" said the attendant.
"Baron Danglars."
"Follow me," said the man. A door opened, through which the attendant
and the baron disappeared. The man who had followed Danglars sat down on
a bench. The clerk continued to write for the next five minutes; the man
preserved profound silence, and remained perfectly motionless. Then the
pen of the clerk ceased to move over the paper; he raised his head, and
appearing to be perfectly sure of privacy,--"Ah, ha," he said, "here you
are, Peppino!"
"Yes," was the laconic reply. "You have found out that there is
something worth having about this large gentleman?"
"There is no great merit due to me, for we were informed of it."
"You know his business here, then."
"Pardieu, he has come to draw, but I don't know how much!"
"You will know presently, my friend."
"Very well, only do not give me false information as you did the other
day."
"What do you mean?--of whom do you speak? Was it the Englishman who
carried off 3,000 crowns from here the other day?"
"No; he really had 3,000 crowns, and we found them. I mean the Russian
prince, who you said had 30,000 livres, and we only found 22,000."
"You must have searched badly."
"Luigi Vampa himself searched."
"Indeed? But you must let me make my observations, or the Frenchman will
transact his business without my knowing the sum." Peppino nodded, and
taking a rosary from his pocket began to mutter a few prayers while
the clerk disappeared through the same door by which Danglars and the
attendant had gone out. At the expiration of ten minutes the clerk
returned with a beaming countenance. "Well?" asked Peppino of his
friend.
"Joy, joy--the sum is large!"
"Five or six millions, is it not?"
"Yes, you know the amount."
"On the receipt of the Count of Monte Cristo?"
"Why, how came you to be so well acquainted with all this?"
"I told you we were informed beforehand."
"Then why do you apply to me?"
"That I may be sure I have the right man."
