The Count of Monte Cristo

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

1 The Arrival at Marseilles

2 Father and Son

3 The Catalans

4 The Plotters

5 The Betrothal Feast

6 The Deputy Procureur

7 The Examination

8 The Château d’If

9 The Evening of the Betrothal

10 The Little Room in the Tuileries

11 The Corsican Ogre

12 Father and Son

13 The Hundred Days

14 In the Dungeons

15 Number 34 and Number 27

16 A Learned Italian

17 In the Abbé’s Cell

18 The Treasure

19 The Death of the Abbé

20 The Cemetery of the Château d’If

21 The Isle of Tiboulen

22 The Smugglers

23 The Isle of Monte Cristo

24 The Search

25 At Marseilles Again

26 The Inn of Pont du Gard

27 The Tale

28 The Prison Registers

29 The House of Morrel and Son

30 The Fifth of September

31 Italy: Sinbad the Sailor

32 The Awakening

33 Roman Bandits

34 Vampa

35 The Colosseum

36 La Mazzolata

37 The Carnival at Rome

38 The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian

39 The Rendezvous

40 The Guests

41 The Breakfast

42 The Presentation

43 Monsieur Bertuccio

44 The House at Auteuil

45 The Vendetta

46 The Rain of Blood

47 Unlimited Credit

48 The Dappled Grays

49 Ideology

50 Haydée

51 The Morrel Family

52 Pyramus and Thisbe

53 Toxicology

54 Robert le Diable

55 A Talk about Stocks

56 Major Cavalcanti

57 Andrea Cavalcanti

58 At the Gate

59 M. Noirtier de Villefort

60 The Will

61 The Telegraph

62 The Bribe

63 Shadows

64 The Dinner

65 The Beggar

66 A Conjugal Scene

67 Matrimonial Plans

68 The Office of the Procureur du Roi

69 A Summer Ball

70 The Inquiry

71 The Ball

72 Bread and Salt

73 Madame de Saint-Méran

74 The Promise

75 The Villefort Family Vault

76 A Signed Statement

77 Progress of M. Cavalcanti the Younger

78 Haydée

79 Yanina

80 The Lemonade

81 The Accusation

82 The Room of the Retired Baker

83 The Burglary

84 The Hand of God

85 Beauchamp

86 The Journey

87 The Trial

88 The Challenge

89 The Insult

90 Mercédès

91 The Meeting

92 The Mother and Son

93 The Suicide

94 Valentine

95 The Confession

96 The Father and Daughter

97 The Contract

98 The Departure for Belgium

99 The Hotel of the Bell and Bottle

100 The Law

101 The Apparition

102 The Serpent

103 Valentine

104 Maximilian

105 Danglars’ Signature

106 The Cemetery of Père-la-Chaise

107 The Division

108 The Lions’ Den

109 The Judge

110 The Assizes

111 Expiation

112 The Departure

113 The House in the Allées de Meillan

114 Peppino

115 Luigi Vampa’s Bill of Fare

116 The Pardon

117 The Fifth of October

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1 The Arrival at Marseilles

ON THE 24TH of February, 1815, the lookout of Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the three-master, the Pharaon, from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples.

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

Immediately, and according to custom, the platform of Fort Saint-Jean was covered with spectators; it is always an event at Marseilles for a ship to come into port, especially when this ship, like the Pharaon, had been built, rigged, and laden on the stocks of the old Phocée, and belonged to an owner of the city.

The ship drew on: it had safely passed the strait, which some volcanic shock has made between the Isle of Calasareigne and the Isle of Jaros; had doubled Pomègue, and approached the harbour under topsails, jib, and foresail, but so slowly and sedately that the idlers, with that instinct which misfortune sends before it, 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 ready to be dropped, the bowsprit-shrouds loose, and beside the pilot, who was steering the Pharaon by the narrow entrance of the port of Marseilles, 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 amongst the spectators had so much affected one of the crowd that he did not await the arrival of the vessel in harbour, but jumping into a small skiff, desired to be pulled alongside the Pharaon, which he reached as she rounded the creek of La Réserve.

When the young man on board saw this individual approach, he left his station by the pilot, and came, hat in hand, to the side of the ship’s bulwarks.

He was a fine, tall, slim young fellow, with black eyes, and hair as dark as the 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:

“Look out there! all ready to drop anchor!”

All hands obeyed. At the same moment the eight or ten seamen, who composed the crew, sprung some to the main-sheets, others to the braces, others to the halyards, others to the jib-ropes, and others to the topsail brails.

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?” he inquired, resuming the inquiry suspended for a moment.

“Alas, sir, in the most unexpected manner. After a long conversation with the harbour-master, Captain Leclere left Naples greatly disturbed in his mind. At the end of 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 two bullets of thirty-six pounds each at his head and heels, off the Island of El Giglio. We bring to his widow his sword and cross of honour. 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 as you have assured me that the cargo———”

“Is all safe and sound, M. Morrel, take my word for it; and I advise you not to take £1000 for the profits of the voyage.”

Then, as they were just passing the Round Tower, the young man shouted out, “Ready, there, to lower topsails, foresail, and jib!”

The order was executed as promptly as if on board a man-of-war.

“Let go—and brail all!”

At this last word all the sails were lowered, and the bark 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 to be twice invited. 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, whilst the young man, going to his task, left the conversation to the individual whom he had announced under the name of 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 inferiors; and then, besides his position as responsible agent on board, which is always obnoxious to the sailors, he was 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, grown old between sky and ocean, as should a man charged with the interests of a house so important as that of Morrel and Son,” replied Danglars.

“But,” replied the owner, following with his look Dantès, who was watching the anchoring of his vessel, “it seems to me that a sailor needs not to 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 any one.”

“Yes,” said Danglars, casting towards Edmond a look in which a feeling of envy was strongly visible. “Yes, he is young, and youth is invariably self-confident. Scarcely was the captain’s breath out of his body than he assumed the command without consulting any one, and he caused us to lose a day and a half at the Isle of Elba, instead of making for Marseilles direct.”

“As to taking the command of the vessel,” replied Morrel, “that was his duty as captain’s mate; as to losing a day and a half off the Isle of Elba, he was wrong, unless the ship wanted some repair.”

“The ship was as well 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, “Lower the pennant half-mast high—put the ensign in a weft, and slope 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 ship now rides at anchor, and I am at your service. You hailed me, I think?”

Danglars retreated a step or two.

“I wish to inquire why you stopped at the Isle of Elba?”

“I do not know, sir; it was to fulfil a last instruction of Captain Leclere, who, when dying, gave me a packet for the Maréchal Bertrand.”

“Then did you see him, Edmond?”

“Who?”

“The maréchal?”

“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 my eyes.”

“You saw the emperor, then?”

“He entered the maréchal’s apartment whilst 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 ship, the time it left Marseilles, the course she had taken, and what was her cargo. I believe, if she had not been laden, and I had been master, he would have bought her. But I told him I was only mate, and that she belonged to the firm of Morrel and Son. ‘Ah! ah!’ 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 instruction, and touch at the Isle of Elba, although, if it were known, that you had conveyed a packet to the maréchal 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 your pardon; here are the officers of health and the customs 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 always painful to see a comrade who does not do 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 had 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, and Danglars retreated as before.

“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, all is arranged now.”

“Then you can come and dine with me?”

“Excuse me, M. Morrel, excuse me, if you please; but my first visit is due to my father, though I am not the less grateful for the honour 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, although 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 any one, except God.”

“Well, then, after this first visit has been made we rely 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 some one who expects you no less impatiently than your father—the lovely Mercédès.”

Dantès blushed.

“Ah! ah!” said the shipowner, “that does not astonish me, 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, “do not 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 haste 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 nominate me captain of the Pharaon?”

“If I were sole owner I would nominate you this moment, my dear Dantès, and say it is settled; but I have a partner, and you know the Italian proverb—Che a compagno a padrone—‘He who has a partner has a master.’ But the thing is at least half done, as you have one out of two voices. 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.”

“Good, good! Edmond. There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft that keeps a good watch for good fellows! Go to your father: go and see Mercédès, and come to me afterwards.”

“Shall I row you on shore?”

“No, I 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 Isle 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 that 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 the command of the Pharaon, should you have pleasure in retaining Danglars?”

“Captain or mate, M. Morrel,” replied Dantès, “I shall always have the greatest respect for those who possess our owners’ confidences.”

“Good! good! Dantès. I see you are a thorough 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, desiring to be put ashore at the Canebière. The two rowers 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 harbour 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, choke up this famous street of La Canebière, of which the modern Phocéens are so proud, and 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, who apparently attended his orders; but in reality followed, as he did, the young sailor with his eyes, only there was a great difference in the expression of the looks of the two men who thus watched the movements of Edmond Dantès.

2 Father and Son

WE WILL LEAVE Danglars struggling with the feelings of hatred, and endeavouring to insinuate in the ear of the shipowner, Morrel, some evil suspicions against his comrade, and follow Dantès; who, after having traversed the Canebière, took the Rue de Noailles, and entering into a small house, situated on the left side of the Allées de Meillan, rapidly ascended four storeys of a dark staircase, holding the baluster in his hand, whilst with the other he repressed the beatings of his heart, and paused before a half-opened door, which revealed all the interior of a small apartment.

This apartment was occupied by Dantès’ father.