CHAPTER XLII_The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume I

IN THE SPIDER'S WEB

If one passes in Marseilles from Main Street across Villeneuve Place,

and turns into Prison Street, there appears a dirty old house just

opposite this street, which upon a signboard bears the appellation: "The

Big Spider." This house is a resort for sailors of the worst kind, and,

as soon as darkness sets in, becomes crowded with customers, whose

physiognomies are anything but encouraging. The worst of vices found

here in the Big Spider their formation, and the scum of all parts of the

world used to assemble here. In fact, the whole surroundings of that

quarter were nicknamed "The Spider Quarter," and many a one who had

entered the quarter with well-filled pockets never left it again. The

"Spider's web" closed upon him, and he was lost; for the walls never

betrayed what passed behind them, nor did the inhabitants feel any

desire to do so.

In the dark smoky rooms alcoholic drinks were the principal beverage,

and characterless women shared and indulged in the drunken revels.

Continual strife and quarrels in which the knife was the chief weapon

were always going on, while the police took good care not to come into

contact with the guests of the Spider. At present, of course, the

Spider's Quarter has ceased to exist, and one who nowadays perceives the

well-lighted streets will hardly believe what a place it formerly

was--_tempora mutantur_. While the Zouave Coucou took leave in the

villa, a mixed company, like on all other nights, had gathered together

in the Spider. English, French, Maltese, Italians and Spanish sailors

sat round the heavy oak tables; girls in curious dresses, whose painted

cheeks showed plainly the traces of debauchery, thronged around a female

card conjurer, who in a corner was performing her black art, while a

woman with a harp was waiting with her old instrument till called upon

to play or sing before the company. Here and there sat groups of men and

women on whose foreheads vice was plainly written, and according as the

dice rolled and the cards dropped, there could be heard curses and

imprecations, as well as shouts of joy. The atmosphere was impregnated

with the filthy oil of the dimly lighted lamps, the odor of alcoholic

drinks, and the poisonous smell of tobacco.

It was almost midnight when a new-comer entered. The man wore a short

jacket, a red girdle held the dark trousers around the waist, and a

broad-brimmed oilcloth hat sat at an angle upon a head full of rich

red-blond hair. The beard of the man was red and thick, while his form

showed that he was possessed of great muscular power.

It was plain that the stranger was an English sailor, and the sharp

accent with which he gave his orders to the morose landlord, of whom he

demanded a mixture of rum and cordial, testified to this supposition.

The host, who was a suspicious-looking individual with piercing black

eyes, which wickedly squinted from under a pair of peculiar thick

eyelashes, soon brought the drink to the sailor, and while placing the

tin can containing the hot beverage on the table, he held out his right

hand to receive payment; for in the Spider the rule is: "First pay and

then you may drink." The sailor did not seem to relish this custom; he

drew a heavy purse from his pocket, took out a gold piece and threw it

on the table.

While the host took the gold piece, a louis d'or, and curiously looked

at it, more than twenty eyes turned greedily upon the sailor; the

customers of the Spider knew well the sound of the gold pieces. Out of

pure mischief the host tried the sound of the gold piece again on the

tin can, and then smilingly placed it in his pocket: again, suspicious

looks turned upon the man who paid in gold, and their bewilderment was

increased as the stranger refused the change. "Keep it for yourself,"

said he, loud enough to be heard. The landlord, who understood many

languages, shook his head and dryly replied:

"Keep your money, old fellow--I only take my due."

The Englishman felt vexed, struck with his fist on the table, took hold

of the tin can and emptied the drink with one draught.

"You decline my money?" he asked with a strong English accent.

"I do not say so," added the host, in a half-satisfactory tone, "but

to-day and to-morrow do not resemble each other, and what you bestow on

me to-day you may rue to-morrow."

"That concerns no one but myself," exclaimed the sailor; "if I like to

be generous, I have a right to be so. Yes or no--will you accept the

money?"

"No, braggart, I do not need your money! The host of the Big Spider is

richer than you!"

"Richer than I am? Who the dickens can say so?" ejaculated the sailor in

a rage, and pulling out his purse and opening it he threw all its

contents on the table. A heap of gold rolled on the oaken surface, and

with loud shouting the guests around the table jumped up.

Only the landlord looked upon it indifferently.

"Englishman, you are a fool," he muttered half aloud; "you wish to be

duped under all circumstances! Beware!"

"Shut up," shouted the sailor, and turning toward the rest, he said in a

low voice:

"Do you know what the host has just whispered to me? He cautions me to

be on my guard; he seemingly believes that you intend to murder me in

order to get my money!"

A death-like silence followed these bold words, and the eyes of all

present turned with unmistakable eagerness upon the heap of gold. Most

of these miserable beings had already often bathed themselves knee-deep

in blood; and therefore to commit murder was a bagatelle, as long as it

brought profit.

The landlord, shrugging his shoulders, returned to his place near the

door; he would let the sailor take his own part, if he really wanted to

be stupid.

Now, a large fellow, a Provencal, approached and placed himself on a

seat right before the Englishman, and was at once ready to take hold of

the money.

"Old fellow," said he, grumbling, "is that lot of money really your own

property?"

"Yes, all honestly earned money."

"H'm--that I care for but very little. Do you know, I am just at

present short of cash, and I suppose you will not hesitate to lend a

friend a helping hand, eh? Well, then, I'll take just what I am in want

of."

The hand of the Provencal selected a few gold pieces, but almost at the

same time he shouted aloud and staggered back.

The sailor, with a vise-like grip, grasped the wrist of the intruder and

he soon dropped the gold pieces.

The Provencal gnashed his teeth in rage, and, rubbing his bruised wrist,

muttered:

"If you do not wish your sinful money to be touched, then you should not

expose it so boastingly! You will not even assist me a little? It stands

to reason that later on I will pay you everything back: well, are you

satisfied?"

"No," replied the sailor coolly, "go to the devil! Away--do not touch my

money; I can skin you!"

"Ah, that we shall soon see," loudly exclaimed the Provencal, and

putting his hand in his pocket he produced a large knife. At the same

time he uttered a few words to his comrades in their own jargon, and

immediately the sailor was surrounded by a dozen men whose hands were

armed with glittering knives.

The Englishman seemed, however, not in the least affected; he put the

money all in one heap, and placing himself with his back toward the

wall, he crossed his arms over his chest, and asked, scornfully:

"What do you mean to do? Are you really ready to murder me?"

"Keep your peace, braggart! You wish to entice us with your money. Give

us half of it, or you will not fare very well here. Well, are you

willing to divide?"

"I don't know about that. If anybody in my part of the country says 'I

will,' then he must prove that he is also able."

"What does this all mean? Do you think of defying us?"

"I am ready for you. Just come on, if you think proper!"

"Stand back, comrades!" exclaimed the Provencal, "I will teach him

something better. Just wait, John Bull, you will soon know me; I'll get

the best of you, and then we will divide the spoils."

"Yes, yes!" the others cried, "let us divide!"

"Keep quiet," said the Englishman, coolly. "You want a regular fight

with knives, do you? Pah, I have no objection; but you will allow me,

instead of using a knife, to make use of this weapon!" and thereupon he

drew from his pocket a small, brightly polished poniard about three or

four inches long, which looked more like a lady's plaything than

anything else.

The shabby lot laughed at him loudly; and, comparing the Catalonian

knives they handled with the sailor's poniard, it appeared like a

sewing-needle.

"Perhaps you think I am a tailor?" said the Provencal, scornfully; "and

have you not also a measure in your pocket?"

"Large words, large knives, and that is all," said the sailor,

contemptuously. "Listen. I make you an offer: if you can touch me, the

money is yours; and, mark well, not only half, but the whole of it!"

"Agreed. Comrades, step aside!"

With a push of his foot the Provencal cleared one of the tables; the

rest did the same in putting tables and chairs aside for an open space.

The host alone remained passive; he had seen enough of these

occurrences, and was in nowise astonished. Even the female portion of

the guests seemed to take an interest in the combat; everywhere you

could see glittering eyes awaiting the spectacle to come, and now and

then the call went forth: "The impertinent fool!" "Well, the Provencal

will teach him better!" "Just look, the poniard is set with diamonds!"

"Where could he have stolen it?" "Perhaps from his sweetheart. Ha! ha!

ha!"

One of the guests, however, did not share in the general noise. He was a

man who sat at a side table, his head resting in both his hands, so that

his face could not exactly be recognized. Raven black long hair,

slightly tinged with gray, fell down on his broad shoulders; the man

wore sailor's clothes, but they looked tattered and worn out. Before him

stood a large, half-emptied bottle of liquor. He sat motionless, and, in

spite of the noise around him, remained at the table without stirring.

The glance of the English sailor was at different times directed toward

him, and it even seemed as if he wanted to speak to him, but nobody

noticed it.

Now the Provencal approached the Englishman. It was quite a sight to see

him standing with spread-out legs, half-naked, hairy arms, muscular

chest, the knife lifted up in his right hand, and a vulgar smile on his

thick lips, and many a one would have considered twice before he

ventured on such a task. His age was, no doubt, about forty, and his

glaring eyes glanced continually from the Englishman to the gold, and

then again at his comrades, as if intending to say:

"Just be a little patient, I'll procure the prize for us."

The Englishman too had arisen. His slender figure appeared almost

meagre when compared with his opponent, and yet his dark eyes looked

around steadily and quietly. Either he plays with the danger threatening

him, or he is not able to see it; one stroke of the Provencal was

sufficient to batter down the Englishman, and what use is the neat

little weapon in comparison with the terrible large knife?

"Are you ready?" shouted aloud the Provencal.

"Yes, bandit," sounded loudly in reply.

The sailor leaned with his back to the wall; a retrograde movement was

impossible, and yet--yet the Provencal began to press him closely. The

knife glittered--a jump--and the Provencal shrieked with pain and sank

to the ground. The poniard of the Englishman had penetrated deeply into

the hand which held the knife; a dark stream of blood flowed from the

wound, when the sailor drew out the point of the blade, and the

Provencal screamed in his agony:

"Wait, miserable juggler, you will suffer for it."

Breathing heavily he stepped back a few paces, and again swinging his

knife, he threw it quickly at the face of the sailor. The sailor had

lifted his left hand, and in a second struck the weapon as it fell; the

knife whirled around, and the next moment the Englishman caught it in

his hand. Triumphantly he swung round the knife in his left, and the

poniard in his right hand; the Provencal uttered a heavy curse, and

withdrawing the knife from a comrade standing behind him, he prepared to

again attack his opponent.

The Englishman allowed him to approach; but as soon as he was ready to

jump at him, he threw away poniard and knife, took hold of the

Provencal by his wrists, and as easily as if he were but a child,

pitched him right in the midst of bottles and glasses, placed upon a

table some distance off.

The Provencal howled with rage; and the breaking of the bottles and

glasses scattered glass all over the place, causing many bloody hands

and heads. The giant bled from a wound on his forehead, and, turning to

his comrades, he called aloud:

"Kill him, ye _canaille_! Can you look on quietly when he is killing

me?"

Irresolute, the crowd stared at the sailor, and he, taking advantage of

the momentary quietness, jumped over tables and benches into a corner,

where the solitary guest sat, and placed his hand upon his shoulder:

"Up!" he called with penetrating voice, "up in the name of Manuelita!"

As if touched by an electric shock, the man jumped up, and, throwing one

single glance at the sailor, he gave a yell and leaped right in the

midst of the vagabonds, and with herculean power he knocked down all who

were near him, crying with rage:

"Away with you, bandits! Whoever touches a hair on this man's head

dies!"

As soon as the men heard the voice, they remained standing as if

petrified, and even the most courageous turned pale.

"Jacopo!" went from mouth to mouth. "What the devil brought him here?

Let us hasten to depart. See only how his eyes are rolling; he is once