MANUELITA
Who was Jacopo?
About nineteen years before, in February, 1829, Edmond Dantes--a
prisoner for life in the Castle d'If--owing to his energy, escaped from
his jailers, sewed up in a sack which had contained the corpse of his
friend, the Abbe Faria. He was dragged by the jailers to the churchyard
of the Castle d'If, and there buried. The churchyard of the Castle d'If,
however, was the ocean! The waves were more merciful than man; they gave
the deserted one a friendly reception, and washed him close to a ship, a
genuine tartane, where in despair he called out for help. He waved the
red sailor's cap which a sympathizing gust of wind had thrown down from
a rock, and the men on board of the tartane saw it. "Courage!" they
called to him. With a weak, despairing grasp he took hold of the rope
which had been thrown toward him, and then became insensible.
When he came to he lay on the deck, and sympathizing sailors bent over
him. They administered rum, they rubbed his benumbed body, and he who
had first seen the unfortunate man put his own woollen jacket around
the man's shivering shoulders. This sympathizing sailor was called
Jacopo; he was a powerful young fellow, with laughing blue eyes. When
Edmond Dantes had recourse to stratagem, and, in order to remain alone
at Monte-Cristo, leaped from the rock, it was Jacopo who picked him up,
and only against his will left him again.
"Who knows whether you will not one time become a captain? Has not your
countryman Bonaparte become emperor?"
Hereupon Jacopo almost went into hysterics; how could he become captain?
no, so high he never climbed even in his boldest dreams; he felt
satisfied if he only continued to have a place on the deck of a ship;
then the ocean was his home, his family, his all!
Edmond Dantes has the name Jacopo fixed in his memory. He will, no
doubt, have an after opportunity to reward the brave fellow.
Years had passed when the Count of Monte-Cristo began to recollect the
brave Corsican. He searched for him and said:
"Do you remember a sailor whose life you once saved, and who prophesied
that you would become a captain?"
Jacopo blushed; no, he has not yet forgotten this prophecy.
"I knew this sailor," continued the count, "and received of him the
commission to cancel his debt to you."
"His debt?" exclaimed Jacopo, not knowing the meaning thereof.
"Yes, your dream points to a captaincy, and I have the order to realize
this dream."
"You! oh, do not make fun of me--"
"What are you thinking of? Look here, Jacopo, do you see this yacht
which is now riding on the waves?"
"I see her. She appears to me slender and beautiful--she is a pearl of a
vessel."
"I am glad that the yacht is to your taste; she is my property, and I
appoint you as captain, if you have no objection!"
Jacopo became almost wild with joy. During the next few months the
elegant yacht, called the Ice Bird, moved her wings actively, crossing
every sea, and the captain was delighted with her.
When the count came to Paris to investigate the fate of the families
Villefort and Danglars, Jacopo received his dismissal, or rather his
temporary freedom.
"Master," he asked, sorrowfully, "why do you send me away? Have you to
complain of anything concerning me?"
"No, Jacopo; but at present I do not need the yacht any further; I
intend for a time to remain in Paris."
"Well, at any rate, I will always be ready to obey your least hint,"
said the Corsican, with enthusiasm. "Command me, and I shall at once
honor your call."
"How who knows?" said Monte-Cristo, laughingly.
"What do you wish to say by that assertion, master? Do you believe
Jacopo will be remiss in fulfilling his promise?"
"Who knows?" repeated the count, still laughing, and then, drawing out
his pocketbook, he said in an earnest tone: "Jacopo, you have a secret."
"I?"
"Why avoid my question? Your blushing cheeks convict you of untruth, and
then you ought to know me sufficiently; you know that my looks can
penetrate the innermost depths of thy soul."
Jacopo bent down his head, turned the cap in his hand confusedly, and
became red like a red garden flower.
"Am I to tell you that I am able to read you to the bottom of your
heart?"
"Master--"
"I read there a name--"
Jacopo trembled, and grasped a chair to support himself.
"It is the name of a woman."
"Master, master, I entreat you not to mention the name. I suffer enough
without that."
The count's countenance grew gloomy.
"Jacopo," said he, peremptorily, "I am forbearing if anybody places
confidence in me; irreconcilable if any one seeks to deceive me. I keep
silent if you wish it, but we are forever separated. Farewell, you will
never see me more!"
He turned to go, but the power which this singular man exercised over
others was so great that Jacopo broke out into loud lamentations. He
preferred to suffer anything rather than consent to perpetual
separation.
"Say, master," he said, with a sigh, "am I able to leave you?"
Monte-Cristo smiled.
"You are a child," he then said. "You cannot bear to hear anybody
speaking of your love, because you are forever separated from her."
"Oh, master, then you know everything."
"Listen to me, I am ready to tell you all that I know. There below, in
the Catalonian quarter of Marseilles, lives a fisherman's family. Brave
and diligent, they were never ashamed of their calling. They have worked
day and night with boat and net, and accumulated a nice amount of
property. The family consists of ten persons: father, mother, seven
sons, and one daughter live in the modest but decent hut. The sons are
strong and courageous fellows, who are not afraid of anybody; the
daughter is charming with her dark curly hair, her glowing sloe-black
eyes, and her marble white skin. Jacopo, am I to tell you the name of
the little one?"
"Manuelita"--it sounded gently like a breath from the lips of Jacopo.
"You have liked this beautiful child since you first saw her, and one
day you took heart and you went to Manuelita's father--"
"Who turned me out like a beggar," interrupted Jacopo, gloomily.
"That he did not do," continued the count, coolly. "He told you quietly,
Manuelita will not become a poor man's wife."
"And perhaps that was no insult?" continued Jacopo, vehemently. "All
people cannot be rich."
"But Manuelita's father has also told you something else?" asked
Monte-Cristo, quietly.
"Oh, yes," replied Jacopo, bitterly; "he called after me that if I came
back with twenty thousand francs, then Manuelita should be mine. I earn
such wealth! He was making sport of me."
And Jacopo stamped angrily and uttered a heavy curse.
Monte-Cristo looked at him reflectively. Then he took a leaf from his
pocket-book, which he held in his hand, and offering it to Jacopo, said:
"Here, take this."
"What am I to do with it, master?" asked Jacopo, astonished.
"Well, can't you read any more?"
"Oh, yes; I read an order for 20,000 francs to which your name is
affixed."
"And payable at--"
"Thomson & French, in Rome."
"You perhaps doubt whether these gentlemen will honor my signature."
"Oh, master, your signature is as good as ready cash!"
"Well, then, go to the first banker you can find and have the check
cashed."
Jacopo looked at the count quite bewildered, and thus the conversation
about Manuelita was ended, and his master gave him simply an order.
"Am I to deliver the cash to you, master?" he asked, not being certain
yet.
"No, not to me."
"To whom, then, otherwise, master?"
"To nobody."
"Yes, but, dear me, what is the money for?"
"You shall keep it."
"I?"
"Yes, you yourself."
"And what am I to do with it?"
"You have to look for Manuelita's father, show him the money, and remind
him of his pledge."
Pale, not able to utter a word, Jacopo stared at the count;
Monte-Cristo waited a moment, and then said, smilingly:
"Have you now understood me?"
"No, master--I do not comprehend--"
"Nay, one might almost believe that you have not a grain of sense. The
amount is your property--you have deserved it honestly."
"I deserve it? Oh, you make sport of me! If I have done my duty, that is
my best recompense."
"Yes, for your services as captain of the yacht. But there are also
other services which cannot be paid for; submission, honesty, and
courage cannot be paid for in gold, and in spite of the 20,000 francs I
remain still your debtor."
"Oh, master, you make me feel ashamed!"
"Jacopo," said the count, sorrowfully, "do not speak like that. Of what
value is money to me? I can give you still more, but to what purpose?
You have enough to be happy; you have had a dream of domestic happiness,
try to realize it! Your desires are moderate; you intend to work and be
useful from morning to night, and as the only reward for your labor you
require Manuelita's love. Have you any further wishes, my brave man?"
"No, none; only Manuelita!"
"Then take her, and be happy!"
Jacopo stared yet at his master rather doubtfully.
"What is it to be, Jacopo, yes or no?"
Instead of answering, Jacopo kissed the hand of his master.
"All right, Jacopo," said Monte-Cristo. "I only require one thing of
you."
"Oh, speak--speak only!"
"I know, in case I came in a few months to Marseilles, you will hesitate
to accompany me."
"I hesitate, master? How can you believe that? My life belongs to you!"
"No, Jacopo; from the moment you call Manuelita yours your life belongs
to her. Do not take any oath, for you will never keep it. Did not even
Peter deny the Lord three times? and Peter had no loving wife. In six,
in twelve months, the thought of leaving Manuelita will surely make you
unhappy; I know man, and I know you."
Jacopo looked toward the ground rather ashamed; he was aware that the
count had spoken the truth.
"Nor do I demand that you should leave her."
Jacopo breathed a great deal easier.
"What am I to do?" he inquired hastily.
"Swear to me that, at any day or any hour I should call on you in
Manuelita's name to assist me, you will follow my orders!"
Jacopo lifted his right hand on high.
"Master, I swear it to you," said he, solemnly.
"I trust to your oath; go and be happy."
Overcome with joy, Jacopo hastened to Marseilles, soon reached the
Catalonian quarter, and greeted Manuelita with a bright smile.
The father of the beautiful Catalonian was on the point of becoming
vexed when he saw Jacopo, but soon became almost dumb when the Corsican
waved a well-filled purse and reminded him of his promise.
Scarcely a month elapsed before the marriage was celebrated, and happy
Jacopo led the beautiful Manuelita to the neat abode which he had
prepared for her.
There have passed days and months full of undisturbed happiness. Jacopo
has bought a barge and baptized her Manuelita; he has sailed on the blue
ocean and returned with a rich harvest of fish; prosperity reigns in the
little cottage on the strand, and Manuelita is beautiful as the young
day.
The count appeared one morning, when Jacopo was just ready for his
fishing excursion.
"Will you accompany me?" he asked, laughingly.
The Corsican flushed, and Monte-Cristo said in a consoling tone: "Quiet
yourself, I am only joking; what I want of you to-day will take only a
short time."
That was at the time when the count ordered Jacopo to bring his farewell
wishes to Valentine and Maximilian.
When the Ice Bird with sails unfurled left Marseilles, Jacopo felt
somewhat dissatisfied with himself, and sometimes it appeared to him as
if Manuelita had changed. Beautiful and lovely she still appeared, but
her manner made some impression on Jacopo, and by degrees he found that
others also thought his young, lovely wife had undergone a change.
First, it was only hinted at, but afterward the talk spread and became
louder that Manuelita deceived her husband; she loved another, Jacopo's
friend. Jacopo did not at first mind this talk, but one evening he saw
Manuelita fly at Parlo and offer him her sweet lips to kiss, and it
enraged him to think that the people were in the right. He mastered with
superhuman exertion all the thoughts that surged within him, and nobody
might know that he was aware of the disgrace of his wife, nor that he
contemplated an awful revenge. Why Manuelita betrayed him none could
tell! He was a most faithful and indulgent husband; he would have gone
for the beautiful Catalonian into the fire, and she--the lips which she
offered him were soiled from the adulterous kisses of Parlo--the arm
which she placed round his neck had also embraced Judas lovingly--she
was a monster in enticing form. From this time, when Jacopo realized
Manuelita's faithlessness he resolved to destroy her and her lover, and
that the boat which bore the name of the faithless wife should become
the instrument to carry out his revenge!
One morning Jacopo said to Manuelita:
"The weather is delightful; I think I shall take a fishing cruise. Will
you accompany me?"
Manuelita hesitated; she thought perhaps Parlo might visit her.
Jacopo noticed her hesitation, and said with a smile that tore his heart
into pieces:
"I have also asked Parlo to accompany us, because he is such good
company!"
Manuelita's countenance began to beam, and Jacopo suffered the pains of
torment when he perceived it, but took heart and said coolly:
"I shall in the meantime go to the shore to see whether the nets are all
in proper condition."
He went, and when he returned after a while, and accidentally threw a
glance at the window, he found Parlo in Manuelita's arms.
Pale as death and with tottering knees the unfortunate remained almost
petrified on the spot; and when he revived a little and came ten minutes
later into the house he appeared gay, and nobody could guess what
anguish of soul he suffered.
"Are you ready?" he inquired quietly.
"Yes," nodded Manuelita.
"Then let us go; the nets are all ready."
Like an automaton Jacopo walked along the shore between the guilty pair;
he mechanically answered questions, and when Manuelita offered her lips
for a kiss after being helped into the boat, he had sufficient power
over himself to touch with his lips the false mouth.
The boat glided through the blue waves of the ocean; Manuelita's dark
curls played with the wind, and Parlo was intoxicated with joy as he
looked at her. Jacopo sat at the rudder and looked inquiringly at a
small dark cloud which appeared on the horizon some distance off and
quickly neared them.
The Corsican allowed the boat to go with full sail before the wind, and
soon nothing but the sky and water could be seen.
Parlo and Manuelita, engaged with each other, did not perceive the
change in the weather, and when they heard in the distance a hollow,
rolling sound they quickly arose to their feet.
Manuelita trembled, and lifting her beautiful eyes to Jacopo she
inquired anxiously:
"Jacopo, is there a storm coming on?"
"Pah," replied the Corsican reassuringly, as he threw his net into the
sea; "it is of no importance."
Jacopo was an experienced seaman; when he said the storm did not
signify, you could depend on it that he was right. Manuelita saw that
Jacopo was quite unconcerned, and looking at the roaring, rising waves
she again grew calm and again watched Parlo. He also seemed careless;
he laughed and joked, and, behind Jacopo's back, stole many a kiss from
his beloved.
A bright flash of lightning came down; the thunder rolled, and the
black, cloudy wall rose ever higher on the blue horizon. Jacopo,
however, did not mind it; he hummed a Corsican fisher-song and dipped
his net into the sea. That he always drew it out empty did not trouble
him; from time to time he threw unnoticed a glance at the others and
gnashed his teeth.
Suddenly a heavy gale caught the foresail and tore it to shreds; the
mainsail was also destroyed, then the foresail fell to the deck.
With a loud cry Manuelita sank on her knees and Parlo cried out
terrified:
"Jacopo, we are lost!"
"Save us, Jacopo," sobbed the Catalonian; and then she made the sign of
the cross and muttered a prayer, while the storm increased in fury.
Jacopo remained motionless. He took an axe and lifted it high in his
right hand, while the boat tossed like a nutshell and the noise of the
storm deadened all other sounds.
"The boat is too heavy," muttered Jacopo to himself, and swinging his
axe he cut off the mizzen-mast close to the deck. Neither Parlo nor
Manuelita said a word, and, engaged only with each other, believed that
Jacopo was trying to save them, and only as the mast heavily struck the
waves realized their peril.
The storm now absolutely controlled the light boat and twisted her round
here and there. Jacopo lifted his axe again and cut down also the
foremast.
"Parlo," shrieked Manuelita, despairingly, "save us--we drown!"
Parlo pretended that he did not hear these words, for Jacopo's curious
fixed look had put him on his guard. Manuelita, overcome with fright,
forgot everything, and, clasping her hands around Parlo's neck, she
sobbed out:
"Save me--oh, save me, Parlo!"
Jacopo swung his axe afresh, but this time it remained deep in the keel
of the ship, and now light dawned on Parlo. Jacopo meant to destroy
them.
"Hold on, Jacopo," he called aloud despairingly, and tried to take hold
of the axe.
The Corsican said not a word, but he, with his axe uplifted, kept Parlo
at a distance, and then cut again into the keel, till a loud creaking
was audible.
Jacopo had at last succeeded in his object--gurgling and roaring, the
agitated waters rose through the leak in the ship, and Parlo shrieked
like a madman.
"Jacopo--you carry us to destruction!"
Jacopo's pale features became at last animated; he threw himself on
Parlo, grasped his shoulders, and, forcing him on the floor of the boat,
pressed his knee on his chest.
"Manuelita," he called, with a voice which sounded through the storm
like a trumpet, "you shall be happy with your lover, miserable woman!"
Manuelita heard the words--she saw the quick rising flood--she saw
Jacopo kneeling upon Parlo's chest, and she understood all--all!
Higher and higher still rose the water, and now Jacopo laughingly left
his rival--he was drowning in the waves.
Manuelita raised her folded hands in entreaty--then came a last shriek,
a hoarse laugh, and the boat sank, never to be seen again.
The next day the sea was serene and calm in the splendor of the rising
sun, and a man engaged in fishing noticed a motionless body lying on the
strand. Alarmed he hastened to lift up the body and recognized Jacopo!
Singularly enough, life was not quite extinct; the fisher brought the
half-dead man to his house, and under the careful treatment of kind
neighbors Jacopo soon revived as far as his body was concerned, but his
mind remained affected.
A few days later the corpses of Parlo and Manuelita were driven on the
strand, and now what had caused Jacopo to become insane was no more a
riddle--had he not in one day lost the wife and the friend?
Jacopo's madness was of a quiet kind; for hours he could sit on the
shore and watch the playful movements of the waves; sometimes he bent
over the blue waters as if he were in search of something, and then he
shook his head sorrowfully. One day he sat again during a heavy gale on
the strand; he saw a boat in which two men and a woman were sitting
fighting with the waves. In his eyes light began to dawn all at once. He
plunged into the water and soon had reached the boat. Breathless stood
the people who saw it and noticed all his movements, and now they found
him swimming toward the shore, holding a human figure in his arms, and
loud hurrahs and rejoicing met him for his courage.
He had succeeded in saving the woman; the two men found a watery grave.
In expectation of something, he knelt down by the woman, and when she
opened her eyes Jacopo uttered sorrowfully:
"It is not her," and then departed.
From this day Jacopo's madness was broken; he certainly roamed about for
days on the strand, but the veil which had clouded his mind was torn,
and only when a storm raged it came over him like inspiration, and he
ventured courageously upon saving the lives of those in danger.
Thus not a week passed in which Jacopo had not found opportunity to save
people from shipwreck: the inhabitants on the strand surrounded him with
a godlike veneration, and whenever a vessel was in danger there he was
on the spot. Heaven seemingly favored him; hundreds he saved from a
watery grave, and soon his word on the strand became quite an authority.
In course of time Jacopo began clearly to remember the entire affair as
it happened on that eventful morning, and in order to drown those
recollections he became a drunkard. In this state he was found by the
English sailor, in whom, no doubt, the reader must have recognized the
Count of Monte-Cristo; also Jacopo knew the voice of his beloved master,
and his heart became animated with fresh hopes when he called him to his
help. As Jacopo knelt before the count, Monte-Cristo put aside the long,
entangled hair which hung down over the Corsican's face, and, in a
sorrowful tone and compassionately moved by the sight, said to him:
"Jacopo, you have suffered heavily!"
The Corsican sobbed bitterly, and the count continued: "How long it is
since I saw your bright face on the strand; at that time you were happy
in the possession of Manuelita, and to-day I find you broken,
despairing, and--alone!"
Jacopo could only go on sobbing, and hot tears came down his pale,
haggard cheeks.
"You have killed Manuelita," whispered the count softly.
Jacopo trembled.
"Who has told you, master?"
"Don't you know that I can read your soul?"
"Yes," nodded Jacopo. "I have killed her!"
"And do you regret the deed?"
"This question I cannot exactly answer," observed Jacopo timidly. "I was
for a time insane, and often I wish I were so even now; the clouded mind
was bliss compared with the terrible recollections which now break my
heart! Oh, what wouldn't I give to have courage enough to take my own
life; but I lack that courage; I suffer terribly, I cry, I wring my
hands, and yet I live. Oh, the cowardice! who will save me from myself?"
"I," said Monte-Cristo, earnestly.
"You, master? Yes, you are almighty, and if you like you are able to
pull out of my bleeding wounds the painful darts which are tearing my
heart. Pity me, count, and I am free!"
Monte-Cristo's look rested pitifully upon the unfortunate, and his voice
sounded soft and mild when saying:
"Jacopo, only to save you I came here."
"I feel it, I know it; oh, how kind you are!"
"Jacopo, when man is carried away by his passions and has done
evil--what you have done was bad, because you did not possess the right
to judge Manuelita, and you feel it by your remorse--then there is only
one remedy, to atone for the sin--"
"Oh, mention the remedy, master! It is singular, but since I have looked
into your eyes and heard your voice, I have the feeling that the bloody
fog which darkened my eyes had disappeared. I breathe again more freely,
and my head is clear as it was previously, when I passed days on the
ocean and saw nothing above me but heaven and sun. Master, tell me, what
am I to do?"
"So much good, that the evil may disappear before it."
"Alas, if I could do that! I have killed, and I am lacking the power to
raise the dead."
"And if you could nevertheless atone for your crime?"
"Master, I hear your words, but their meaning is clouded for me; please
speak plain to me, that I may understand you."
"Jacopo, life and death are related together, which, however, a secret
and indissoluble union connect with each other. Not for nothing have I
put you to the test; when I visited this cursed place, when I sounded my
gold pieces, it was only because I wanted to find out whether misery had
also corrupted your soul."
"Oh," replied Jacopo, contemptuously, "it does not say much to have
remained an honest man."
"You are too modest, Jacopo; I have found you again as I left you ten
years ago; now, listen, will you accompany me?"
Jacopo trembled all over.
"Leave Marseilles?" muttered he, in half-suppressed words; "oh, master,
if you only knew that it is my sole and only joy to wander on the
strand, and to contemplate that blue ocean which swallowed her up!"
"Jacopo, I have come here for the purpose of fetching you, as I am in
want of you. I have to undertake difficulties; my way leads into foreign
lands, on ways where death and crime are on the watch, and I have
counted on your assistance. Shall I have been mistaken?"
Instead of an answer Jacopo made a bow, and taking the hands of his
master, kissed them.
"Thanks, master," muttered he; "I am yours in body and soul!"
"Good, Jacopo, I know you!"
"When do we depart?"
"To-morrow morning."
"And where am I to meet you?"
"On board of the Ice Bird."
"I shall be there."
"I depend on your word; remember my prophecy, that death is the fountain
of life, and that your sin disappears when God gives you grace to save
the lives of others! Farewell for to-day, by daybreak we meet again."
Monte-Cristo left the liquor store, the Spider and Jacopo looked after
him with a glimpse of new awakening hope in their eyes.