THE ISLAND.
It was the month of December, but on the little Island of Salmis in the
Grecian Archipelago the temperature was as mild and genial as that of
June. The grass was rank and thick, while the blooming almond trees
filled the atmosphere with fragrance. On a narrow strip of sandy beach
three or four fishermen were preparing their nets and boats for a
fishing expedition to the waters beyond. They chatted as they toiled.
The eldest of them, a man about sixty, with silvered locks and a long
gray beard, said:
"You may talk of storms as much as you please, but I maintain that the
most severe tempest ever experienced in this neighborhood was the one I
witnessed ten years ago last October, when we had the earthquake and the
strange man, who now owns this island, was washed ashore."
"The Count of Monte-Cristo you mean?" remarked one of the party.
"Yes, the Count of Monte-Cristo, who has done so much for us all and
whose wife is nothing less than an angel of goodness and charity."
"You rescued him, did you not, Alexis?"
"I found him lying upon the beach, with the lady who is now his wife
tightly clasped in his arms, so tightly that I had no end of trouble to
separate them. Both were unconscious at the time, and no wonder, for the
sea was furious and they must have been dashed about at a fearful rate.
It was a miracle they escaped with their lives. Near them lay that
dark-skinned African, their servant, who styles himself Ali, as well as
the corpses of several sailors. The African, however, revived just as I
approached him. He's a man of iron, I tell you, for he immediately
leaped to his feet and helped me to restore his master and mistress.
When they came to, I took the whole party to my hut and cared for them.
The next day I rowed the Count and the African out to the wreck of their
vessel on that rock you see away over there, and they brought back with
them a fabulous amount of money and jewels that they found in the
strangest closets I ever saw in the cabin. Then the Count bought this
island and has lived here ever since. He took the lady to Athens and was
married to her there, and on his return he had the palace they now
occupy built in the midst of the palm grove."
By this time the fishermen had completed their preparations and,
leaping into their boats, they started on their expedition.
The palace in the palm grove to which old Alexis had alluded was,
indeed, a magnificent dwelling, suitable in every respect for the
residence of an oriental monarch. It was built in the Turkish fashion
and its exterior was singularly beautiful and imposing. Huge palm trees
surrounded it; they were planted in regular rows upon a vast lawn that
was adorned with costly statues and fountains, while at intervals were
scattered great flower beds filled with choice exotics and blooming
plants of endless variety. A wide graveled walk and carriage-road led to
the palace, the main entrance to which was flanked on either side by
columns of dark-veined marble. The edifice itself was of green stone,
and sparkled in the sunlight like a colossal emerald. It was surmounted
by three zinc-covered domes, above each of which towered a gilded
crescent.
Within all was elegance and luxury. There were immense salons, with
marble floors, and walls covered with Smyrna hangings of the most
beautiful description that of themselves must have cost a fortune. These
salons were furnished with rich divans, tables of malachite, cabinets of
ebony, and oriental rugs of the most artistic and complicated
workmanship. There were dazzling reception rooms filled with exquisite
statues and superb paintings, the works of the greatest sculptors and
artists of the east and west, of the past and the present. Figures by
Thorwaldsen, Powers and other modern celebrities of the block and chisel
stood beside antique masterpieces framed by the genius of Phidias and
his brother sculptors of old Greece and Rome, masterpieces that had been
torn from the ruins of antiquity by the hand of the untiring and
enterprising excavator. Among the paintings were fine specimens of the
skill of Albert Duerer, Murillo, Rubens, Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Sir Joshua
Reynolds and other votaries of the brush whose names are immortal. These
paintings did not hang on the walls, for they were covered with rich
tapestry from the looms of Benares and the Gobelins, but rested on
delicately fashioned easels, themselves entitled to a high, rank as
works of art. In the salons were statues by Michael Angelo, Pierre Puget
and Pompeo Marchesi, and paintings by Claude Lorraine, Titian, Sir
Thomas Lawrence, Correggio and Salvator Rosa.
The vast library was encircled by lofty bookcases of walnut and ebony,
filled with rare and costly volumes from the curiously illuminated
missals of monkish days to the latest scientific works, together with a
liberal sprinkling of poetry and fiction; upon tables, stands and
mantels were superb ornaments in brass repousse work and grand old
faience, including some wonderful specimens of ancient Chinese crackle
ware, the peculiar secret of the manufacture of which had been lost in
the flight of ages.
At an exquisite desk of walnut, carved with grotesque images, sat the
Count of Monte-Cristo; he was busily engaged in writing, and beside him
lay a huge pile of manuscript that was ever and anon augmented by an
additional sheet, hastily scrawled in strange, bewildering Semitic
characters.
The Count showed but small trace of the passage of years; he did not
look much older than when he left the Isle of Monte-Cristo with Haydee
on that voyage which was destined to result so disastrously for the
Alcyon and her ill-fated crew. To be sure, his hair was slightly flecked
with gray, but his visage still retained its full outline, and not a
wrinkle marred its masculine beauty. He was clad in an exceedingly
picturesque costume, half Greek and half Turkish, while upon his head
was a red fez from the centre of which hung down a gilt tassel.
As he wrote his eyes sparkled and he seemed filled with enthusiasm. At
length he threw aside his pen, and rising began to pace the vast
apartment with long strides. "Alas!" he muttered, "perhaps after all I
am only a vain dreamer, as hosts of others have been before me. But no,
my scheme is feasible and cannot fail; it is based on sound principles
and a thorough knowledge of mankind; besides, the immense wealth that an
all-wise God has placed at my disposal will aid me and form a mighty
factor in the cause. In the past I used that wealth solely for my own
selfish ends, but now all is different; I have no thought of self--the
philanthropist has replaced the egotist; I have aided the poor, relieved
the stricken and brought joy to many a sorrowing home, but hitherto I
have acted only in isolated cases; now I meditate a grand, a sublime
stroke--to give freedom to man throughout the entire length and breadth
of the Continent of Europe. If I succeed, and succeed I must, every
down-trodden human being from the coast of France to the Ural Mountains,
from the sunny Mediterranean to the frozen Arctic Ocean, will reap the
benefit of my efforts and shake off the yoke of tyranny. Where shall I
begin? Ah! with France, my own country, the land that gave me birth. I
shall thus return good for evil, and Edmond Dantes, the prisoner of the
Chateau d'If, will free the masses from their galling chains. My most
potent instrument will be the public press; by means of journals I will
found, or buy, the minds of all Europeans shall become familiarized with
the theory of universal liberty and ripened for sweeping revolutions and
the establishment of republics; I will also call fiction to my aid;
struggling novelists and feuilletonists shall receive liberal subsidies
from my hand on condition that they disseminate my ideas, theories and
plans in their romances and feuilletons; thus will I reach thousands
upon thousands who hold themselves aloof from politics, and almost
insensibly they will be transformed into zealous, active partisans of
the order of things that is to be; poets, too, shall sing the praises of
freedom louder and more enthusiastically than ever before; in fine, no
instrument, no means, however humble and apparently insignificant, shall
be neglected when the proper moment arrives, but until it does arrive I
must wait, wait patiently, wait though while waiting an internal fire
consume me, and my veins throb with anxiety and expectation to the point
of bursting."
He sank into a chair, and, burying his face in his hands, was lost in
profound thought.
Meanwhile, a lovely woman, leading a beautiful girl of eight years and a
handsome boy of nine, had noiselessly entered the apartment. It was
Haydee, the wife of Monte-Cristo, Haydee grown mature and more beautiful
than ever. Her night-black tresses were gathered in two wide braids at
the back of her shapely head, so long that they reached below her waist.
Her eyes were as bright as stars, and her slender hands, tipped with
their pink nails, as white as the lily; her tiny feet, encased in
Cinderella slippers of rose-hued satin, peeped out from beneath ample
Turkish trousers, which were semi-transparent and disclosed the outlines
of her beautifully turned limbs; she wore a close-fitting gilet of
pearly silk, adorned with gilt fringe and cut low, displaying her snowy
neck and magnificent shoulders; her arms were encompassed but not hidden
by flowing sleeves of filmy gauze as fine as the tissue of a spider's
web; about her neck flashed a collar of brilliant diamonds of enormous
value, and on her tapering fingers were rings of emerald, ruby and
sapphire; on her head was a red fez, precisely similar to her husband's;
her countenance, a perfect revelation of angelic beauty, was wreathed
in sunny smiles that betokened thorough happiness and contentment.
The little girl, Zuleika, the daughter of Monte-Cristo, was her exact
image, a reproduction of her lovely mother in miniature, a promise of
rare delight for the future. The child's costume was also modeled after
Haydee's, but with modifications suited to her tender years. Zuleika was
of a gentle, loving disposition, but a vein of romance and poetry had
already developed itself in her notwithstanding her extreme youth. She
sighed for the unknown delights of the sea, and the wail of the surf
sounded to her like the most delicious of mysterious harmonies. Her
infant imagination peopled the watery realm with spirits of good and
evil always in contention, and the great ships, with their huge white
sails, that she saw in the distance from the sandy beach of the Island
of Salmis, were in her eyes the mighty birds of Arabian story.
The boy, Esperance, the son of Monte-Cristo, resembled his father both
in disposition and appearance; his youthful soul was full of noble
aspirations, while his daring and bravery filled even the hardy
fishermen of the coast with wonder and amazement. He was a very manly
and handsome child; quick, enthusiastic and energetic; his father's hope
and his mother's idol; though Haydee saw, with extreme uneasiness, that
the little lad was wise beyond his years, and was already devoted to
Monte-Cristo's somewhat visionary schemes, which he appeared to grasp in
all their complicated details. His attire was that of a Greek fisher
boy; his trousers, rolled up above his knees, displayed his naked legs
and bare feet; in one hand he held a rough sea cap that he had removed
from his head at the door of the library. Esperance loved, above all
other things, to be with the fishermen on the beach, and his joy knew no
bounds when he was permitted to accompany them on their fishing
expeditions to the waters beyond.
Haydee remained silently gazing at Monte-Cristo for a moment; then,
advancing into the middle of the room, she stood beside him with the
children. Zuleika, dropping her mother's hand, sprang lightly upon her
father's knees, and, clasping him about the neck with her chubby arms,
kissed him rapturously.
The Count started from his deep reverie and returned his daughter's
kiss; then, looking up, he perceived Haydee and Esperance.
"Ah! my loved ones," said he, "so you are all here!"
"Yes, papa," returned Zuleika, in a clear, crystal voice, that sounded
like the tinkle of a fairy bell, "we are all here--mamma, Esperance and
'Leika!"
Monte-Cristo smiled faintly, and patted the little girl tenderly on the
cheek.
"Haydee," said he, "fortune favors us in our children; they are, indeed,
a blessing to us."
"A veritable blessing, my lord," answered the lovely Haydee, "but still
I cannot help feeling some terror at the thought that Esperance may one
day be drawn into those political struggles you have so often foretold,
and in which it is your intention to act a prominent part."
"Papa will lead the people to victory, and I will fight by his side!"
cried Esperance, proudly.
Haydee gazed sadly at the enthusiastic boy, and tears came into her
gazelle-like eyes.
"Oh! my lord," she said to her husband, "teach Esperance the arts of
peace, implant in his boyish bosom, while there is yet time, the love of
home and domestic joys."
The Count glanced admiringly at the little lad, who stood with dilated
nostrils and eyes flashing fire; then, turning to Haydee, he said in an
impressive tone:
"My beloved wife, Esperance is but an infant, and it may be years ere
Europe shall awake from her lethargy and strive to overturn the thrones
of her despots; before that period, the period of revolution and
bloodshed, our son may change his opinions and cease to be the ardent
Republican he is now."
"No, no," protested the enthusiastic boy; "I will be a Republican all my
life!"
Monte-Cristo smiled sadly, and, drawing the lad to his knee, said to
him:
"Esperance, my son, you are yet too young to know the ways of the world
and the snares that monarchs set for the inexperienced and unwary. There
are temptations at their command capable of winning over even the most
zealous enemies, and they never hesitate to use them when the
opportunity offers. At the proper time I will instruct you fully about
all this; now, you cannot understand it."
As Monte-Cristo ceased to speak, Ali entered the library, followed by
three native servants attached to the palace. The Nubian bowed low
before his master and reverently kissed Haydee's hand; the servants did
likewise. Then Ali handed the Count a sealed letter, making signs to the
effect that he had found it tied with a cord to one of the palm trees on
the lawn.
Monte-Cristo opened the letter and glanced at the signature; as he did
so a look of surprise and annoyance settled upon his face.
The note was written in the French language, and read as follows:
COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO: I am in hiding on the Island of Salmis and
must see you without delay. Meet me at midnight in the almond grove
near the eastern shore. Be sure to come alone.
BENEDETTO.
"Humph!" said the Count to himself as he finished reading this singular
epistle. "I thought I was rid of that scoundrel forever, but it seems
that the galleys at Toulon cannot hold him. Well, I suppose I must meet
him; otherwise he may take a notion to come here, which would be both
inconvenient and disagreeable. I imagine he wants a little money to
enable him to escape to the east; if that is all, I will gladly give it
to be rid of his presence, on the island. I prefer not to have as a
neighbor a thief and an assassin, even if he did shine so brilliantly
once in aristocratic Parisian society as the Prince Cavalcanti!"
"What is the matter, my lord?" asked Haydee, noticing the expression on
Monte-Cristo's countenance. "From whom is the letter?"
"Oh! it is nothing," answered the Count, with a smile. "A poor fellow
wishes my assistance, and is too modest to ask it in person; that's
all!"
Haydee was not satisfied with this indefinite reply; she knew that the
contents of the letter so strangely conveyed to her husband had vexed
and troubled him; but she also knew that Monte-Cristo could be as silent
as the tomb about anything he wished to keep secret, and, therefore,
judged it useless to attempt further questions. Besides, a singular
presentiment of evil had taken possession of her at the sight of the
ominous note, and she felt certain that some disaster was threatened;
hence, she determined to be watchful and keep strict guard over her
children until the mystery, whatever it was, should be cleared up.
As the clock in his library struck the quarter before midnight,
Monte-Cristo arose from the chair in which he had been sitting; donning
his fez and a light cloak, he prepared to go to the almond grove on the
eastern portion of the island, the spot Benedetto had appointed for
their meeting; prior to setting out he slipped into his pocket a
well-filled purse, and thrust a loaded revolver into the belt he wore
about his waist.
"The scoundrel was anxious that I should come alone, but he did not
prohibit me from arming myself," muttered he, with a grim smile, "and I
have seen too much of Signor Benedetto to care to leave the game
entirely in his hands!"
Quitting the palace by a private door, after making sure that everybody
was asleep and that he was unobserved, Monte-Cristo bent his steps in
the direction of the almond grove. It was a moonless night and very
dark; the air was rather chill, while the roar of the surf sounded
louder than usual in the crisp, bracing atmosphere. The Count gathered
his cloak tightly about him and walked steadily onward, notwithstanding
the thick darkness. At length the heavy odor of the almond blossoms
warned him that he was approaching his destination, and he paused to
survey the scene.
About fifty yards away the almond grove loomed up, casting a denser
shade upon the surrounding blackness. The Count hastened his steps and
in a few seconds stood among the trees. As he paused the figure of a man
emerged from behind a huge fragment of rock and thus hailed him:
"Are you the Count of Monte-Cristo?"
"I am," was the firm reply.
"And are you alone, as I recommended?"
"Entirely alone. Now, if you have finished your questions, pray who are
you?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Merely for form's sake."
"Well, then, I am Benedetto."
"Of course. As it was too dark for me to distinguish your features, I
simply wanted to identify you. Now, state your business as briefly as
possible."
"I escaped from Toulon long ago, and, after wandering all over Europe,
settled in Athens, where I remained until a week since, when the result
of a difficulty compelled me to quit the city."
"An assassination?"
"Yes, an assassination!"
Monte-Cristo shuddered to hear the cold-blooded villain talk so calmly
of his foul crime, but, conquering his aversion, he said between his
teeth:
"Proceed."
"I fled from Athens under cover of the night and the next morning hired
a fisherman to bring me here in his boat, thinking that the island was
inhabited only by a few poverty-stricken wretches who gained a scanty
subsistence from the sea. On my arrival I was filled with terror at
beholding your magnificent palace, which I was told belonged to a great
lord. I naturally imagined that no one could inhabit such a dwelling
save some high official of the Greek Government, and, without making
further inquiries, again secured the services of the fisherman, who took
me to the neighboring Island of Kylo. There I was in safety, for I fell
in with a band of stout-hearted men, of whom I eventually became the
chief."
"Bandits, no doubt!"
"Yes, bandits, if you will, but valiant men all the same. We prospered
exceedingly and imagined that our career could be continued with
impunity as long as we might desire; in this, however, we were sadly
mistaken, for one fatal night the Greek soldiery suddenly descended upon
us and hemmed us in on every side ere we were aware of their presence.
We fought none the less desperately on that account, and in the
sanguinary conflict all my companions were slain. I was grievously
wounded and left for dead, but the following day managed to crawl to the
beach and contrived to be conveyed hither, having learned by accident
that the great lord of the Island of Salmis was no other than my old
friend of happier days, the Count of Monte-Cristo, in short, yourself.
Now, you know my story. I am a fugitive here as in France, and need your
aid to enable me to escape."
"You want money?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"A million of francs!"
"Man!" cried Monte-Cristo, breathless with astonishment at Benedetto's
audacious demand, "you are out of your senses! I will give you a
thousand francs, but not a sou more!"
"Beware how you trifle with a desperate man!" hissed Benedetto.
"What have I to fear?" said Monte-Cristo, calmly. "You are alone."
"I am not alone, Count of Monte-Cristo; my stout-hearted friends of the
Island of Kylo are with me, and ready to support my demand!"
"Then you lied to me; your story was a base fabrication."
"Partly, Count; but enough of this--I want the million of francs; it is
a small sum for you to spare an old friend, who did you as much service
as Prince Andrea Cavalcanti! Are you going to give me the money?"
"I am not!" replied Monte-Cristo, drawing his revolver from his belt and
cocking it.
"Ho! ho!" laughed Benedetto, mockingly, "that's your game, is it? Again
I tell you to beware how you trifle with a desperate man!"
At the repetition of this phrase, as if it had been a preconcerted
signal, a dozen stalwart figures started up from the darkness and
surrounded Monte-Cristo, who instantly discharged his weapon right and
left among them. Several of the bandits fell, pierced by the balls, and
Benedetto, with a loud oath, leaped at the Count's throat, brandishing a
long, keen-bladed dagger above his head.
Raising his empty revolver, Monte-Cristo with a hand of iron struck his
on-coming assailant full in the face, stretching him instantly at his
feet; but scarcely had he accomplished this when three of the bandits
sprang upon him and hurled him to the earth beside Benedetto.
"Now," cried one of the miscreants with a frightful curse, at the same
time placing the muzzle of a pistol at the Count's temple, "now, my
lord of Salmis, your time has come!"
As he was about to fire, there arose a tremendous shout, and, headed by
Ali, who swung aloft a Turkish yataghan, the entire force of
Monte-Cristo's servants, armed to the teeth, swept down upon the
astonished bandits. At the same instant a pistol-shot rang out, and the
man who had threatened to take the Count's life fell to the ground a
corpse. As Monte-Cristo regained his feet he saw Esperance standing a
short distance away, the smoking weapon with which he had just killed
his father's would-be murderer still clenched in his boyish hand. The
struggle that ensued was of short duration, for the bandits, finding
themselves outnumbered, speedily fled to their boats, leaving their
wounded comrades behind them.
When the Count realized that Esperance, his beloved son, had saved him
from death, he rushed to the heroic lad, took him in his arms and bore
him beyond the reach of danger; this done, he returned to aid Ali and
the servants, but they were already victors and in full possession of
the field.
A search was made for the body of Benedetto, but it had disappeared.