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Chapter 25. The Unknown. Day, for which Dantes had so eagerly and impatiently
waited with open eyes, again dawned. With the first light Dantes resumed his search.
Again he climbed the rocky height he had ascended the previous evening, and strained his view
to catch every peculiarity of the landscape; but it wore the same wild, barren aspect when
seen by the rays of the morning sun which it had done when surveyed by the fading glimmer
of eve. Descending into the grotto, he lifted the stone, filled his pockets with gems, put
the box together as well and securely as he could, sprinkled fresh sand over the spot
from which it had been taken, and then carefully trod down the earth to give it everywhere
a uniform appearance; then, quitting the grotto, he replaced the stone, heaping on it broken
masses of rocks and rough fragments of crumbling granite, filling the interstices with earth,
into which he deftly inserted rapidly growing plants, such as the wild myrtle and flowering
thorn, then carefully watering these new plantations, he scrupulously effaced every trace of footsteps,
leaving the approach to the cavern as savage-looking and untrodden as he had found it. This done,
he impatiently awaited the return of his companions. To wait at Monte Cristo for the purpose of
watching like a dragon over the almost incalculable riches that had thus fallen into his possession
satisfied not the cravings of his heart, which yearned to return to dwell among mankind,
and to assume the rank, power, and influence which are always accorded to wealth—that
first and greatest of all the forces within the grasp of man.
On the sixth day, the smugglers returned. From a distance Dantes recognized the rig
and handling of The Young Amelia, and dragging himself with affected difficulty towards the
landing-place, he met his companions with an assurance that, although considerably better
than when they quitted him, he still suffered acutely from his late accident. He then inquired
how they had fared in their trip. To this question the smugglers replied that, although
successful in landing their cargo in safety, they had scarcely done so when they received
intelligence that a guard-ship had just quitted the port of Toulon and was crowding all sail
towards them. This obliged them to make all the speed they could to evade the enemy, when
they could but lament the absence of Dantes, whose superior skill in the management of
a vessel would have availed them so materially. In fact, the pursuing vessel had almost overtaken
them when, fortunately, night came on, and enabled them to double the Cape of Corsica,
and so elude all further pursuit. Upon the whole, however, the trip had been sufficiently
successful to satisfy all concerned; while the crew, and particularly Jacopo, expressed
great regrets that Dantes had not been an equal sharer with themselves in the profits,
which amounted to no less a sum than fifty piastres each.
Edmond preserved the most admirable self-command, not suffering the faintest indication of a
smile to escape him at the enumeration of all the benefits he would have reaped had
he been able to quit the island; but as The Young Amelia had merely come to Monte Cristo
to fetch him away, he embarked that same evening, and proceeded with the captain to Leghorn.
Arrived at Leghorn, he repaired to the house of a Jew, a dealer in precious stones, to
whom he disposed of four of his smallest diamonds for five thousand francs each. Dantes half
feared that such valuable jewels in the hands of a poor sailor like himself might excite
suspicion; but the cunning purchaser asked no troublesome questions concerning a bargain
by which he gained a round profit of at least eighty per cent.
The following day Dantes presented Jacopo with an entirely new vessel, accompanying
the gift by a donation of one hundred piastres, that he might provide himself with a suitable
crew and other requisites for his outfit, upon condition that he would go at once to
Marseilles for the purpose of inquiring after an old man named Louis Dantes, residing in
the Allees de Meillan, and also a young woman called Mercedes, an inhabitant of the Catalan
village. Jacopo could scarcely believe his senses at receiving this magnificent present,
which Dantes hastened to account for by saying that he had merely been a sailor from whim
and a desire to spite his family, who did not allow him as much money as he liked to
spend; but that on his arrival at Leghorn he had come into possession of a large fortune,
left him by an uncle, whose sole heir he was. The superior education of Dantes gave an air
of such extreme probability to this statement that it never once occurred to Jacopo to doubt
its accuracy. The term for which Edmond had engaged to serve on board The Young Amelia
having expired, Dantes took leave of the captain, who at first tried all his powers of persuasion
to induce him to remain as one of the crew, but having been told the history of the legacy,
he ceased to importune him further. The following morning Jacopo set sail for Marseilles, with
directions from Dantes to join him at the Island of Monte Cristo.
Having seen Jacopo fairly out of the harbor, Dantes proceeded to make his final adieus
on board The Young Amelia, distributing so liberal a gratuity among her crew as to secure
for him the good wishes of all, and expressions of cordial interest in all that concerned
him. To the captain he promised to write when he had made up his mind as to his future plans.
Then Dantes departed for Genoa. At the moment of his arrival a small yacht was under trial
in the bay; this yacht had been built by order of an Englishman, who, having heard that the
Genoese excelled all other builders along the shores of the Mediterranean in the construction
of fast-sailing vessels, was desirous of possessing a specimen of their skill; the price agreed
upon between the Englishman and the Genoese builder was forty thousand francs. Dantes,
struck with the beauty and capability of the little vessel, applied to its owner to transfer
it to him, offering sixty thousand francs, upon condition that he should be allowed to
take immediate possession. The proposal was too advantageous to be refused, the more so
as the person for whom the yacht was intended had gone upon a tour through Switzerland,
and was not expected back in less than three weeks or a month, by which time the builder
reckoned upon being able to complete another. A bargain was therefore struck. Dantes led
the owner of the yacht to the dwelling of a Jew; retired with the latter for a few minutes
to a small back parlor, and upon their return the Jew counted out to the shipbuilder the
sum of sixty thousand francs in bright gold pieces.
The delighted builder then offered his services in providing a suitable crew for the little
vessel, but this Dantes declined with many thanks, saying he was accustomed to cruise
about quite alone, and his principal pleasure consisted in managing his yacht himself; the
only thing the builder could oblige him in would be to contrive a sort of secret closet
in the cabin at his bed's head, the closet to contain three divisions, so constructed
as to be concealed from all but himself. The builder cheerfully undertook the commission,
and promised to have these secret places completed by the next day, Dantes furnishing the dimensions
and plan in accordance with which they were to be constructed.
The following day Dantes sailed with his yacht from Genoa, under the inspection of an immense
crowd drawn together by curiosity to see the rich Spanish nobleman who preferred managing
his own yacht. But their wonder was soon changed to admiration at seeing the perfect skill
with which Dantes handled the helm. The boat, indeed, seemed to be animated with almost
human intelligence, so promptly did it obey the slightest touch; and Dantes required but
a short trial of his beautiful craft to acknowledge that the Genoese had not without reason attained
their high reputation in the art of shipbuilding. The spectators followed the little vessel
with their eyes as long as it remained visible; they then turned their conjectures upon her
probable destination. Some insisted she was making for Corsica, others the Island of Elba;
bets were offered to any amount that she was bound for Spain; while Africa was positively
reported by many persons as her intended course; but no one thought of Monte Cristo. Yet thither
it was that Dantes guided his vessel, and at Monte Cristo he arrived at the close of
the second day; his boat had proved herself a first-class sailer, and had come the distance
from Genoa in thirty-five hours. Dantes had carefully noted the general appearance of
the shore, and, instead of landing at the usual place, he dropped anchor in the little
creek. The island was utterly deserted, and bore no evidence of having been visited since
he went away; his treasure was just as he had left it. Early on the following morning
he commenced the removal of his riches, and ere nightfall the whole of his immense wealth
was safely deposited in the compartments of the secret locker.
A week passed by. Dantes employed it in manoeuvring his yacht round the island, studying it as
a skilful horseman would the animal he destined for some important service, till at the end
of that time he was perfectly conversant with its good and bad qualities. The former Dantes
proposed to augment, the latter to remedy. Upon the eighth day he discerned a small vessel
under full sail approaching Monte Cristo. As it drew near, he recognized it as the boat
he had given to Jacopo. He immediately signalled it. His signal was returned, and in two hours
afterwards the new-comer lay at anchor beside the yacht. A mournful answer awaited each
of Edmond's eager inquiries as to the information Jacopo had obtained. Old Dantes was dead,
and Mercedes had disappeared. Dantes listened to these melancholy tidings with outward calmness;
but, leaping lightly ashore, he signified his desire to be quite alone. In a couple
of hours he returned. Two of the men from Jacopo's boat came on board the yacht to assist
in navigating it, and he gave orders that she should be steered direct to Marseilles.
For his father's death he was in some manner prepared; but he knew not how to account for
the mysterious disappearance of Mercedes. Without divulging his secret, Dantes could
not give sufficiently clear instructions to an agent. There were, besides, other particulars
he was desirous of ascertaining, and those were of a nature he alone could investigate
in a manner satisfactory to himself. His looking-glass had assured him, during his stay at Leghorn,
that he ran no risk of recognition; moreover, he had now the means of adopting any disguise
he thought proper. One fine morning, then, his yacht, followed by the little fishing-boat,
boldly entered the port of Marseilles, and anchored exactly opposite the spot from whence,
on the never-to-be-forgotten night of his departure for the Chateau d'If, he had been
put on board the boat destined to convey him thither. Still Dantes could not view without
a shudder the approach of a gendarme who accompanied the officers deputed to demand his bill of
health ere the yacht was permitted to hold communication with the shore; but with that
perfect self-possession he had acquired during his acquaintance with Faria, Dantes coolly
presented an English passport he had obtained from Leghorn, and as this gave him a standing
which a French passport would not have afforded, he was informed that there existed no obstacle
to his immediate debarkation. The first person to attract the attention
of Dantes, as he landed on the Canebiere, was one of the crew belonging to the Pharaon.
Edmond welcomed the meeting with this fellow—who had been one of his own sailors—as a sure
means of testing the extent of the change which time had worked in his own appearance.
Going straight towards him, he propounded a variety of questions on different subjects,
carefully watching the man's countenance as he did so; but not a word or look implied
that he had the slightest idea of ever having seen before the person with whom he was then
conversing. Giving the sailor a piece of money in return for his civility, Dantes proceeded
onwards; but ere he had gone many steps he heard the man loudly calling him to stop.
Dantes instantly turned to meet him. "I beg your pardon, sir," said the honest fellow,
in almost breathless haste, "but I believe you made a mistake; you intended to give me
a two-franc piece, and see, you gave me a double Napoleon."
"Thank you, my good friend. I see that I have made a trifling mistake, as you say; but by
way of rewarding your honesty I give you another double Napoleon, that you may drink to my
health, and be able to ask your messmates to join you."
So extreme was the surprise of the sailor, that he was unable even to thank Edmond, whose
receding figure he continued to gaze after in speechless astonishment. "Some nabob from
India," was his comment. Dantes, meanwhile, went on his way. Each step
he trod oppressed his heart with fresh emotion; his first and most indelible recollections
were there; not a tree, not a street, that he passed but seemed filled with dear and
cherished memories. And thus he proceeded onwards till he arrived at the end of the
Rue de Noailles, from whence a full view of the Allees de Meillan was obtained. At this
spot, so pregnant with fond and filial remembrances, his heart beat almost to bursting, his knees
tottered under him, a mist floated over his sight, and had he not clung for support to
one of the trees, he would inevitably have fallen to the ground and been crushed beneath
the many vehicles continually passing there. Recovering himself, however, he wiped the
perspiration from his brows, and stopped not again till he found himself at the door of
the house in which his father had lived. The nasturtiums and other plants, which his
father had delighted to train before his window, had all disappeared from the upper part of
the house. Leaning against the tree, he gazed thoughtfully for a time at the upper stories
of the shabby little house. Then he advanced to the door, and asked whether there were
any rooms to be let. Though answered in the negative, he begged so earnestly to be permitted
to visit those on the fifth floor, that, in despite of the oft-repeated assurance of the
concierge that they were occupied, Dantes succeeded in inducing the man to go up to
the tenants, and ask permission for a gentleman to be allowed to look at them.
The tenants of the humble lodging were a young couple who had been scarcely married a week;
and seeing them, Dantes sighed heavily. Nothing in the two small chambers forming the apartments
remained as it had been in the time of the elder Dantes; the very paper was different,
while the articles of antiquated furniture with which the rooms had been filled in Edmond's
time had all disappeared; the four walls alone remained as he had left them. The bed belonging
to the present occupants was placed as the former owner of the chamber had been accustomed
to have his; and, in spite of his efforts to prevent it, the eyes of Edmond were suffused
in tears as he reflected that on that spot the old man had breathed his last, vainly
calling for his son. The young couple gazed with astonishment at the sight of their visitor's
emotion, and wondered to see the large tears silently chasing each other down his otherwise
stern and immovable features; but they felt the sacredness of his grief, and kindly refrained
from questioning him as to its cause, while, with instinctive delicacy, they left him to
indulge his sorrow alone. When he withdrew from the scene of his painful recollections,
they both accompanied him downstairs, reiterating their hope that he would come again whenever
he pleased, and assuring him that their poor dwelling would ever be open to him. As Edmond
passed the door on the fourth floor, he paused to inquire whether Caderousse the tailor still
dwelt there; but he received, for reply, that the person in question had got into difficulties,
and at the present time kept a small inn on the route from Bellegarde to Beaucaire.
Having obtained the address of the person to whom the house in the Allees de Meillan
belonged, Dantes next proceeded thither, and, under the name of Lord Wilmore (the name and
title inscribed on his passport), purchased the small dwelling for the sum of twenty-five
thousand francs, at least ten thousand more than it was worth; but had its owner asked
half a million, it would unhesitatingly have been given. The very same day the occupants
of the apartments on the fifth floor of the house, now become the property of Dantes,
were duly informed by the notary who had arranged the necessary transfer of deeds, etc., that
the new landlord gave them their choice of any of the rooms in the house, without the
least augmentation of rent, upon condition of their giving instant possession of the
two small chambers they at present inhabited. This strange event aroused great wonder and
curiosity in the neighborhood of the Allees de Meillan, and a multitude of theories were
afloat, none of which was anywhere near the truth. But what raised public astonishment
to a climax, and set all conjecture at defiance, was the knowledge that the same stranger who
had in the morning visited the Allees de Meillan had been seen in the evening walking in the
little village of the Catalans, and afterwards observed to enter a poor fisherman's hut,
and to pass more than an hour in inquiring after persons who had either been dead or
gone away for more than fifteen or sixteen years. But on the following day the family
from whom all these particulars had been asked received a handsome present, consisting of
an entirely new fishing-boat, with two seines and a tender. The delighted recipients of
these munificent gifts would gladly have poured out their thanks to their generous benefactor,
but they had seen him, upon quitting the hut, merely give some orders to a sailor, and then
springing lightly on horseback, leave Marseilles by the Porte d'Aix.