Edmond Dantès
while the body, as in somnambulism, may act altogether alone.
On--on--the slumberer breathed on, but he thought not, felt not,
perceived not. A revolution, an earthquake might heave around him, but
the convulsive throes of man or of nature would have been as nothing to
him. The brow would have remained as calm and as cold, and the cheek as
pale and as still, while, in all human probability, the faithful Nubian
would have sat as immovable upon his rug at the bedside of his beloved
master, and have gazed upon him as untiringly with his dark and
sleepless eye.
As the last quarter after eleven sounded, followed immediately by the
hour of midnight, a small door beside the bed noiselessly opened, and a
female figure in white silently entered the room; but not so noiselessly
was the entrance effected as to escape the ear of the vigilant Ali. He
glanced hurriedly around; then, as if familiar with the apparition, and
anticipating its approach, he rose, and, taking his rug to the further
extremity of the chamber, again laid himself down, like a faithful dog,
though not now to watch.
Meanwhile the lady, quietly approaching the bed, gazed long and
mournfully at the slumberer's pale yet noble visage; then, kneeling, she
buried her face in her hands amid the coverings.
She was, probably, forty; yet, in the full and faultless perfection of
her form--in her graceful and yielding motions--in her statuesque bust,
rounded cheek and night-black hair, she would, to the casual observer,
have indicated hardly the half of that age. Her figure was tall and
dignified, yet mobile as a willow; her eyes were dark and luminous, and,
in their profound depths, slept a world of melancholy meaning. Her hair
was simply parted on a broad forehead, and was gathered in heavy masses
low on the neck. Her lips were full and red, and, when parted, exhibited
teeth of dazzling whiteness, while her complexion, which was very dark,
was yet clear and pure as the hue of the magnolia's petal. But that face
was pale, very pale, almost as colorless as that of the quiet sleeper at
its side, and upon it rested an expression of love unutterable, mingled
with the sadness of death.
Such was the unknown nurse, the Countess de Morcerf, as she again was an
inmate of that apartment of which she had once, under circumstances how
different, been mistress; such was Mercedes, the Catalane of Marseilles,
again at the side of the man whom all her life she had loved, with none
to gainsay or forbid!
Upon that pale and motionless countenance she gazed long and deeply,
and, oh! the world of memory that passed through her mind!--the world
of thought and feeling that centred in that fixed gaze! At length,
clasping her hands upon her forehead, her eyes streaming with tears, she
bowed her face upon the bed, from which she had just raised it, and long
seemed absorbed in prayer.
Roused from this position by some movement of the slumberer, she started
up and watched him.
The shaded rays of the dim and distant lamp threw a faint glimmering of
light upon the pale countenance, but the quick eye of love
instantaneously detected a change. A slight flush was mounting the
cheek, and gentle perspiration was distilling upon the brow, while a
smile played on the mouth. Suddenly, as she gazed, those pallid lips
moved. Astonished, she listened.
"Marseilles! beautiful Marseilles!" said the sleeper. "Home of my
boyhood, home of my heart. I come!" Then quickly and sternly came the
order, "Let go the anchor--furl the sails--mate, take charge of the
ship!" Then the tones changed, and a joyful light shot over the face as
the lips exclaimed, "Now for my father! now for my love! Mercedes!
Mercedes!"
Amazed, the fair watcher retained her position, and gazed and listened
so silently and breathlessly that the quick and audible beatings of her
heart might have been numbered.
"Mine--mine at last!" continued the dreamer. "The marriage-feast--the
marriage-feast!" But instantly the expression of the voice and the
countenance altered. The light of joy was shrouded in clouds.
"Arrest--arrest me?" was the exclamation--"me! at my marriage-feast! A
dungeon for me! Mercedes! Mercedes! My love--my wife! Oh! God! it is the
Chateau d'If! Despair--despair!"
Shocked, terrified at the terrible energy of these words, and the
expression of unutterable woe that rested on the countenance of the
sleeper, the affrighted woman, who comprehended but too well the fearful
significance of the abrupt and disjointed syllables, hastily arose as if
to rouse the slumberer from his dream or to call on the Nubian for aid.
But, before she could carry the purpose into execution, the aspect of
the Deputy's visage again had changed. A dark frown settled on the brow,
a spirit of fixed resolve contracted the firm lip and dilated the
nostril, and the word, "Vengeance--vengeance!" in whispers scarcely
audible, but repeatedly and rapidly pronounced, was heard.
A longer silence than before succeeded. At length another change swept
over the face, and the words, "Free--free--I am free!" burst from the
lips; then they murmured, "Treasure untold! wondrous
wealth!--diamonds--pearls--rubies--ingots of gold! The mad abbe's dream
was reality!" Again the countenance darkened. "Fourteen years in a
dungeon for no crime!--a father dead of starvation!--a bride the bride
of the fiend who has done all this--and he a peer of France--and his
friends a millionaire of Paris and the Procureur du Roi!
Vengeance--vengeance--vengeance!" There was a pause, and the dreamer
exultingly continued, "It is done! The peer of France is a disgraced
suicide! The Procureur du Roi is a madman! The banker is a bankrupt!"
The dreamer again paused, and his countenance once more changed. "Alas!
alas! man is not God! 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord!'
The innocent suffer with the guilty. To avenge a wrong has been
sacrificed a life, and only misery has been the recompense! No more--no
more--no more of this! Man and man's happiness be henceforth the aim! To
that be devoted wealth untold!"
The lips ceased to move. Gradually the high excitement of the features
passed away and was succeeded by an expression of sadness and love.
"Haydee--gone--gone to a better world. Mercedes--Mercedes--oh! does she
love me yet? The long lost idol of my heart!--the adored angel of my
life!--come! come! come!"
As the dreamer spoke, he spread wide his arms; when his eyes opened, and
his long slumbering senses returned, Mercedes, his own Mercedes, was,
indeed, clasped to his breast.
"Mercedes! Mercedes?" he faintly whispered. "Ah! it was no dream, for
you are, indeed, beside me and mine--mine forever!"
"Thine--thine--forever!" was the reply, and she clasped his feeble form
to her heart as she would have clasped that of a child.
CHAPTER XVI.
A NOTABLE FETE.
On the night of Monday, February 21st, 1848, all Paris was at the house
of M. Gaultier de Rumilly, in the Avenue des Champs Elysees. M. Gaultier
de Rumilly was well known as one of the leaders of the extreme left,
though the confidential friend of M. Odillon Barrot, and the fete was
perfectly understood to be a political reunion, rather than a social
one. All the accompaniments of the most splendid society events of the
season were in requisition. Even the brilliant balls given by the
opulent citizens of New York were eclipsed in luxury and splendor. There
was the streaming of lamps and chandeliers, the swell of enchanting
music, the whirl of the fascinating polka, redowa or mazurka, while
throngs of richly attired and lovely women were constantly enhancing the
magnificence of the scene by their arrival. The brilliancy of the
occasion was also richly diversified by the presence of an unusually
large number of officers of the Municipal and National Guards in full
uniform, as well as of several belonging to the Line or the regiments of
Algeria.
It was about ten o'clock. Within, all was light, life and loveliness;
without, the winter wind moaned drearily through the leafless trees of
the Boulevard, and the drifting sleet swept along the deserted streets.
It was a wild night. Throughout all Paris seemed going forth a
portentous murmur, like that mysterious moaning of the ocean, which,
with mariners, is the prelude of a storm. An ominous whispering, as of
many voices, seemed to sink and swell on the sweeping night blast; then
all was still. Again, in the distance, would rise a sharp shout, or the
stern, brief word of military command. At intervals, also, one might
imagine he heard a deep rumbling, as of heavy ordnance and its tumbrels
over the pavements, accompanied by the measured tread of armed men and
the clattering hoofs of cavalry horses. Then these sounds died away, and
along the narrow streets of Paris again the night wind only swept, the
bitter blast howled and the ominous whispering, as of spirits, rose and
fell.
It was a strange and stormy night--murky and chilly--while at intervals
the cold rain dashed down in cutting blasts. But within the magnificent
mansion of Gaultier de Rumilly all was light and loveliness, as has been
said. The splendid salons were already thronged, yet crowds of
richly-attired guests were constantly arriving.
"Ha! Beauchamp, just come?" cried Chateau-Renaud to his friend, as he
entered.
"By the grace of God, yes!" said the journalist. "What a night!"
"What a throng of men and women say rather!" was the reply.
"Very true. Who's here?"
"Ask who's not here, and your question may be easily answered. All Paris
is here! Women of every age and station, and men of all political
creeds--Conservatives, Dynastics, Legitimists, Republicans and
Communists. Indeed, this soiree seems to me, and I shouldn't wonder if
it were designed so to be, a general reunion of the leaders of all the
great parties in France, to compare notes and learn the news."
"And there is news enough to learn, it would seem. Is M. Dantes here?"
"He is, or was, and his beautiful wife, too, the most magnificent woman
in Paris. Morrel also is here with his fair bride."
"And who is that dark, dignified man in the Turkish costume, around whom
the ladies have clustered so inquisitively?" asked the Deputy.
"Why, that's the Emir of Algeria, the famous captive of the Duke
d'Aumale," was the reply.
"What! Abd-el-Kader! How comes he here?"
"Oh! as a special favor, I suppose; he has a respite from his sad
prison."
"What a splendid beard, and what keen black eyes!"
"No, his eyes are decidedly gray, but so shaded by his extraordinary
lashes that they seem black. They say that he was more distinguished as
a scholar, in Algeria, than as a soldier, statesman or priest. In fact,
he is as erudite as an Arab can be, and his library, which is contained
in two leathern trunks, accompanied him in all his wanderings prior to
his submission."
"And what think you really induced him to surrender himself?"
"Policy of the deepest character, and worthy of Talleyrand, Metternich
or Nesselrode, if we are to rely on the eloquent speech of Lamoriciere
in the Chamber, the other day."
"I remember. Bugeaud spoke first, and Lamoriciere followed. He thought
that the Arab Curtius leaped into the gulf because, by so doing, he was
convinced he could injure French interests more than by his freedom.
Well, perhaps he was right. He bids fair to be a hard bone of contention
between the opposition and the Ministry."
"If I mistake not, Lamoriciere disclaimed all responsibility for
accepting the surrender, and placed it on the Governor-General, the
young Duke, for whom the Ministry is liable?"
"Yes; and Guizot announced that he would send the Emir back to
Alexandria, could security be given against his return to Algeria."
"As to the Emir's surrender, at which you wonder, the real cause is said