The Count of Monte Cristo
the joys of the assumed existence, that you would desire to live no
longer, but to dream thus forever. When you return to this mundane
sphere from your visionary world, you would seem to leave a Neapolitan
spring for a Lapland winter—to quit paradise for earth—heaven for hell!
Taste the hashish, guest of mine—taste the hashish.”
Franz’s only reply was to take a teaspoonful of the marvellous
preparation, about as much in quantity as his host had eaten, and lift
it to his mouth.
“_Diable!_” he said, after having swallowed the divine preserve. “I do
not know if the result will be as agreeable as you describe, but the
thing does not appear to me as palatable as you say.”
“Because your palate his not yet been attuned to the sublimity of the
substances it flavors. Tell me, the first time you tasted oysters, tea,
porter, truffles, and sundry other dainties which you now adore, did
you like them? Could you comprehend how the Romans stuffed their
pheasants with assafœtida, and the Chinese eat swallows’ nests? Eh? no!
Well, it is the same with hashish; only eat for a week, and nothing in
the world will seem to you to equal the delicacy of its flavor, which
now appears to you flat and distasteful. Let us now go into the
adjoining chamber, which is your apartment, and Ali will bring us
coffee and pipes.”
They both arose, and while he who called himself Sinbad—and whom we
have occasionally named so, that we might, like his guest, have some
title by which to distinguish him—gave some orders to the servant,
Franz entered still another apartment.
It was simply yet richly furnished. It was round, and a large divan
completely encircled it. Divan, walls, ceiling, floor, were all covered
with magnificent skins as soft and downy as the richest carpets; there
were heavy-maned lion-skins from Atlas, striped tiger-skins from
Bengal; panther-skins from the Cape, spotted beautifully, like those
that appeared to Dante; bear-skins from Siberia, fox-skins from Norway,
and so on; and all these skins were strewn in profusion one on the
other, so that it seemed like walking over the most mossy turf, or
reclining on the most luxurious bed.
Both laid themselves down on the divan; chibouques with jasmine tubes
and amber mouthpieces were within reach, and all prepared so that there
was no need to smoke the same pipe twice. Each of them took one, which
Ali lighted and then retired to prepare the coffee.
There was a moment’s silence, during which Sinbad gave himself up to
thoughts that seemed to occupy him incessantly, even in the midst of
his conversation; and Franz abandoned himself to that mute reverie,
into which we always sink when smoking excellent tobacco, which seems
to remove with its fume all the troubles of the mind, and to give the
smoker in exchange all the visions of the soul. Ali brought in the
coffee.
“How do you take it?” inquired the unknown; “in the French or Turkish
style, strong or weak, sugar or none, cool or boiling? As you please;
it is ready in all ways.”
“I will take it in the Turkish style,” replied Franz.
“And you are right,” said his host; “it shows you have a tendency for
an Oriental life. Ah, those Orientals; they are the only men who know
how to live. As for me,” he added, with one of those singular smiles
which did not escape the young man, “when I have completed my affairs
in Paris, I shall go and die in the East; and should you wish to see me
again, you must seek me at Cairo, Bagdad, or Ispahan.”
20087m
“_Ma foi_,” said Franz, “it would be the easiest thing in the world;
for I feel eagle’s wings springing out at my shoulders, and with those
wings I could make a tour of the world in four-and-twenty hours.”
“Ah, yes, the hashish is beginning its work. Well, unfurl your wings,
and fly into superhuman regions; fear nothing, there is a watch over
you; and if your wings, like those of Icarus, melt before the sun, we
are here to ease your fall.”
He then said something in Arabic to Ali, who made a sign of obedience
and withdrew, but not to any distance.
As to Franz a strange transformation had taken place in him. All the
bodily fatigue of the day, all the preoccupation of mind which the
events of the evening had brought on, disappeared as they do at the
first approach of sleep, when we are still sufficiently conscious to be
aware of the coming of slumber. His body seemed to acquire an airy
lightness, his perception brightened in a remarkable manner, his senses
seemed to redouble their power, the horizon continued to expand; but it
was not the gloomy horizon of vague alarms, and which he had seen
before he slept, but a blue, transparent, unbounded horizon, with all
the blue of the ocean, all the spangles of the sun, all the perfumes of
the summer breeze; then, in the midst of the songs of his
sailors,—songs so clear and sonorous, that they would have made a
divine harmony had their notes been taken down,—he saw the Island of
Monte Cristo, no longer as a threatening rock in the midst of the
waves, but as an oasis in the desert; then, as his boat drew nearer,
the songs became louder, for an enchanting and mysterious harmony rose
to heaven, as if some Loreley had decreed to attract a soul thither, or
Amphion, the enchanter, intended there to build a city.
At length the boat touched the shore, but without effort, without
shock, as lips touch lips; and he entered the grotto amidst continued
strains of most delicious melody. He descended, or rather seemed to
descend, several steps, inhaling the fresh and balmy air, like that
which may be supposed to reign around the grotto of Circe, formed from
such perfumes as set the mind a-dreaming, and such fires as burn the
very senses; and he saw again all he had seen before his sleep, from
Sinbad, his singular host, to Ali, the mute attendant; then all seemed
to fade away and become confused before his eyes, like the last shadows
of the magic lantern before it is extinguished, and he was again in the
chamber of statues, lighted only by one of those pale and antique lamps
which watch in the dead of the night over the sleep of pleasure.
They were the same statues, rich in form, in attraction, and poesy,
with eyes of fascination, smiles of love, and bright and flowing hair.
They were Phryne, Cleopatra, Messalina, those three celebrated
courtesans. Then among them glided like a pure ray, like a Christian
angel in the midst of Olympus, one of those chaste figures, those calm
shadows, those soft visions, which seemed to veil its virgin brow
before these marble wantons.
Then the three statues advanced towards him with looks of love, and
approached the couch on which he was reposing, their feet hidden in
their long white tunics, their throats bare, hair flowing like waves,
and assuming attitudes which the gods could not resist, but which
saints withstood, and looks inflexible and ardent like those with which
the serpent charms the bird; and then he gave way before looks that
held him in a torturing grasp and delighted his senses as with a
voluptuous kiss.
It seemed to Franz that he closed his eyes, and in a last look about
him saw the vision of modesty completely veiled; and then followed a
dream of passion like that promised by the Prophet to the elect. Lips
of stone turned to flame, breasts of ice became like heated lava, so
that to Franz, yielding for the first time to the sway of the drug,
love was a sorrow and voluptuousness a torture, as burning mouths were
pressed to his thirsty lips, and he was held in cool serpent-like
embraces. The more he strove against this unhallowed passion the more
his senses yielded to its thrall, and at length, weary of a struggle
that taxed his very soul, he gave way and sank back breathless and
exhausted beneath the kisses of these marble goddesses, and the
enchantment of his marvellous dream.
Chapter 32. The Waking
When Franz returned to himself, he seemed still to be in a dream. He
thought himself in a sepulchre, into which a ray of sunlight in pity
scarcely penetrated. He stretched forth his hand, and touched stone; he
rose to his seat, and found himself lying on his bournous in a bed of
dry heather, very soft and odoriferous. The vision had fled; and as if
the statues had been but shadows from the tomb, they had vanished at
his waking.
He advanced several paces towards the point whence the light came, and
to all the excitement of his dream succeeded the calmness of reality.
He found that he was in a grotto, went towards the opening, and through
a kind of fanlight saw a blue sea and an azure sky. The air and water
were shining in the beams of the morning sun; on the shore the sailors
were sitting, chatting and laughing; and at ten yards from them the
boat was at anchor, undulating gracefully on the water.
There for some time he enjoyed the fresh breeze which played on his
brow, and listened to the dash of the waves on the beach, that left
against the rocks a lace of foam as white as silver. He was for some
time without reflection or thought for the divine charm which is in the
things of nature, specially after a fantastic dream; then gradually
this view of the outer world, so calm, so pure, so grand, reminded him
of the illusiveness of his vision, and once more awakened memory. He
recalled his arrival on the island, his presentation to a smuggler
chief, a subterranean palace full of splendor, an excellent supper, and
a spoonful of hashish.
It seemed, however, even in the very face of open day, that at least a
year had elapsed since all these things had passed, so deep was the
impression made in his mind by the dream, and so strong a hold had it
taken of his imagination. Thus every now and then he saw in fancy amid
the sailors, seated on a rock, or undulating in the vessel, one of the
shadows which had shared his dream with looks and kisses. Otherwise,
his head was perfectly clear, and his body refreshed; he was free from
the slightest headache; on the contrary, he felt a certain degree of
lightness, a faculty for absorbing the pure air, and enjoying the
bright sunshine more vividly than ever.
He went gayly up to the sailors, who rose as soon as they perceived
him; and the patron, accosting him, said:
“The Signor Sinbad has left his compliments for your excellency, and
desires us to express the regret he feels at not being able to take his
leave in person; but he trusts you will excuse him, as very important
business calls him to Malaga.”
“So, then, Gaetano,” said Franz, “this is, then, all reality; there
exists a man who has received me in this island, entertained me right
royally, and has departed while I was asleep?”
“He exists as certainly as that you may see his small yacht with all
her sails spread; and if you will use your glass, you will, in all
probability, recognize your host in the midst of his crew.”
So saying, Gaetano pointed in a direction in which a small vessel was
making sail towards the southern point of Corsica. Franz adjusted his
telescope, and directed it towards the yacht. Gaetano was not mistaken.
At the stern the mysterious stranger was standing up looking towards
the shore, and holding a spy-glass in his hand. He was attired as he
had been on the previous evening, and waved his pocket-handkerchief to
his guest in token of adieu. Franz returned the salute by shaking his
handkerchief as an exchange of signals. After a second, a slight cloud
of smoke was seen at the stern of the vessel, which rose gracefully as
it expanded in the air, and then Franz heard a slight report.
“There, do you hear?” observed Gaetano; “he is bidding you adieu.”
The young man took his carbine and fired it in the air, but without any
idea that the noise could be heard at the distance which separated the
yacht from the shore.