The Count of Monte Cristo
_Pharaon_ had promised to attend the nuptial feast; but all seemed
unanimous in doubting that an act of such rare and exceeding
condescension could possibly be intended.
Danglars, however, who now made his appearance, accompanied by
Caderousse, effectually confirmed the report, stating that he had
recently conversed with M. Morrel, who had himself assured him of his
intention to dine at La Réserve.
In fact, a moment later M. Morrel appeared and was saluted with an
enthusiastic burst of applause from the crew of the _Pharaon_, who
hailed the visit of the shipowner as a sure indication that the man
whose wedding feast he thus delighted to honor would ere long be first
in command of the ship; and as Dantès was universally beloved on board
his vessel, the sailors put no restraint on their tumultuous joy at
finding that the opinion and choice of their superiors so exactly
coincided with their own.
With the entrance of M. Morrel, Danglars and Caderousse were despatched
in search of the bridegroom to convey to him the intelligence of the
arrival of the important personage whose coming had created such a
lively sensation, and to beseech him to make haste.
Danglars and Caderousse set off upon their errand at full speed; but
ere they had gone many steps they perceived a group advancing towards
them, composed of the betrothed pair, a party of young girls in
attendance on the bride, by whose side walked Dantès’ father; the whole
brought up by Fernand, whose lips wore their usual sinister smile.
Neither Mercédès nor Edmond observed the strange expression of his
countenance; they were so happy that they were conscious only of the
sunshine and the presence of each other.
Having acquitted themselves of their errand, and exchanged a hearty
shake of the hand with Edmond, Danglars and Caderousse took their
places beside Fernand and old Dantès,—the latter of whom attracted
universal notice.
The old man was attired in a suit of glistening watered silk, trimmed
with steel buttons, beautifully cut and polished. His thin but wiry
legs were arrayed in a pair of richly embroidered clocked stockings,
evidently of English manufacture, while from his three-cornered hat
depended a long streaming knot of white and blue ribbons. Thus he came
along, supporting himself on a curiously carved stick, his aged
countenance lit up with happiness, looking for all the world like one
of the aged dandies of 1796, parading the newly opened gardens of the
Luxembourg and Tuileries.
Beside him glided Caderousse, whose desire to partake of the good
things provided for the wedding party had induced him to become
reconciled to the Dantès, father and son, although there still lingered
in his mind a faint and unperfect recollection of the events of the
preceding night; just as the brain retains on waking in the morning the
dim and misty outline of a dream.
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As Danglars approached the disappointed lover, he cast on him a look of
deep meaning, while Fernand, as he slowly paced behind the happy pair,
who seemed, in their own unmixed content, to have entirely forgotten
that such a being as himself existed, was pale and abstracted;
occasionally, however, a deep flush would overspread his countenance,
and a nervous contraction distort his features, while, with an agitated
and restless gaze, he would glance in the direction of Marseilles, like
one who either anticipated or foresaw some great and important event.
Dantès himself was simply, but becomingly, clad in the dress peculiar
to the merchant service—a costume somewhat between a military and a
civil garb; and with his fine countenance, radiant with joy and
happiness, a more perfect specimen of manly beauty could scarcely be
imagined.
Lovely as the Greek girls of Cyprus or Chios, Mercédès boasted the same
bright flashing eyes of jet, and ripe, round, coral lips. She moved
with the light, free step of an Arlesienne or an Andalusian. One more
practiced in the arts of great cities would have hid her blushes
beneath a veil, or, at least, have cast down her thickly fringed
lashes, so as to have concealed the liquid lustre of her animated eyes;
but, on the contrary, the delighted girl looked around her with a smile
that seemed to say: “If you are my friends, rejoice with me, for I am
very happy.”
As soon as the bridal party came in sight of La Réserve, M. Morrel
descended and came forth to meet it, followed by the soldiers and
sailors there assembled, to whom he had repeated the promise already
given, that Dantès should be the successor to the late Captain Leclere.
Edmond, at the approach of his patron, respectfully placed the arm of
his affianced bride within that of M. Morrel, who, forthwith conducting
her up the flight of wooden steps leading to the chamber in which the
feast was prepared, was gayly followed by the guests, beneath whose
heavy tread the slight structure creaked and groaned for the space of
several minutes.
“Father,” said Mercédès, stopping when she had reached the centre of
the table, “sit, I pray you, on my right hand; on my left I will place
him who has ever been as a brother to me,” pointing with a soft and
gentle smile to Fernand; but her words and look seemed to inflict the
direst torture on him, for his lips became ghastly pale, and even
beneath the dark hue of his complexion the blood might be seen
retreating as though some sudden pang drove it back to the heart.
During this time, Dantès, at the opposite side of the table, had been
occupied in similarly placing his most honored guests. M. Morrel was
seated at his right hand, Danglars at his left; while, at a sign from
Edmond, the rest of the company ranged themselves as they found it most
agreeable.
Then they began to pass around the dusky, piquant, Arlesian sausages,
and lobsters in their dazzling red cuirasses, prawns of large size and
brilliant color, the echinus with its prickly outside and dainty morsel
within, the clovis, esteemed by the epicures of the South as more than
rivalling the exquisite flavor of the oyster, North. All the
delicacies, in fact, that are cast up by the wash of waters on the
sandy beach, and styled by the grateful fishermen “fruits of the sea.”
“A pretty silence truly!” said the old father of the bridegroom, as he
carried to his lips a glass of wine of the hue and brightness of the
topaz, and which had just been placed before Mercédès herself. “Now,
would anybody think that this room contained a happy, merry party, who
desire nothing better than to laugh and dance the hours away?”
“Ah,” sighed Caderousse, “a man cannot always feel happy because he is
about to be married.”
“The truth is,” replied Dantès, “that I am too happy for noisy mirth;
if that is what you meant by your observation, my worthy friend, you
are right; joy takes a strange effect at times, it seems to oppress us
almost the same as sorrow.”
Danglars looked towards Fernand, whose excitable nature received and
betrayed each fresh impression.
“Why, what ails you?” asked he of Edmond. “Do you fear any approaching
evil? I should say that you were the happiest man alive at this
instant.”
“And that is the very thing that alarms me,” returned Dantès. “Man does
not appear to me to be intended to enjoy felicity so unmixed; happiness
is like the enchanted palaces we read of in our childhood, where
fierce, fiery dragons defend the entrance and approach; and monsters of
all shapes and kinds, requiring to be overcome ere victory is ours. I
own that I am lost in wonder to find myself promoted to an honor of
which I feel myself unworthy—that of being the husband of Mercédès.”
“Nay, nay!” cried Caderousse, smiling, “you have not attained that
honor yet. Mercédès is not yet your wife. Just assume the tone and
manner of a husband, and see how she will remind you that your hour is
not yet come!”
The bride blushed, while Fernand, restless and uneasy, seemed to start
at every fresh sound, and from time to time wiped away the large drops
of perspiration that gathered on his brow.
“Well, never mind that, neighbor Caderousse; it is not worthwhile to
contradict me for such a trifle as that. ’Tis true that Mercédès is not
actually my wife; but,” added he, drawing out his watch, “in an hour
and a half she will be.”
A general exclamation of surprise ran round the table, with the
exception of the elder Dantès, whose laugh displayed the still perfect
beauty of his large white teeth. Mercédès looked pleased and gratified,
while Fernand grasped the handle of his knife with a convulsive clutch.
“In an hour?” inquired Danglars, turning pale. “How is that, my
friend?”
“Why, thus it is,” replied Dantès. “Thanks to the influence of M.
Morrel, to whom, next to my father, I owe every blessing I enjoy, every
difficulty has been removed. We have purchased permission to waive the
usual delay; and at half-past two o’clock the Mayor of Marseilles will
be waiting for us at the city hall. Now, as a quarter-past one has
already struck, I do not consider I have asserted too much in saying,
that, in another hour and thirty minutes Mercédès will have become
Madame Dantès.”
0069m
Fernand closed his eyes, a burning sensation passed across his brow,
and he was compelled to support himself by the table to prevent his
falling from his chair; but in spite of all his efforts, he could not
refrain from uttering a deep groan, which, however, was lost amid the
noisy felicitations of the company.
“Upon my word,” cried the old man, “you make short work of this kind of
affair. Arrived here only yesterday morning, and married today at three
o’clock! Commend me to a sailor for going the quick way to work!”
“But,” asked Danglars, in a timid tone, “how did you manage about the
other formalities—the contract—the settlement?”
“The contract,” answered Dantès, laughingly, “it didn’t take long to
fix that. Mercédès has no fortune; I have none to settle on her. So,
you see, our papers were quickly written out, and certainly do not come
very expensive.” This joke elicited a fresh burst of applause.
“So that what we presumed to be merely the betrothal feast turns out to
be the actual wedding dinner!” said Danglars.
“No, no,” answered Dantès; “don’t imagine I am going to put you off in
that shabby manner. Tomorrow morning I start for Paris; four days to
go, and the same to return, with one day to discharge the commission
entrusted to me, is all the time I shall be absent. I shall be back
here by the first of March, and on the second I give my real marriage
feast.”
This prospect of fresh festivity redoubled the hilarity of the guests
to such a degree, that the elder Dantès, who, at the commencement of
the repast, had commented upon the silence that prevailed, now found it
difficult, amid the general din of voices, to obtain a moment’s
tranquillity in which to drink to the health and prosperity of the
bride and bridegroom.
Dantès, perceiving the affectionate eagerness of his father, responded
by a look of grateful pleasure; while Mercédès glanced at the clock and
made an expressive gesture to Edmond.
Around the table reigned that noisy hilarity which usually prevails at
such a time among people sufficiently free from the demands of social
position not to feel the trammels of etiquette. Such as at the
commencement of the repast had not been able to seat themselves
according to their inclination rose unceremoniously, and sought out
more agreeable companions. Everybody talked at once, without waiting
for a reply and each one seemed to be contented with expressing his or
her own thoughts.
Fernand’s paleness appeared to have communicated itself to Danglars. As
for Fernand himself, he seemed to be enduring the tortures of the
damned; unable to rest, he was among the first to quit the table, and,