6 The Camp of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas Volume 1, Chapter 23, The Island of Monte Cristo Thus at length by one of the unexpected strokes of fortune which sometimes before those who have for a long time been victims of an evil destiny, Dontes was about to secure the opportunity he wished for, by simple and natural means, and land on the island without incurring any suspicion, one night more and he would be on his way. The night was one of feverish distraction, and in its progress visions good and evil passed through Dontes' mind. If he closed his eyes, he saw Cardinal Spada's letter written on the wall in the characters of flame. It be slept for a moment the wildest dreams haunted his brain. He ascended into Grottos paid with emeralds, with panels of rubies, and a roof glowing with diamond stalatites. Perm's fell dropped by drop, as subterranean waters filter in their caves. Edmund amazed, understruck, filled his pockets with the radiant gems and then returned to daylight, when he discovered that his prices had all changed into common pebbles. He then endeavoured to re-enter the marvellous Grottos, but they had suddenly receded, and now the path became elaborate, and then the entrance vanished, and in vain did he text his memory for the magic and mysterious word which opened the splendid caverns of Alibaba to the Arabian fishermen. All was useless, the treasure disappeared, and had again reverted to the genii from whom for a moment he had hoped to carry it all. The day came at length, and was almost as feverish as the night had been, but it brought reason to the aid of imagination, and Dontes was then enabled to arrange a plan which had he third to been fake and unsettled in his brain. Night came, and with it the preparation for departure, and these preparations served to conceal Dontes' agitation. He had by degrees assumed such authority over his companions that he was almost like a commander on board, and as his orders were always clear, distinct, and easy of execution, his comrades obeyed him with celerity and pleasure. The Oak patron did not interfere, for he too had recognised the superiority of Dontes over the crew and himself. He saw in the young man his natural successor, and regretted that he had not a daughter, that he might have bound Edmund to him by a more secure alliance. At seven o'clock in the evening, all was ready, and at ten minutes past seven the double lighthouse just as the beacon was kindled. The sea was calm, and with a fresh breeze from the south east, they sailed beneath a bright blue sky, in which God also lighted up in turn his beacon lights, each of which is a world. Dontes told them that all hands might turn in, and he would take the helm. When the Maltese had said this, it was sufficient, and all went to their bunks contentedly. This frequently happened. Dontes cast from solitude into the world, frequently experienced and imperious desire for solitude, and what solitude is more complete or more poetical than that of a ship floating in isolation on a sea during the obscurity of the night, in the silence of immensity, and under the eye of heaven. Now this solitude was peopled with his thoughts, the night lighted up by his illusions, and the silence animated by his anticipations. When a patron awoke, the fossil was herring on with every sail set, and every sail full with the breeze, they were making nearly ten knots an hour. The island of Monte Cristo loomed large in the horizon. Edmund resigned the lager to the master's care, and went and laid down in his hammock, but in spite of a sleepless night he could not close his eyes for a moment. Two hours afterwards he came on deck, as the boat was about to double the island of Elba. They were just abreast of Maricana, and beyond flat but verdant island of La Pianosa. The peak of Monte Cristo reddened by the burning sun, was seen against the azure sky. Dontes ordered the helmsmen to put down his helm, in order to leave La Pianosa to starboard, as he knew that he should shorten his course by two or three knots. About five o'clock in the evening the island was distinct, and everything on it was plainly perceptible, owing to that cleanness of the atmosphere peculiar to the light which the rays of the sun cast at its setting. Edmund gazed very earnestly at mass of rocks which gave out all the variety of toy like colours, from the brightest pink to the deepest blue, and from time to time his cheeks flushed, his brow darkened, and the mist passed over his eyes. Never did a gangster, whose whole fortune is staked on one cast of the dye, experienced the anguish which Edmund felt in his peroxysms of hope. Night came, and at ten o'clock they anchored, Leger Amelie was first at the Honde Vue. In spite of his usual command over himself, Dontes could not restrain his impetuosity. He was the first to jump on shore, and had he dared he would, like Lucius Brutus, have kissed his mother Earth. It was dark, but at eleven o'clock the moon rose in the mist of the ocean, whose every wave she silvered and then ascending high, made in floods of pale light on the rocky hills of this second pavian. The island was familiar to the crew of Leger Amelie. It was one of her regular haunts. As to Dontes he had passed it on his voyage to and from the Levant, but never touched at it. He questioned Jakopo. "Where shall we pass the night?" he inquired. "Why?" "Unbored the tartan," replied the sailor. "Should we not do better in the Grotos? What Grotos? Why, the Grotos, caves of the sea. I do not know of any Grotos," replied Jakopo. The coat sweat sprang forth on Dontes brow. "What? Are there no Grotos at Monte Cristo?" he asked. "None." For a moment Dontes was speechless. Then he remembered that these caves might have been filled up by some extent, or even stopped up, for the sake of greater security by Cardinal Sparta. The point was then to discover the hidden entrance. It was useless to search at night, and Dontes therefore delayed all investigation until the morning. Besides, a signal made half a leak out at sea, and to which Leger Amelie replied by a similar signal indicated that the moment for business had come. The vote that now arrived assured by the answering signal that all was well soon came in sight, white and silent as the phantom, and cast anchor within a cable's length of shore. Then the landing began. Dontes reflected as he worked on the shout of joy which, with a single word, he could evoke from all these men if he gave utterance to the one unchanging thought that pervaded his heart. But far from disclosing this precious secret, he almost feared that he had already said too much. And by his restlessness and continual questions, his minute observations and evident preoccupation aroused suspicions. Fortunately, as regarded this circumstance at least, his painful past gave to his countenance and indelible sadness. And the glimmerings of Gaiety seemed beneath this cloud were indeed but transitory. No one had the slightest suspicion, and when next day, taking a fouling piece, powder and shot, Dontes declared his intention to go and kill some of the wild goats that were seen springing from rock to rock. His wish was construed into a love of sport or a desire for solitude. However, Jacobo insisted on vowing him, and Dontes did not oppose this, fearing if he did so that he might incur distrust. Skastly, however, had they gone a quarter of a leak when, having killed a kid, he begged Jacobo to take it to his comrades and request them to cook it, and when ready to let him know by firing a gun. This and some dried fruits in the flask of Montepulciano was the Bill of Fair. Dontes went on, looking from time to time behind and around about it. Having reached the summit of a rock, he saw a thousand feet beneath him, his companions, whom Jacobo had rejoined, and who were all busy preparing the repast, which Edmund's skill as a marksman had augmented with a capital dish. Edmund looked at them for a moment with the sad and gentle smile of a man superior to his feathers. "In two hours' time," said he, "these persons will depart richer by fifty piersters each, to go and risk their lives again by endeavoring to gain fifty more. Then they will return with a fortune of six hundred friends and waste his treasure in some city with the pride of sultans and insolence of neighbours. At this moment hope makes me despise the riches, which seem to me contemptible. Yet perchance tomorrow deception will so act on me that I shall, on compulsion, consider such a contemptible procession as the utmost happiness." "Oh, no!" exclaimed Edmund. "That will not be. The wise and erring farrier could not be mistaken in this one thing. Besides, it were better to die than to continue to lead this low and wretched life. Thus Dante's, who but three months before had no desire but liberty had now not liberty enough, and panted for wealth. The course was not in Dante's, but in providence, who, while limiting the power of men, has filled him with boundless desires. Meanwhile, by a cleft between two walls of rook, following a path worn by a torrent, and which, in all human probability, human foot had never before trot, Dante's approached a spot where he supposed the grottos must have existed. Keeping along the shore and examining the smallest object with serious attention he thought he could trace, on certain rocks marks made by the hand of a man. Time, which encrusts all physical substances with its mossy metal, as it infests all things of the mind with forgetfulness, seem to have respected these signs, which apparently had been made with some degree of regularity, and probably with a definite purpose. Occasionally the marks were hidden under tufts of metal, which spread into large bushes laden with blossoms, or beneath parasitical litchin. So, Edmond had to separate the branches or brush away the moss to know where the guide marks were. The sight of marks renewed Edmond fondest hopes, might it not have been the cardinal himself who had first traced them, in order that they might serve as a guide for his nephew in the event of a catastrophe, which he could not foresee would have been so complete. This solitary place was precisely suited to the requirements of a man desirous of bearing treasure, only might not these betraying marks have attracted other eyes than those for whom they were made, and had the dark and wondrous island indeed faithfully guarded its precious secret. It seemed, however, to Edmond, who was hidden from his comrades by the inequalities of the ground, that at sixty paces from the harbor the marks seized, nor did they terminate at any grotto. A large round rock, placed solidly on its base, was the only spot to which they seemed to lead. Edmond concluded that perhaps instead of having reached the end of the route he had only explored its beginning, and he therefore turned round and retraced his steps. Meanwhile, his comrades had prepared the repast, had got some water from a spring, spread out the fruit and bread, and cooked the kid, just at the moment when they were ticking the dainty animal from the spit. They saw Edmond springing with the boldness of a shamwa from rock to rock, and they fired the signal agreed upon. The sportsman instantly changed his direction, and ran quickly towards them. But even while they watched his daring progress, Edmond's foot slipped, and they saw him stagger on the edge of a rock and disappear. They all rushed towards him, for all loved Edmond in spite of his superiority, yet Jakopo reached him first. He found Edmond lying prone, bleeding, and almost senseless. He had rolled down at the clefity of twelve or fifteen feet. They poured little rum down his throat, and this remedy which had before been so beneficial to him produced the same effect as formally. Edmond opened his eyes, complained of great pain in his knee, a feeling of heaviness in his head, and severe pains in his loins. They wished to carry him to the shore, but when they touched him, although under Jakopo's directions he declared with heavy groans that he could not bear to be moved. It may be supposed that Dontes did not now think of his dinner, but he insisted that his comrades, who had not his reasons for fasting, should have their meal. As for himself, he declared that he had only need of a little rest, and that when they returned he should be easier. The sailors did not require much urging, they were hungry, and the smell of the roasted kid was very savory, and your tars are not very ceremonious. And now afterwards they returned. All that Edmond had been able to do was to drag himself about a dozen paces forward to lean against a moss-grown rock. But instead of growing easier, Dontes pains appeared to increase in violence, the old patron, who was obliged to sail in the morning in order to land his cargo on the frontiers of Piedmont and France, between Nice and Frasius, urged Dontes to try and rise. Edmond made great exertions in order to comply, but at each effort he fell back, moaning and turning pale. "He has broken his ribs," said the commander, in a low voice. "No matter. He is an excellent fellow, and we must not leave him. We will try and carry him on board tartan." Dontes declared, however, that he would rather die where he was than undergo the agony which the slightest movement cost him. "Well," said the patron, "let what may happen. It shall never be said that we deserted a good comrade like you. We will not go till evening." This very much astonished the sailors, although not one opposed it. The patron was so strict that this was the first time they had ever seen him give up an enterprise, or even delay in its execution. Dontes would not allow that any such infraction of regular and proper rules should be made in his favor. "No, no," he said to the patron. "I was awkward, and it is just that I paid the penalty of my clumsiness. Leave me a small supply of biscuit, a gun, powder, and balls to kill the kids or defend myself at need, and a pickaxe that I may build a shelter if you delay in coming back from me. But you die of hunger," said the patron. "I would rather do so," was Edmond's reply, then suffer the inexpressible agonies which the slightest movement causes me. The patron turned towards his vessel, which was rolling on the swell in the little harbour, and, with Sam's partly sent, would be ready for sea when her toilet should be completed. "What are we to do, Maltese?" asked the captain. "We cannot leave you here so, and yet we cannot stay." "Go, go," exclaimed Dontes. "We shall be absent at least a week," said the patron. "And then we must run out of our cause to come here and take you up again." "Why?" said Dontes. "It's been two or three days you hail any fishing boat. Decide them to come here to me. I will pay twenty-five PS days for my passage back to Leghorn. If you do not come across one, return for me." The patron shook his head, listened Captain Baldi. "There is one way of settling this," said Jacobo. "Do you go, and I will stay and take care of the wounded man. And give up your share of the venture," said Edmond, "to remain with me." "Yes," said Jacobo, "and without any hesitation." "You're a good fellow and a kind-hearted mess, mate," replied Edmond, "and heaven will recompense you for your generous intentions. But I do not wish anyone to stay with me. A day or two of rest will set me up, and I hope I shall find among the rock-certain herbs most excellent for bruises." A peculiar smile passed over Dontes' lips. He squeezed Jacobo's hand warmly, but nothing could shake his determination to remain, and remain alone. The smugglers left with Edmond what he had requested and set sail, but not without turning about several times, and each time making signs of a cordial farewell, to which Edmond replied with his hand only, as if he could not move the rest of his body. Then, when they had disappeared, he sat with a smile, "tis strange that it should be among such men that we find proofs of friendship and devotion. Then he dragged himself cautiously to the top of the rock, from which he had a full view of the sea. And then he saw the tartan complete preparations for sailing, way anchor, and balancing herself as gracefully as a waterfowl ere it takes to the wing, set sail." At the end of an hour, she was completely out of sight. At least, it was impossible for the wounded man to see her any longer from the spot where he was. Then Dontes rose more agile and light than the kid among the murtals and shrubs of these wild rocks, took his gun in one hand, his pickaxe in the other, and hastened towards the rock on which the marks he had noted terminated. And now, he exclaimed, remembering the tale of the Arabian fisherman, which Faria had related to him, now, opens Sesame. Stellatite Now, a tapering structure hanging like an icicle from the roof of a cave, formed of calcium salts to post it by dripping water. Grotto Grotto Now, a small picturesque cave, especially an artificial one in a park or garden. Litchin Litchin Now, a plant-like organism that typically forms a low crusty leaf lake or branching grove in rocks, walls, in trees. Infraction Infraction Now, a volition or infringement of a law or agreement. Messmate Messmate Now, in the Navy, a person with whom one shares communal accommodation. The Count of Monte Christo by Alexander Dumas, Volume 1, Chapter 24, The Secret Kenny. The sun had nearly reached the meridian, and his scorching rays fell full on the rocks, which seemed themselves sensible of the heat. Thousands of grasshoppers hidden in the bushes, chirped with a monotonous and dull note. The leaves of the Myrtle and olive trees waved and rustled in the wind. At every step that Edmund took, he disturbed the lizards glittering with the hues of the emerald. A far off he saw the wild goats bounding from crack to crack. In a word, the island was inhabited, yet Edmund felt himself alone, guided by the hand of God. He felt an indescribable sensation somewhat akin to dread, that dread of the daylight, which even in the desert makes us fear we are watched and observed. This feeling was so strong that at the moment when Edmund was about to begin his labor, he stopped. Late down his pickaxe, seized his gun, mounted to the summit of the highest rock, and from thence gazed round in every direction. But it was not upon Cossaker, the very houses of which he could distinguish, or on Sardinia, or on the island of Elba, with its historical associations, or upon the almost imperceptible line that to the experienced eye of a sailor alone revealed the coast of Genoa the Proud and Likhorn the commercial that he gazed. It was at the brigantine that had left in the morning, and the tartan that had just set sail, that Edmund fixed his eyes. The first was just disappearing in the straits of Bonifacio. The other, following an opposite direction, was about to round the island of Cossaker. This site reassured him. He then looked at the objects near him. He saw that he was on the highest point of the island, a statue on this vast pedestal of granite, nothing human appearing in sight, while the blue ocean beat against the base of the island, and covered it with a fringe or foam. Then he descended with cautious and slow step, for he dreaded less than accident similar to that he had so adroitly feigned should happen in reality. Dontes, as we have said, had traced the marks along the rocks, and he had noticed that they led to a small creek, which was hidden like the bath of some ancient nymph. This creek was sufficiently wide at its mouth, and deep in the centre, to a mid of the entrance of a small vessel of the lager-class, which would be perfectly concealed from observation. Then following the clue that, in the hands of the abeifaria, had been so skillfully used to guide him through the didalian labyrinth of probabilities, he thought that the carton or spider, anxious not to be watched, had entered the creek, concealed his little bark, followed the line marked by the notches in the rock, and at the end of it had buried his treasure. It was this idea that had brought Dontes back to the circular rock. One thing only perplexed at men, and destroyed his theory. How could this rock, which weighed several tons, have been lifted to this spot, without the aid of many men? Only in an idea flashed across his mind. Instead of raising it, thought he, they have lowered it, and he sprang from the rock in order to inspect the bays on which he had formally stood. He soon perceived that a slope had been formed, and the rock had slit along this until it stopped at the spot it now occupied. A large stone had served as a wedge. Flins and pebbles had been inserted around it, so as to conceal the orifice. This species of masonry had been covered with earth, and grass and weeds had grown there. Moss had clung to the stones, metal bushes had taken root, and the old rock seemed fixed to the earth. Dontes dug away the earth carefully, and detected, or fancied he detected, the ingenious artifice. He attacked this wall, cemented by the hand of time, with his pickaxe. After ten minutes labor the wall gave way, and the hole large enough to insert the arm was opened. Dontes went and cut the strongest olive tree he could find. Stripped off his branches, inserted it in the hole, and used it as a lever, but the rock was too heavy, and too firmly wedged, to be moved by any man, where he heckles himself. Dontes saw that he must attack the wedge, but how? He cast his eyes around, and saw the horn full of powder which his friend Jakopo had left him. He smiled. The inferno invention would serve him for this purpose. With the aid of his pickaxe, Dontes, after the manner of a labor-saving pioneer, dug a mine between the upper rock and the one that supported it, filled it with powder, then made a match by rolling his hand achieved in salt peter. He lighted it and retired, the explosion soon followed. The upper rock was lifted from its base by the terrific force of the powder. The lower one flew into pieces. Thousands of insects escaped from the aperture Dontes had previously formed, and a huge snake, like the guardian demon of the treasure, rolled himself along in darkening corners and the sea. This approached the upper rock, which now, without any support, leaned towards the sea. The intrepid treasure seeker walked round it and, selecting the spot most susceptible to attack, placed his lever in one of the crevices and strained every nerve to move the mass. The rock already shaken by the explosion, totted on his base. Dontes redoubled his efforts. He seemed like one of the ancient titans, who uprooted the mountains to hurl against the father of the gods. The rock yielded, rolled over, bounded from point to point, and finally disappeared in the ocean. On the spot it had occupied was a circular space, exposing an iron ring let into a square flat stone. Dontes uttered a cry of joy and surprise, never had a first attempt at being crowned with more perfect success. He would feign have continued, but his knees trembled, and his heart beat so violently and his sight became so dim that he was forced to pause. This feeling lasted but for a moment, Edmund inserted his lever in the ring and exerted all his strength. The flat stone yielded and disclosed steps that descended until they were lost in the obscurity of a subterranean grotto. When else would have rushed on with a cry of joy, Dontes turned pale, hesitated and reflected. "Come," said he to himself, "be a man. I am accustomed to adversity. I must not be cast down by the discovery that I have been deceived. What then would be the use of all I have suffered? The heart breaks when, after having been elated by flattering hopes, it sees all its illusions destroyed. Faria has dreamed this, the cardinal spider buried no treasure here. Perhaps he never came here, or if he did, sees a boja. The intrepid adventurer, the stealthy and indefatigable plunderer, has followed him, discovered his traces, pursued them as I have done, raised the stone, and his sending before me has left me nothing." He remained motionless and pensive, his eyes fixed on the gloomy aperture that was open and his feet. "Now that I expect nothing, now that I no longer entertain the slightest hopes, the end of this adventure becomes simply a matter of curiosity." And he remained again motionless and thoughtful. "Yes, yes. This is an adventure worthier place in a very career of that royal bandit. This fabulous event formed but a link in a long chain of marbles." "Yes. Boja has been here, a torch in one hand, a sword in the other, and within twenty paces at the foot of this rock, perhaps two guards kept watch on land and sea, while their master descended as I am about to descend, dispelling the darkness before his awe-inspiring progress." "But what was the fate of the guards who thus possessed his secret?" asked Dontes of himself. "The fate," replied he, smiling, "of those who buried Olorac, and were interred with the corpse. Yet had he come, thought Dontes, he would have found a treasure, and Boja, he who compared Italy to an artichoke which he could devour leave by leave, knew too well the value of time to waste it in replacing this rock, I will go down." Then he descend, a smile on his lips and murmuring that last word of human philosophy. Perhaps. But instead of the darkness, and the thick and methodic atmosphere he had expected to find, Dontes saw a dim and bluish light, which, as well as the air, entered not merely by the aperture he had just formed, but by the interstices and crevices of the rock which were visible from without, and through which he could distinguish the blue sky and the waving branches of the evergreen oaks, and the tendrils of the creepers that grew from the rocks. After having stood a few minutes in the cavern, the atmosphere which was rather warm than dampen. Dontes' eye, habituated as it was to darkness, could pierce even to the remotest angles of the cavern, which was of granite that sparkled like diamonds. "Alas," said Edmond, smiling, "these are the treasures the cardinal had left, and a good ally, seeing in a dream these glittering walls has indulged in volacious hopes." But he called to mind the words of the will, which he knew by heart. In the farthest angle of the second opening, said the cardinal's will. He had only found the first grotto. He had now to seek the second. Dontes continued his search. He reflected that this second grotto must penetrate deeper into the island. He examined the stones, and sounded one part of the wall where he fancied the opening existed, masked for precaution's sake. The pickaxe struck for a moment with a dull sound that drew out of Dontes' forehead large drops of perspiration. At last, it seemed to him that one part of the wall gave forth a more hollow and deeper echo. He eagerly advanced, and with the quickness of perception that no one but the prisoner possessed saw that there, in all probability, the opening must be. However, he, like Caesar Borgia, knew the value of time, and in order to avoid fruitless soil, he sounded all the other walls with his pickaxe, struck the earth with the butt of his gun, and finding nothing that appeared suspicious, returned to that part of the wall Gwen's issue the consoling sound he had before heard. He again struck it, and with greater force, then a singular thing occurred. As he struck the wall, pieces of stucco, similar to that used in the ground work of arabascks, broke off, and felt the ground in flakes, exposing a large white stone. The aperture of the rock had been closed with stones, then the stucco had been applied, and painted to imitate granite. Don't test struck with the shaben of his pickaxe, which entered some way between the intestines. It was there he must dig it. But by some strange play of emotion, in proportion as to prove Stapharia had not been deceived became stronger, so did his hard giveaway, and a feeling of discouragement stole over him. This last proof, instead of giving him fresh strength, deprived him of it, the pickaxe descended, or rather fell. He placed it on the ground, passed his hand over his brow, and remounted the stairs, alleging to himself, as an excuse, a desire to be assured that no one was swatching him, but in reality because he felt that he was about to faint. The island was deserted, and the sun seemed to cover it with its fiery glass. A far off, a few small fishing boats studded the bosom of the blue ocean. Don't test had tasted nothing, but he thought not of hunger at such a moment. He hastily swallowed a few drops of rum, and again entered the cavern. The pickaxe that had seemed so heavy, was now like a feather in his grasp. He seized it, and attacked the wall. After several blows, he perceived that the stones were not cemented, but had been merely placed one upon the other, and covered with stucco. He inserted the point of his pickaxe, and using the handle as a lever, with John soon saw the stone turn as if on hinges, and fall at his feet. He had nothing more to do now, but with the iron tooth of the pickaxe to draw the stones towards him one by one. The aperture was already sufficiently large for him to enter, but by waiting he could still cling to her, and retard the certainty of deception. At last, after renewed hesitation, Don't has entered the second roto. The second roto was lower and more gloomy than the first. The air that could only enter by, the newly formed opening, had the pathetic smell Don't test was surprised not to find in the outer cavern. He waited in order to allow pure air to displace the foul atmosphere, and then went on. At the left of the opening was a dark and deep angle. But to don't his eye, there was no darkness. He glanced around his second roto. It was like the first empty. The treasure, if it existed, was buried in this corner. The time had at length arrived. Two feet of earth removed, and Don't has fate would be decided. He advanced towards the angle, ensembling all his resolution, attacked the ground with the pickaxe. At the fifth or sixth blow, the pickaxe struck against an iron substance. Never did funeral now, never did alarm bail, produce a greater effect on the hero. At Don't has found nothing he could not have become more ghasty pain. He again struck his pickaxe into the earth and encountered the same resistance, but not the same sound. It is a casket of wood bound with iron, thought he. At this moment a shadow passed rapidly before the opening. Don't has seized his gun, sprang through the opening and mounted the stand. A wild goat had passed before the mouth of the cave, and was feeding at a little distance. This would have been a favorable occasion to secure his dinner, but Don't has feared less the report of his gunge to track attention. He thought a moment, cut the branch of rest in this tree, lighted it at the fire at which the smugglers had prepared their breakfast, and descended with his torch. He wished to see everything. He approached the hole he had dug, and now, with the aid of the torch, saw that his pickaxe had in reality struck against iron and wood. He planted his torch in the ground and resumed his labor. In an instant, a space three feet long by two feet broad was cleared, and Don't has could see an open cover, bound with cut steel, in the middle of the lid he saw engraved on a silver plate, which was still untarnished, the arms of the span of family. This, a sword, an parley, on an oval shield, like all the Italian amorial bearings, and surmounted by a cardinal's hat. Don't has easily recognized him; Faria had so often drawn them for him. There was no longer any doubt; the treasure was there; no one would have been at such pains to conceal an empty casket. In an instant, he had cleared every obstacle away, and he saw successively the lock, placed between two pet locks, and the two handles at each end. More carved as things were carved at that epoch, when art rendered the Communist metals precious. Don't has seized the handles, and strove the lid to cover. It was impossible. He sought to open it. Lock and pet lock were fastened. These faithful guardians seemed unwilling to surrender their trust. Don't has inserted the sharp end of the pickaxe between the cover and the lid, and pressing with all his force on the handle, burst to open the fastenings. The hinges yielded in their turn and fell, still holding in their grabs, fragments of the wood, and the chest was opened. Edmond was seized with furligoo. He copped his gun and laid it beside him. He then closed his eyes, as children do, in order that they may see in the resplendent night of their own imagination, more stars than are visible in the fervent. Then he reopened them, and stood motionless with amazement. Three compartments to fight it to cover. In the first, blazed piles of golden coin. In the second were ranged bars of unpolished gold, which possessed nothing attractive saved the value. In the third, Edmond grabbed handfuls of diamonds, pearls, and rubies, which, as they fell on one another, sounded like hail against glass. After having touched, felt, examined these treasures, Edmond rushed through the caverns like a man seized with frenzy. He leaped on a rock, from whence he could behold a sea. He was alone, alone with these countless, these unheard of treasures. Was he awake, or was it but a dream? Was it a transient fission, or was he face to face with reality? He would fain have gazed upon his gold, and yet he had not strengthened enough. For an instant he leaned his head in his hands, as if to prevent his senses from leaving him, and then rushed madly about the rocks of Monte Christo, terrifying the wild ghosts and scaring the sea-fowls with its wild cries and gestures, then to return, and still unable to believe the evidence of his senses, rushed into the grotto, and found himself before this mine of gold and jewels. This time he fell on his knees, and clasping his hands compulsively uttered a prayer intelligible to God alone. He soon became calmer and more happy. For only now did he begin to realize his felicity. He then set himself to work to count his fortune. There were a thousand ingots of gold, each weighing from two to three pounds. Then he piled up twenty-five thousand crowns, each worth about eighty francs of our money, and bearing the effigies of Alexander Sepp, and his predecessors, and he saw that the compliment was not half empty, and he measured ten double handfuls of pearls, diamonds, and other gems, many of which, mounted by the most famous weapon, were valuable beyond it in chins of war. Dante saw the light gradually disappear, and fearing to be surprised in the cavern, left, his gun in his head, a piece of biscuit, and a small quantity of rum formed his supper, and he snatched a few hour sleep, lying over the mouth of the cave. He was the knight of joy and terror, such as this man of stupendous emotions had already experienced twice or thrice in his lifetime. Meridian Meridian Now, a circle of constant longitude passing through a given place on the earth's surface and a terrestrial pulse. Adject? Mathetic? Adjective? Especially of a gas or vapor, foul smelly, noxious? Vellacious? Vellacious? Adjective? Adjective? Based on a mistaken belief? Didalian? Didalian? Adjective? Ingenious, intricate, and confusing. The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexander Duma, Volume 1, Chapter 25, The A Now. Day for which Dante's had so eagerly and impatiently waited with open eyes, again Dante. With the first light Dante's resumed his search. When he climbed a rocky height he had ascended to 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 he 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 and over the spot from which it had been taken, and then carefully trot 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 metal 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 time, 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 procession, 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 grabs of men. On the sixth day, the smuggler's returned. From a distance, Dante's recognized the rig and handling of Leger-Amelie, and dragging himself with affected difficulty towards the landing place. He met his companions within 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 smuggler's replied that, although successful in lending the cargo and 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 Dante's, whose superior skill in the management of a vessel would have failed them so materially. In fact, the pursuing vessel had almost overtaken them when, fortunately, Knight came on and enabled them to double the Cape of Corsica, and so elude all further pursuit. On the whole, however, the trip had been sufficiently successful to satisfy all consent, while the crew, in particularly yuckable, expressed great regrets that Dante's had not been an equal sharer with themselves in the profits which amounted to no less a sound than fifty Pia's test each. Edmond reserved the most admirable self-command, not suffering the faintest indication of his mind to escape them in the enumeration of all the benefits he would have reed had he been able to quit the iron, but as Légien-Amélie had merely come to Monte Cristo to fetch him away, he embarked that same evening and proceeded with the captain to Lechon. Arrived at Lechon, he repaired to the house of a Jew, a dealer in precious doubt to whom he disposed of four of his smallest diamonds for five thousand francs each. Dante's how feared that such valuable jewels in the hands of a poor sailor like himself might excite suspicion, but the coming purchaser asked no troublesome questions concerning a bargain by which he gained a round profit of at least eighty percent. The following day Dante's presented yuckable with an entirely new festival, accompanying the gift by a donation of one hundred Pia'stas, that he might provide himself with a suitable proof 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 Dontas, reciting in the Allet d'Amélie, and also a young woman called Mercedas, an inhabitant of the Catalan village. Yuckable could scarcely believe the senses at receiving this magnificent precedent which Dontas hastened to account for by saying that he had mainly 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, decor, he had come into possession of a large fortune, left him by an uncle, whose solere he was. The superior education of Dontas gave an heir of such extreme probability that a statement that it never once occurred to Yuckable to doubt its accuracy. The term for which Edmund had engaged to serve on board Légien-Amélie, having expired, Dontas 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 seized to impotune him further. The following morning, Yuckable set sail for Marseille, with directions from Dontas to join him at the island of Monte Cristo. Having seen Yuckable fairly out of the harbour, Dontas proceeded to make his final adieu on board Légien-Amélie, distributing so liberal agrituity among her crew as to secure for him the good wishes of all and expressions of cordial interest in all that concern to the captain he promised to write when he had made up his mind as to his future plans. Then Dontas 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 prize agreed upon between the Englishman and the Genoese builder was 40,000 francs. Dontas, struck with the beauty and capability of the little vessel, applied to his owner to transfer it to him, offering 60,000 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. The bargain was therefore struck. Dontas let the owner of the yacht to the dwelling of a Jew, retired with the letter for a few minutes to a small back parlor, and upon their return the Jew counted out to the ship builder to some of 60,000 francs in bright gold pieces. The delighted builder then offered his services in providing a suitable crew for the little vessel, but this Dontas declined with many things, saying he was accustomed to crews about quite alone, and his principal pleasure consisted in managing his yacht himself. The only thing the builder could oblige him would be to contrive a sort of secret closet in the cabin and his bed's head. The closet contained 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, Dontas finishing the dimensions and plan in accordance with which they were to be constructed. Two hours afterward Dontas sailed from the port of 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 Dontas handled the helm. The boat indeed seemed to be animated with almost human intelligence, so promptly did it obey the slightest touch, and Dontas required but a short trial of his beautiful craft to acknowledge that the Genoaese 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 Elva. Bets were offered to any amount that she was found 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 Dontas guided his vessel, and at Monte Cristo he arrived at the close of the second day. His boat had proved to sail for first class sailor, and had come to distance from Genoa in 35 hours. Dontas had carefully noted the general appearance of the shore, and instead of landing at the unusual 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 there nightfall the whole of his immense wealth was safely deposited in the compartments of the secret locker. A week passed by, Dontas employed it in maneuvering his yard around the island, studying it as a skillful horseman with 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 Dontas proposed to augment the letter to remedy. Upon the eighth day he discerned a small vessel under full sail approaching Monte Cristo, as it drew near he recognised it as the boat he had given to Jakubo. He immediately signalled it. His signal was returned, and in two hours afterwards the newcomer lay an anchor beside the yard. A mournful answer waited each of Athens' eager inquiries as to the information Jakubo had obtained. Oat Dontas was dead, and messages had disappeared. Dontas listened to these melancholy tidings with outward calmness, but, leaping likely ashore, he signified his desire to be quite alone. In a couple of hours he returned, two of the men from Jakubo's boat came on board the yard to assist in navigating it, and he gave orders that she should be steered direct to Marseille. 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, Dontas could not give sufficiently clear instructions to an agent. There were, besides, other particulars he was desirous of a certainty, 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 Lechhorn, 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 yard, followed by the little fishing boat boldly entered the port of Marseille, and anchored exactly opposite the spot from whence, on the never-to-be-forgotten nights of his departure for the Chateau diff, he had been put on board the boat destined to convey him thither. Still, Dontas could not view without a shuddered approach of a gendarm who accompanied the officers deputed to demand his spill of health, air the yards was permitted to hold communication with the shore, but with that perfect self-possession he had acquired during his acquaintance with Faria. Dontas coolly presented an English passport he had obtained from Lechhorn, and as this gave him a standing which a French passport would not have afforded, he was informed that there existed no obstacle in his immediate debarkation. The first person to attract the attention of Dontas as he landed on the Cannabere was one of the crew belonging to the Faron. Edmund welcomed the meeting with this fellow, who had been one of his own sakes, as a show 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 before he was then convinced. Giving the sailor a piece of money in return for his civility, Dontas proceeded on his, but there he had gone many steps he hurt the men loudly calling him to stall. Dontas 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-frank 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 said, 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 mess mates to join you." So extreme was the surprise of the sailor, that he was unable even to thank Edmund, whose receding figure he continued to gaze after his speechless estension. Some neighbor from India was his comment. Dontas meanwhile went on his way. Each step he tried could press his heart with fresh emotion. His first and most indeliable 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 Houdenwei, from whence a full view of the alley the male 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-floted 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 led, though answered in a negative he begged so earnestly to be permitted to visit those on the fifth floor, that in spite of the often repeated assurance of the concierge that they were occupied, Dontes 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, Dontes sighed heavily. Nothing in the two small chambers forming the apartments remained as it had been in the time of the elder Dontes. The fairy paper was different, while the articles of antiquated furniture with which the rooms had been filled in atman'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 Atman 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 fist'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 his 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 Atman passed the door on the fourth floor, he paused to inquire where the catarousa, the tailor, still dwelled 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 Belegar to Bokeh. Having obtained the address of the person to whom the house in Alle de Mayo belonged, Don't as next proceeded thither, and under the name of Lord Wilmore, purchased a small dwelling for the sum of 25,000 friends, at least 10,000 more than it was worth. While 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 Dontes, 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 had present inherited. This strange event around sprayed in wonder and curiosity in the neighborhood of the Alle de Mayo, and in the multitude of theories were afloat, none of which was anywhere near the truth, but what enraged public astonishment to a climax and set all conjecture at defiance was the knowledge that the same stranger who had in the morning twisted the Alle de Mayo had been seen in the evening walking in the little village of the Catholics, and afterwards observed to enter a poor fisherman's hut and to pass more than an hour in an inquiry after persons who had either been dead or gone away for more than 15 or 16 years. But on the following day the family from whom all these particulars had been as received a handsome present consisting of an entirely new fishing boat with two sains and a tender. The delighted recipients of these magnificent gifts would gladly have poured out the thanks to their generous manufacturer, but they had seen, upon quitting the hut, merely give some orders to a safe, and then springing lightly on horseback, leave Marseille by the pot depth. Deput, deput, verb, appoint or instructs someone to perform a task for which one is responsible, converse it, converse it, adjective, familiar with or knowledgeable about something.
