The Isle of Monte-Cristo

At the appointed time the Count of Monte-Cristo and Zuleika, accompanied by Ali, Peppino and Beppo, the two Italians attired in the traveling garb of French servants, left Paris for Marseilles. On their arrival at the latter city they proceeded immediately to the harbor, where Monte-Cristo’s yacht awaited them in obedience to instructions telegraphed by the Count to the Captain of the craft, whose name was Vincenzo, and who was a son of Jacopo, the former smuggler, long in command of the ill-fated Alcyon, lost in the frightful storm and volcanic disturbance in the Mediterranean some years before. The present yacht was a new and superb vessel, as fleet and as beautiful as a bird. It was fitted up in the most complete manner; the cabin, superbly carpeted and furnished, was hung with elaborately wrought, costly tapestry, while here and there on the walls were curiously arrayed clusters of ancient barbaric weapons gathered from the site of old Carthage, the ruins of historic Babylon and even from the crumbling tombs of those redoubtable warriors who far back in the dim ages of antiquity had defended distant Cathay against the incursions of the fierce Tartar hordes. The yacht was named the Haydee in honor of the loving and devoted Greek slave, the mother of Esperance and Zuleika, who had filled such an important part in Monte-Cristo’s life and had left behind her such tender memories.

As soon as the Count and his little party were safely on board the craft it set sail, gliding swiftly out upon the wide, sparkling expanse of water. Monte-Cristo and Zuleika stood upon the deck, conversing pleasantly and enjoying the ever-changing panorama presented to their gaze. The Haydee glided swiftly past the Île Ratonneau, conspicuous by reason of its towering lighthouse; then came the Pointe des Catalans, with its beach where Mercedes had once dwelt and where the unfortunate sailor Dantes had seen the light in her chamber window on that memorable night when he was being conducted to captivity. At length a black and frowning rock rose before them, surmounted by a gloomy fortress. As he caught sight of this dismal crag, Monte-Cristo knitted his brows and through his clenched teeth muttered an imprecation upon the tyranny of man.

“What is it that so moves you, father?” asked Zuleika, in a soft voice, gazing solicitously into his face.

“Look yonder, my child,” replied the Count, with strong emotion; “the fortress upon that rock is the accursed Chateau d’ If!”

Zuleika glanced at the fortress with a feeling of terror and dread. She knew the story of her father’s long imprisonment and keen suffering in the dark dungeon of that forbidding pile, of his meetings with the Abbe Faria there and of his subsequent daring escape; but she knew nothing of what had passed between the Abbe and the sailor Dantes relative to the famous treasure concealed by Cardinal Spada within the grottoes of the Isle of Monte-Cristo, the treasure that diverted from the grasp of Pope Alexander VI. had made the Count so enormously rich. On this topic her father had never yet seen fit to enlighten her. The sight of the Chateau d’ If made her shudder and turn pale, though at the same time it fascinated and enchained her. She clung closely to Monte-Cristo and said, tremulously:

“Oh! what a frightful place it is! My very heart is chilled by its dismal aspect!”

“Dismal as it looks from here, my child,” returned the Count, “it is a thousand times more so within! It is the chosen abode of gloom and despair!”

He gently put his daughter from him and gave way to a profound reverie in which he remained plunged for some moments. All the details of his imprisonment and the startling adventures that succeeded it passed through his mind in rapid review, and an ardent, irresistible desire to revisit the locality where he had unearthed Spada’s millions took entire possession of him. Suddenly he said to Captain Vincenzo:

“Make for the Isle of Monte-Cristo!”

“Aye, aye, Signor Count,” answered the Captain, and the necessary orders were at once given. The Haydee, promptly obeying her helm, swung about swiftly and gracefully, instantly darting off in the direction of the famous island.

Zuleika, on hearing her father’s command, cast upon him a look of astonishment and anxiety. She had expected that they would proceed directly to Italy and this change in the yacht’s course betokened another programme.

“My child,” said the Count, divining her thoughts, “I propose to stop at the Isle of Monte-Cristo only a few hours; the delay will not be important, especially as we can make up the time lost by crowding sail, while I wish to show you some spots intimately connected with my history that will interest you.”

“I shall be delighted to visit the Isle of Monte-Cristo, father,” replied Zuleika. “I have heard so much about it and its wonders. You have a mansion there, have you not?”

The Count smiled, as he answered:

“Not exactly a mansion, Zuleika, but something that might be made to serve as a substitute for one did we need a temporary refuge, though I greatly fear that from long neglect we shall find it at present in a most deplorable condition.”

Zuleika’s curiosity was now considerably excited. What could this mysterious residence, or, as her father quaintly styled it, this substitute for a mansion be like? What knowledge she possessed of the Isle of Monte-Cristo had been derived from fragmentary recitals made to her by Mercedes and her son Albert de Morcerf, but as neither of these informants had ever set foot upon the island their information was necessarily very vague, though it made up in the marvellous what it lacked in distinctness.

At length, towards afternoon, the rocky shore of the Isle of Monte-Cristo became visible. The Count’s visage brightened as he saw it and a thrill of pleasure passed through him. Though the Haydee was yet at a considerable distance he could plainly descry the lofty peak upon which he had stood and watched the smugglers depart in their tartane, La Jeune Amelie, on that eventful morning when, with his gun and pickaxe, he had started out to prosecute his search destined to be fraught with so much excitement and to be crowned with such a glorious, dazzling result. The golden sunlight fell full upon this peak and the surrounding masses of stone, making them glitter as if encrusted with sparkling diamonds of great price. Here and there grew olive trees and stunted shrubs that stood out distinctly against the blue, cloudless sky; as the yacht drew nearer their green tints formed a striking contrast with the prevailing hue of the rocks, adding vastly to the picturesqueness of the wild and romantic scene presented.

“How beautiful the island looks!” exclaimed Zuleika, enthusiastically, as she leaned against the bulwarks of the vessel and gazed out over the sea.

“Yes,” replied Monte-Cristo, who was standing beside her, “it does, indeed, look beautiful from here, but a closer view will dispel the charm for the island is nothing but a barren waste.”

“What! Is it a desert?” asked Zuleika, in surprise.

“A perfect desert, my child,” answered the Count, “uncultivated and uninhabited.”

“Uninhabited!” cried Zuleika, gazing intently at the shore. “I certainly see life there! Look! What was that?”

“A wild goat leaping from one rock to another,” returned Monte-Cristo, smiling. “The island is full of them. When I said it was uninhabited I meant by human beings.”

The Haydee by this time had approached as near the island as possible; she was therefore anchored. The Count then ordered a boat lowered, into which he descended with Zuleika and Ali. A stout sailor took the rudder, two others grasped the oars, and, in a few minutes, a little cove was gained and the disembarkation effected.

“Men,” said the Count, addressing the sailors, “you can now row back to the yacht. When you see me come upon the beach and wave my handkerchief thrice, return for us.”

“Aye, aye, Signor Count,” answered the coxswain for the boat’s crew. His words were accompanied by the fall of the oars and the boat shot off towards the Haydee.

“You are now on the Isle of Monte-Cristo,” said the Count to Zuleika as he took her hand to lead her forward. “Prepare to see what you have termed its wonders!”

“They will, no doubt, prove wonders to me, at any rate,” returned the girl, smiling.

The Nubian stood before his master with uncovered head, respectfully waiting for orders.

“Go in advance, Ali,” said the Count, “and see that all is right.”

The Nubian made a profound salaam in oriental fashion and hastened away.

The Count and his daughter leisurely followed. As they walked they disturbed hosts of grasshoppers, that leaped with a whirring flutter of wings from the bushes and fled before them. This amused Zuleika, but she could not repress a cry of affright as now and then a green, repulsive looking lizard emerged from under the loose stones beneath her very feet and shot hastily away in search of a more secure hiding-place. Occasionally, too, they saw wild goats that pricked up their ears and stared at them with wide open eyes, then gathering themselves for a spring bounded off up the rocks and vanished.

At last Monte-Cristo and Zuleika came upon the Nubian, who had stopped beside a huge bowlder that seemed to have lain for ages where it had fallen from the cliffs above. A thick, bushy growth of wild myrtle and flowering thorn had sprung up around it, and its surface was covered with emerald hued moss. The Count and his daughter also stopped, the former glancing around him and at the vast stone with evident satisfaction.

“Nothing has been touched since I was here last,” said he, as if to himself; then, turning to Ali, he added: “Unmask the entrance to the grottoes!”

The Nubian produced a rusty crowbar from some nook where he had evidently concealed it in the past, thrusting the point beneath the bowlder; then he exerted a strong, steady pressure upon the crowbar and the great rock slowly moved aside, disclosing a circular opening in the midst of which was a square flagstone bearing in its centre an iron ring. Into this ring Ali inserted his crowbar and with a mighty effort raised the flagstone from its place. A stairway descending apparently to the bowels of the earth was disclosed, and from the sombre depths escaped a flow of damp, mephitic air.

Zuleika drew back in affright. All that had passed since they came to the bowlder was strange, bewildering and terrifying to her. Had the days of enchantment returned? Was Ali some potent wizard like Aladdin’s pretended uncle in the old Arabian tale or was she simply under the dominion of some disordered dream? Her knees trembled beneath her and she moved as if to flee, but her father caught her by the arm and his smiling countenance reassured her.

“Fear nothing, Zuleika,” he said, soothingly. “We are about to visit my subterranean palace. That is all.”

By this time the atmosphere of the stairway had become purified and Monte-Cristo said to Ali:

“Descend and light up the grottoes. When all is ready give the usual signal.”

The faithful servant entered the opening and vanished down the stairway. Soon a delicious oriental perfume ascended. This was followed by a vivid illumination of the gaping chasm and then came a long, reverberating whistle.

“Ali notifies us that all is prepared for our reception,” said Monte-Cristo to Zuleika. “Come, my daughter!”

He descended the stairway first, Zuleika following him in a state of mind difficult to describe. She was not afraid now, but her sensations were of an exceedingly peculiar nature. The novelty and singularity of the adventure rather attracted her, though, at the same time, she felt a sort of reluctance to attempt it. However the opening was now as light as day, and as they descended the intoxicating perfume increased in intensity until it was almost as if acres of tube-roses had suddenly bloomed and filled the caverns with their heavy fragrance.

At the bottom of the stairway Ali received them, conducting them into a vast chamber that had evidently once possessed great splendor, but was at present dingy and dust-covered as if it had been long deserted. It was the apartment in which Monte-Cristo as Sinbad the Sailor had welcomed the Baron Franz d’ Epinay years before, but the crimson brocade, worked with flowers of gold, though it still lined the chamber as it did then, was now faded and moth-eaten, while the Turkey carpet in which the Baron’s feet had sunk to the instep, as well as the tapestry hanging in front of the doors, was in the same condition. The divan in the recess had been riddled by worms and the silver scabbards of the stand of Arabian swords that surmounted it were tarnished, the gems in the handles of the weapons alone retaining their brilliancy. The once beautiful lamp of Venice glass hanging from the ceiling, which Ali had filled and lighted, was also tarnished and its delicately shaped globe was cracked from top to bottom. Monte-Cristo sadly contemplated this scene of ruin and decay, but he contemplated it only for a moment. Then he turned to Zuleika and said:

“My child, this was once my salon and its beauty riveted the eyes of all who saw it, but I deserted it and time has done its work, aided by neglect its beauty is no more! Shall I raise another ghost of the past and show you its former occupant?”

“Surely, I see him before me, do I not?” said Zuleika, gazing tenderly at her father.

“Not as he was, my child, not as he was. Wait here a few moments, with my faithful Ali as your guard and protector, and I will invoke the fantastic apparition!”

As he spoke he raised the faded tapestry, revealing the door leading to the inner apartment; opening this door and closing it behind him he was lost to sight; the tapestry fell back to its place, masking the point of entrance.

After a brief absence he reappeared dressed in his famous Tunisian costume, but that, alas! had also lost its pristine glory like everything else in this abandoned subterranean abode. Still the wrecks were there the red cap with the long blue silk tassel; the vest of black cloth embroidered with gold; the pantaloons of deep red; the large, full gaiters of the same color, embroidered with gold like the vest; the yellow slippers; the cachemire around his waist, and the small, crooked cangiar passed through his girdle.

Zuleika gazed at him in amazement. In his faded, tarnished, moth-eaten finery he, indeed, looked like a fantastic apparition, a picturesque ghost of the past.

“Come, Zuleika,” said he, “as I am in my festal attire let us visit the salle-a-manger!”

He moved aside the tapestry once more and again opened the door leading to the other apartment. Zuleika entered and the Count followed her, Ali remaining in the outer chamber to guard against surprise or intrusion. The marvellous salle-a-manger was precisely the same as the Baron d’ Epinay had seen it. Here time seemed to have been defied. The marble of which the magnificent apartment was built was as bright and beautiful as ever, the antique bas-reliefs of priceless value were well preserved, and the four superb statues with baskets on their heads were yet in their places in the corners of the oblong room and yet perfect, though no pyramids of splendid fruit now filled the baskets. In the centre of the salle-a-manger the dining-table still stood with its dishes of silver and plates of Japanese china. It was at this table that both the Baron d’ Epinay and Maximilian Morrel had taken that wonderful green preparation, that key to the gate of divine dreams, the hatchis of Alexandria, the hatchis of Abou-Gor. It was at this table that Maximilian, when falling under the influence of the potent drug, had caught his first glimpse of his beloved Valentine after her supposed death; it was at this table that he had been reunited to her on awaking from his hatchis dream. It was in this room that Haydee had confessed her love for Monte-Cristo and had been taken to his heart.

All these recollections came thronging upon the Count as he stood gazing about him. The thought of Haydee almost melted him to tears, but he forced back the briny drops, and, taking Zuleika tenderly in his arms, cried out, in a voice full of emotion:

“Oh! Haydee, Haydee, I have lost you, but you live for me again in this blessed treasure you have bequeathed to me our darling daughter!”

Zuleika flung her arms about her father’s neck and kissed him fervently.

“I know not,” she said, effusively, “what memories, what associations, this room recalls, but it has made you think of my mother and I bless it!”

When they both had grown calmer, Monte-Cristo said to his daughter:

“There is yet another apartment for us to see. Let us go to it.”

They entered the adjoining chamber. It was a strangely furnished apartment. Circular in shape it was surrounded by a large divan, which, as well as the walls, ceiling and floor, was covered with what had been magnificent skins of the large-maned lions of Atlas, striped Bengal tigers, spotted panthers of the Cape, bears of Siberia and foxes of Norway, but all these elegant furs that were strewn in profusion, one over another, had been eaten by moths and worms and rotted by the dampness until they scarcely held together. The divan was that upon which the Baron d’ Epinay had reclined, and the chibougues, with jasmine tubes and amber mouthpieces, that he had seen, prepared so that there was no need to smoke the same pipe twice, were still in their places and were the only things in the whole room that had escaped from the clutch of years unscathed. This chamber was brilliantly illuminated by the blaze of several large lamps of tarnished silver and gold suspended from the ceiling and protruding from the walls, and the salle-a-manger was lighted in the same fashion.

Zuleika stood in the midst of all this decayed grandeur, lost in wonder, utterly bewildered by what she beheld. She spoke not a single syllable, for words were inadequate to express her deep amazement.

Monte-Cristo threw himself upon the divan from which a cloud of stifling dust arose. Taking one of the chibouques in which a supply of Turkish tobacco yet remained, he lighted it and began to smoke.

Zuleika now saw that the heavy, delicious perfume with which the grotto palace was filled came from frankincense smouldering in a huge malachite vase placed in the centre of this bewildering chamber.

After he had puffed a few whiffs of smoke from the chibouque, Monte-Cristo removed the amber mouthpiece from his lips and rising said:

“You have now seen my subterranean abode, Zuleika, the abode where in the past I sought refuge from the world and solace for my woes. It seems to you like the product of some potent magician’s spell and, in truth, it was so, but that magician was good fortune and the spell was colossal wealth, to the vast and subtle influence of which all nations and all lands yield slavish submission and implicit obedience! You do not know the romantic, incredible history of this abode, my daughter, and it is not my intention to relate it to you, for your youthful brain could scarcely comprehend it. Be satisfied then with what you have beheld. Treasure it in your memory if you will either as a reality or merely as a passing vision, but do not, I conjure you, ever mention this adventure to me or any other living soul! I have had confidence in you, my child; repay that confidence by strictly obeying this wish, nay, this command, of mine! These grottoes belong to the past and to oblivion; to the past and to oblivion, therefore, let them be consigned! Promise me to do as I desire!”

Amazed by this strange speech, which the Count uttered in a voice tremulous with emotion, as much as by any of the inexplicable wonders she had seen, Zuleika replied, in a tone full of agitation:

“I promise, solemnly promise, father, to fulfil your injunctions in this matter to the very letter! I have a woman’s curiosity and a woman’s inclination to gossip,” she added, with a faint smile, “but for your dear sake I will repress them both, at least, so far as concerns this truly marvellous subterranean palace and our visit to it to-day!”

“And you will keep your word, my noble child!” said Monte-Cristo, gazing tenderly and admiringly at her. “Now I will remove this Tunis dress in which I have been, without doubt, exceedingly ridiculous in your eyes, for you are altogether unacquainted with the associations that surround it and endear it to me, dignify it, so to speak, beyond any other costume I have ever worn!”

Zuleika lifted her hands in protest, exclaiming:

“You could not, dear father, appear ridiculous in my eyes, no matter in what garb you were clothed!”

Monte-Cristo smiled approvingly, but a trifle incredulously and quitted the circular apartment. When he returned he was clad in the costume he had worn on coming from the yacht.

“Take a last look around you, Zuleika,” he said, in a tone he vainly endeavored to render firm. “We are now about to quit this place forever!”

He took her hand and led her from the room. Slowly and as if regretfully they passed through the salle-a-manger and the apartment they had first entered, gaining the stairway and preparing to ascend it. At the foot of the steps Monte-Cristo paused and turned to Ali. He was ghastly pale and trembled slightly. With a powerful effort he, however, controlled his agitation.

“Ali,” said he, in a voice that sounded strangely in Zuleika’s ear, “is everything in readiness?”

The faithful Nubian, scarcely less affected than his master, bowed affirmatively.

“Then farewell, ye grottoes of Monte-Cristo!” cried the Count, excitedly. “Farewell forever!”

He hastily mounted the stairway, almost dragging Zuleika with him. Ali remained below.

When they reached the open air they paused until the mute joined them; then the little party regained the beach, where Monte-Cristo waved his handkerchief thrice. In obedience to this signal the boat immediately left the yacht and was pulled swiftly to the shore.

A few moments later the Count, Zuleika and Ali were safely deposited on the Haydee’s deck and the gallant little vessel turned her prow towards the Italian coast.

Monte-Cristo and his daughter, with Ali at a short distance from them, stood closely watching the fast disappearing island. The Count was more agitated and paler than he had yet been. Nervous tremors shook his frame and his teeth were firmly clenched. The usually impassible countenance of the faithful Nubian mute wore an expression of blank horror. Zuleika gazed at her father and then at the servant. She knew not what to make of their strange, inexplicable emotion. Placing her hand upon the Count’s shoulder, she was about to speak to him, to endeavor to calm his agitation, when suddenly there was a loud explosion on the Isle of Monte-Cristo and a huge column of black smoke shot up into the air.

The Count covered his face with his hands as if to shut out the sight. Ali fell prostrate upon the deck, pressing his contorted visage against his master’s feet.

“What was that, oh! father, what was that?” cried Zuleika, clinging to the Count in wild alarm.

“The subterranean palace of the Isle of Monte-Cristo is no more!” he replied, sadly. “At my command it replaced with its magnificence the rude and shapeless grottoes, at my command it has perished!”

As he spoke the rocky island was gradually lost to view in the distance, and the Haydee sped over the waves of the Mediterranean like some glorious water-fowl in full flight.